Becoming Americans
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Becoming Americans
Published by Boson Books 3905 Meadow Field Lane Raleigh, NC 27606 ISBN 1-886420-25-4 An imprint of C&M Online Media Inc. Copyright 1996 Donald Batchelor All rights reserved For information contact C&M Online Media Inc. 3905 Meadow Field Lane Raleigh, NC 27606 Tel: (919) 233-8164 Fax: (919) 233-8578 e-mail:
[email protected] URL: http://www.bosonbooks.com URL: http://www.bosonromances.com
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Becoming Americans
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BECOMING AMERICANS by DONALD BATCHELOR ____________________________________________
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Becoming Americans
Richard Williams s Virginia
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Becoming Americans
Deep Creek and the Dismal Swamp
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Becoming Americans
Stephen s years in Bath
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Sapony Creek settlement in Edgecombe
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Becoming Americans Chapter One
There was growing nostalgia for a king in England by 1658. Oliver Cromwell and his fervent Republican forces had beheaded their king five years earlier, shocking the world and horrifying those subjects who saw King Charles as the anointed of God, His temporal representation as Head of the Church of England. But, those who overthrew King Charles had no need for an intermediary with God, and acknowledged no fealty to the ruler they called a despot. By 1658, the Republicans ruled England with the iron fist of a god who was colder and less colorful than the god of their dead king. Discontented advocates of a monarchy fled the harsh Commonwealth, mostly to Virginia. The vast new land welcomed them; she needed workers. England’s jails and asylums were culled for settlers for that distant void of civilization. Prodigal sons and daughters were sent to her. Infectious "fevers of immigration" were created in whole communities by printed flyers boasting of easy and assured riches in the New World. England’s exploding population was vented. Virginia took all she could get and she devoured the great majority.
"Look closely at those four people standing nearest to you." The captain of the Deliverance offered a chilling welcome to the fifty apprehensive passengers who stood on deck as the one-hundred ton ship from Bristol sailed out of land’s view, into the Atlantic Ocean. "Look closely and with love," he said. "For they will be dead within a year." Seven weeks later, the captain called the remaining forty-one passengers together again as they sailed past Cape Henry, into the Chesapeake Bay, only hours before docking in James Town. They gathered in clumps of new relationships. Thirteen-yearold Richard Williams stood by his master s family. "For some few of you the promise of great fortune will prove true. None need fear our Lord Protector, Cromwell, here. The Governor, his Council, and the Burgesses will, for the most part, leave you be. You’ll not starve if you’re willing to open up an oyster or shoot a goose or reach to fetch a peach. Some do starve because they’re unwilling to do that little for themselves. Probably the savages will not kill you, for we’ve killed most of them with our guns and diseases. What will kill the most of you is stupidity and ignorance. Remember that you are not in England! Don’t let the climate kill BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans you you do not know this heat of summer, nor the sharp, cold winds of winter. Don’t let the abundance kill you. An overabundance of milk and honey is as deadly as the lack, thereof. Listen to the seasoned settlers and take precautions. Because four of five who left Bristol will be dead within a year." Richard shifted his weight with the rolling deck and narrowed his eyes. The wind and his sweat made him shiver. He looked at those around him. The sobering words of the captain had ended the celebration and stale beer. Every face reflected terror. Richard knew that many settlers died his Uncle Edward had told him that but no one had suggested these large numbers! His uncle had deliberately misled him! He looked back to the others on board and pondered how he differed from them. Which of them would die? And why? He reached for his rabbit’s foot. Richard wasn t the youngest of the immigrants, and not the only one among them orphaned by Cromwell s revolution. Nor was he the only one unwanted back home in England. In these seven weeks at sea he’d heard the others stories and complaints; that they’d been stolen from their families, or picked up from the streets where they’d been sleeping, or on the roads as they traveled. The Protector was transporting prisoners and prostitutes with beggars and wanderers. Some of the poorest died aboard the ship, sick when they signed up. Others were sick, now, and would likely die. Richard had avoided them. He didn’t like sick people. They were bad luck. He clutched the rabbit’s foot in his left hand. It was as good a rabbit’s foot as you could get a left hind foot, cut off by a cross-eyed old woman. That was one advantage he had. All sails were lowered as the Deliverance was anchored and secured by a James Town wharf. A great, dark forest encircled the distance. Heavy aromas filled the air, and the damp heat made breathing difficult. The English ship was harbored by the edge of a wilderness of unknown savagery and peril. Fear of being swallowed by the open, endless ocean was now the fear of storied beasts and wild men of the forest. The city of James Town was a stockaded village, on the up-river end of an almostisland. The masts of other ships could be seen through the woods, riding where they berthed on the back side of the peninsula. For the fortnight that the ship lay anchored by James Town, Richard stood at the rail, hungrily watching the comings and goings. His master, Francis Harper, would let none of his party except his own family venture ashore. Richard longed to stand on land again, and his curiosity about the hustling village they called a "town" was enticing, but his impatience with Harper’s edict was tempered by relief. There was plenty new to see right here.
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Becoming Americans Within his sight, life and people seemed familiar. Two men rolled a hogshead up a ramp. Smoke rose from chimneys. A small boy chased his dog down the dusty highway by the river. People went about their business as though unaware of any oddities or danger. As if theirs were natural, normal lives. So strange, to Richard. Richard studied the planters who came on board survivors searching them for clues, something they all held in common that had protected them. Richard determined not to be among the first year’s dead. He would learn the enemy. He’d find the secret. He concentrated on studying those frightened souls on board the ship and felt sorry for the folks being examined by boarding planters. He was thankful for his great advantage over those less lucky: they, like Richard, were to be indentured servants, but unlike them, Richard had known and approved his master before leaving England. Although his Uncle Edward made the arrangements with Francis Harper in advance, he’d explained the details to Richard and had taken him to meet his master and the family. Francis Harper stood over six feet tall, and his wife was a robust woman. Their son, Edward Harper, was thirteen years old, just Richard’s age, and their daughter, Evelyn, was two years younger. The family took to Richard, and the boys were soon trading strategies for dealing with the New World savages. Richard’s Uncle Edward had bargained for him with some leverage, since Edward Williams was the tobacco merchant in Bristol with whom Francis Harper would be dealing in the years to come. By providing transportation to Virginia for the family and for Richard, plus three additional servants, Harper would be given headrights to four hundred acres of land fifty acres per person arriving in the colony. In return for transportation costs and support, Richard and the others who signed indentures were Harper’s for the number of years contracted. Richard’s indenture obliged him to Harper until his twenty-first birthday. Other boys his age, according to the custom of the country, might have to work until their twenty-fourth year under less favorable conditions. Both men were satisfied with the deal. Harper had a young, energetic servant and friend for his son possibly a husband for his daughter and Edward was rid of a nephew who was becoming troublesome, unruly, and unnecessary in a household with three sons of his own. He d housed and fed the boy for the ten years since the father was killed fighting for the king. That was enough family loyalty, he thought. Richard was glad to be rid of them all and off to a great adventure. Planters came onboard to examine those men and women who were for sale. Their indentures whether forced or voluntary were with the captain, or with a merchant who specialized in the sale of servants. Those bought might be beaten, sold, or loved. Richard made note of this advantage. He had Francis Harper and a healthy Mistress Harper. He had a new friend, Edward Harper, who rarely treated him as a servant. The daughter, Evelyn was a quiet, sickly little girl whom he could take or leave alone. He’d BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans come to know the three other servants in the household and liked them well enough: a whore, a thief, and a "Robin Hayseed" from Devonshire. The mid-September sun was hot. Hotter, even, than he’d known in July back home in Bristol; and the days were longer than they were at home. But, this wasn’t England, the captain had said. Richard looked from those passengers he felt would surely die, to the rough-hewn, seasoned planters, and back. He shaded his eyes and searched for clues. An old, balding woman cried and prayed as yet another planter examined and rejected her. Richard had long since learned that tears were useless, but he wondered if maybe he should pray more often. Most of the old people were praying constantly. But God had never done him any particular favors and Richard didn’t expect God to change His attitude now. Certainly, the planters who came on board to buy servants didn’t seem to be particularly godly people. They were sinfully dark from the sun many of them as dark as the occasional Indian he saw from the ship. These men swore more profanely than he’d ever heard, and many of them came onboard drunk, obviously examining the women for more than work potential. The secret to survival was in these planters. The captain had said, "listen to the seasoned settlers and take precautions." That was the thing. After the fortnight’s berth in James Town for loading and unloading, the Deliverance weighed anchor and sailed back down the broad James River, into Hampton Roads and the Chesapeake. She headed north, following closely the western shore, then up the York River to stop briefly at plantation wharves for delivery of tools and clothing ordered by the planters from their factors in Bristol. On the fourth day Richard and his temporary family stood, spellbound, as the Deliverance neared the shore. A narrow spit of pine trees curved out and paralleled the shore, creating a small harbor. Waving marsh grasses and rigid reeds stood near the headland, where a fresh stream emptied into the little bay. A narrow, sandy beach fell from the low embankment that faced the harbor opening. Ancient oak trees near the shore leaned over, undercut by lapping waves. Pine saplings were grown thick among the charred stumps of a burnedout hardwood forest. Harper’s party was silent as the anchor splashed. Mistress Harper tugged at the skirt of her husband’s doublet and looked skyward. She knelt and clasped her hands beneath her chin. The others did the same as Harper led the prayers of thanksgiving. Richard’s prayers were long and earnest. He was determined to survive. Hogsheads of tools and iron pots and clothes were loaded aboard the small boat for ferrying ashore. Francis Harper gave the orders, now, and Richard was reassured by BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans the firmness of the commands his master issued. He made a brief, silent prayer of thanks that a man of vigor and control led their group of eight. Richard climbed into the first boat with Harper and Edward. Harper and a sailor rowed the fifty yards to shore as the boys trailed their hands in the water and searched the shoreline for wild savages. Suddenly, Edward screamed. Richard knew they’d been attacked! "What is it, Boy?" Harper dropped the oar and reached for his son. Edward held a hand to his face, searching for the source of his pain. He continued yelling as Richard turned back, looking to the ship for help. The sailor laughed and dropped his oar as the boat drifted to the little beach. Anger replaced the fear in Harper’s eyes as he whipped around. "What is it, Man? What’s happened?" he demanded of the sailor. "A jelly fish got your boy, that’s all. Thought it was a savage, did you? Well, that’s the first of your New World varmints, and its neither the last nor the worst!" The sailor chuckled as he sloshed onto the beach, pulling the boat. "Come along here, Boy," he said to Edward, and took the boy aside as Richard and Francis Harper began to unload the boat, rolling a cask to higher ground. The sailor spat tobacco onto the red welts that striped Edward’s lower arm. "That’s one lesson you’ve learned early and, I’ll wager,you’ve learned well. These warm waters are ripe with jellyfishes this time of year. So be careful if you choose to bathe. They’ll strike you where it really hurts." The sailor laughed again and Edward held his arm behind his back, now embarrassed by his scream. Mistress Harper and Evelyn followed in the next boat, and in a few more trips, eight new Virginians were landed with their worldly goods. For that day and the next, the Deliverance tugged at her anchor in the harbor Francis Harper had named Pine Haven. The captain waited while Harper and his awkward crew began work on temporary housing. Billy Forrest had been a thief. His thirty years of life on the streets of Bristol were no training for survival in this wilderness. He could deftly slip away the valuables that hid among a well-dressed person’s clothes. He’d even sold a baby he found lyingon a BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans wharf with its dead mother. For this he was nearly hanged, but for common law plea of the "rite of clergy": he could read a page from the Bible. That childhood knowledge was the only good thing he’d acquired from a priest who’d also given him the pox. Billy Forrest’s hands had never touched an ax. James Barnes "Robin Hayseed" was a man come to his reward. Richard marveled at the easy, toothless grin that could cover James s face. He was older, even, than Billy Forrest, but his thirty-five years of farming were what Harper had paid for. Barnes’s family had always been farmers. His older brother had inherited the small farm that supported the whole family until the past year. Now, his brother’s children and his brother’s new wife’s children could manage all the work alone. James Barnes was eager to start clearing land. Mary Bishop was terrified and overwhelmed. She d only recently moved to Bristol from London, and had never seen a farm before she took that trip. Her hard twenty-five years had left a toll of scars on her face, and a constant aching in her abdomen. That ache remained from horrors done her by the constable who finally released her to an agent searching servants for the colonies. Harper directed them all to work immediately, setting up a tent, unpacking the iron pots from their casks and building a good fire. Mistress Harper, Evelyn, and Mary cleared a path to the creek and began carrying water. Harper took the boys and searched for a site to build their temporary home. Early the next morning, before the sun had cleared the spit of pines, Evelyn ran, screaming, to her father as he stood pondering the woods. "Strangers!" A small ketch sailed into Pine Haven and the group gathered, waiting to see who’d come. "Welcome! Welcome!" hailed the white man in the boat, waiving both his arms. Sitting tall behind him was a nearly naked, very dark, old man whose white hair was tied into a knot above one ear. The other side of his head was shaven but for one long braid that fell to his shoulder. A fringed piece of soft leather looped over a belt and covered his lap. A tobacco pouch and a clay pipe hung around his neck. The planter jumped too eagerly from his boat, but sloshed unconcernedly to Harper with his arms outstretched.
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Becoming Americans "It’s a good day, it is! My name is Brinson Barnes. I’m your neighbor to the north," he said. "I’d heard that someone was coming for this seat of land." He embraced Harper, slapping him on the back. "Barnes? Francis Harper’s my name. Barnes. Yes, they told me in James Town that I was bordered by one Brinson Barnes." Francis Harper was not accustomed to such boisterous greetings, and was slow to recover. "My wife, Barnes," he said, then introduced his son and daughter. "Madam," Barnes said, and bowed low with sweeping gestures of his hat. "A handsome family and a strong and honest-looking bunch of servants. You’re doing England a service, Harper." The boys were intrigued by Barnes, but were fascinated by the Indian who stood by the boat. Barnes saw that most of the newcomers were staring at his Indian, and turned around. "Opeechcot, come," he said to the man. The old savage came forward slowly, giving these new white people time to watch him move; to study his face and demeanor. He’d been watching theirs. "Opeechcot is a friend. He’s been a valuable friend to me, and I know he will be to you. He’s the last of his race in these parts. His tribe, the Pamunkey, are diminished now, and they live by the Sapony Swamp at the head of the Piankatank River. This land by the Bay was his boyhood home. He works for me, now, to stay on his old land." Evelyn hid behind her mother, who instinctively reached back to shield and comfort her child. "Opee " Harper ventured. "Opeechcot," Barnes coached, and Harper said the name correctly. "Opeechcot, welcome to Pine Haven," he said. "I have heard encouraging things of your people. They are much respected by Governor Berkeley." He quickly glanced to Barnes for a reaction to the mention of the old Governor. In these days of Puritan spies, it was foolish for him to be speaking with respect of the staunch Royalist. But Barnes’s eyes sparkled and he stood taller at the mention of Governor Berkeley.
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Becoming Americans "I welcome your friendship, Barnes," Harper said. " And yours," he said to the Indian. "There is not much time," Opeechcot said. Francis looked to Barnes. "No good," Opeechcot said, and nodded to the tent. "He’s concerned about your comfort and safety in the tent," Barnes said. "Thank you, Opeechcot, but we’ve begun searching for materials for our first hut ." Francis was interrupted as the savage reached out and grabbed Richard and Edward by an arm. Both young men gasped as if they’d been shot. "Come," Opeechcot said. The boys looked to Mr. Harper who looked to Mr. Barnes. Barnes smiled. "Bring ax," Opeechcot said, and started pulling the boys towards the woods. "Mamma!" Evelyn screamed, "where is he taking Edward?" "It’s fine, Mistress Harper," Barnes said as the Indian disappeared into the woods with the boys. "We’re about to sail, Mr. Harper." A sailor walked up from the beach carrying a small cask. "The captain says that now your neighbor’s here, you’ve no need for us to waste another night. He sent you this cask of wine and his prayers." "Thank him, again, for me, Leeds. And my prayers are for you and the rest of the ship." The sailor ran back to his boat and rowed out to the ship. As Harper and Barnes discussed the immediate plans for building, and the location for privies and water supplies, the settlers watched their link with their old world head into the Bay, then north, behind the land. Evelyn quietly sniffled as she and her mother cleared the area where their hut would be. For the rest of the day the boys chopped down small trees that Opeechcot directed them to, as if the saplings had been pre-selected. Mistress Harper with Evelyn and Mary Bishop cut long hickory and willow branches, and piled them by the stacks BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans of rushes that Billy Forrest and James Barnes had collected. Harper dug holes for poles the boys had cut. Five-foot poles, each with a forked crotch at the top, were planted in the corners of a large rectangle Harper had drawn in the dirt. In the middle of both short sides of the rectangle he dug a hole and placed a longer, ten-foot crotched pole. Then long, straight poles were supported on the forked posts, and a roofing grid was tied to these, using grapevine as rope. Vertical stakes were lashed along the sides and, by nightfall, the framed building stood waiting for its walls to be woven with the willow branches and hickory strips, then to be plastered with mud. The roof would be thatched with rushes gathered from the marsh. "Brinson Barnes?" James Barnes interrupted his superiors’ conversation when he returned with an armful of rushes. "Excuse me, Sir, but the young master told me your name is Brinson Barnes. Forgive my boldness, Sir, but I’ve a kinsman in this country by the name of Brinson Barnes." The planter looked at the man, searching for features he might identify. "Who is your father, then, Man?" he asked the servant. "Nathaniel Barnes, Sir, the son of Roger Barnes of Dorset." "Old Roger Barnes! With the flaming hair and freckles? I remember him well from when I was a child! Welcome, Cousin, to Virginia!" He turned back to Harper. "You’ve the grandson of a fine man working for you, Harper. I hope he does well by our name." "So far, so good," Harper said. "The test is yet to come." "Aye, it is indeed. And what is your name, Cousin?" "James, Sir." "James Barnes. Like our uncle. Well, James, you must come to visit your cousins if your master will allow the time. How are your father and grandfather?" "Both dead, Sir." "Well, do your name honor, James, as did your father and your grandfather back at home." "I’ll try, Sir, thank you." James Barnes returned to the marsh, his face covered by the grin.
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Becoming Americans They sat back from a blazing fire that night and ate a stew that Mistress Harper made with a deer that Opeechcot had killed, and with the yams and carrots Barnes brought. They ate apples he had grown and listened to him talk of the sweet life they were to have. But the captain’s words still echoed in their ears, and they knew in their hearts that life couldn’t be as wondrously bountiful as Barnes made it sound. Still, they asked no questions that might bring depressing answers. He told them of their other neighbors, all miles away, and he told young Richard Williams that his uncle, Mister John Williams, was a well-known and respected planter in nearby Lancaster County, and that he’d see that word got to that gentleman of his young kinsman here in Gloucester County. Though there had been mention made in Bristol of another uncle, it was thought by all that he was dead. In any case, Richard had no need for a new uncle, having just escaped from one. Conversation slowed, everyone exhausted by the full day, and each dreaming of a new and happy life. Opeechcot sat by his own fire near the water. The boys heard him mumbling, and turned their attention away from the men’s conversation about the next day’s chores. As Mistress Harper collected the wooden spoons and trenchers for washing, the boys took their cue. Edward stuck a thin pole through the holes in the two long staves of a bucket. Richard grabbed the other end, and they lifted the five-gallon pail off the ground. They made it swing around in circles, over their heads, then down near the ground to slam clods of dirt, or to slap twigs into the air. As they stumbled to the water’s edge, they listened to the Indian. They didn’t understand the words they weren’t sure if the man were speaking words but he was communicating with someone or something. He made a series of sounds and then waited. Next, a brief sound came that seemed like a response to something, and then silence until the conversation was continued. The boys made the sign of the cross and spat over their shoulders. This was a whole new world of unknown evil. They filled the bucket at the shore and were carrying it back to Mistress Harper and Mary, when they felt movement in the wooden tub a scratching, scurrying beneath the water. They dropped the pole and let the bucket fall, each yelping in surprise, though Edward tried to control himself this time. Opeechcot watched and came to their side. The boys stood away, still not comfortable with the strange man who’d said almost nothing to them during the day, but knew exactly what they needed and exactly where to find it. The Indian held a burning pine knot to see the startled faces of the boys, then looked into the bucket. Their eyes widened at what they saw. Two creatures scampered BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans about the wooden container. Their hard, oval bodies had several arms on each side. Some of the arms had dangerous-looking scissors-like parts that grabbed for anything. The Indian scowled at the boys and grunted in a way they easily interpreted as disgust. With the sharp stick he’d been using to roast his venison, he speared the two creatures in the bucket and withdrew them. "Get water for women. Come to me," he said, and went back to his fire. The boys said nothing. They ran to the shore, then to Edward’s mother, then back to Opeechcot, leaving the men sitting by the fire smoking their clay pipes and drinking apple brandy Barnes had brought. "English say ’crab,’" Opeechcot said to the boys. He held the two speared animals over the fire. "I’ve seen crabs," Richard said. "But they weren’t anything like these monsters." "Always speak with respect. He can save your life," Opeechcot said, looking at the roasting crabs. He pulled them from the fire and held them out to cool. "My people have many tales of how the crab spirit saved our people. Carrying us on his broad back. Giving us a claw, then growing him another." He deftly pulled a large claw from the body of the crab. A clump of moist white meat was clinging to the end. "Eat," he said, and handed it to Edward. He pulled out a similar claw from the smaller crab and handed it to Richard in long, fleshless fingers. "Eat." Both boys hesitated, tasted the meat tentatively, then eagerly, "More!" Richard said, and Edward, "Another!" The old man grunted and showed them how to crack the claws to get the meat inside. They were still excited about the discovery when Harper called and said to prepare for bed. Tomorrow the first hut must be finished, two more started, and then the real work could begin. Francis Harper and Brinson Barnes had arrived at a plan.
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Becoming Americans Land must be cleared of thick forest before spring planting time. Tobacco needed sun and space to thrive. Harper was lucky, in that a section of about four acres of good land was going to be easy to clear. A lightening fire had destroyed most of the large hardwoods some four years earlier. The pine saplings would be easy to clear out, so he’d have a ready-made field for his first crop. But that just gave him a head start, Harper figured. If he could get by with little work, then by extra effort he could be a step ahead. So, in the days ahead, Harper worked himself and his men and boys to their limits. A tankard of beer got them to the woods again each morning, sleep still in their eyes. The pine thicket was cleared first. Lengths of the straight trunks were kept to make a stockade for the guinea fowl Barnes promised to sell Francis had to insist on paying for the birds and for a puppy that he’d promised Evelyn. Days began before the early dawn. Richard would awaken inside his hut and hear Mistress Harper stealthily collecting dew to bathe her face and neck. It was a vanity she practiced despite the desperate need for sleep she shared with the exhausted men. It’s that spirit that makes us English, Richard would remind himself and he’d stretch his aching muscles and roll over on the skins and mattress of pine boughs. He’d force open the fists that were cracked and bleeding from worn blisters. The broad ax took painful time to harden hands and muscles. All too soon, clearing of the pine thicket was a sweet memory to the boys, as they chopped at the enormous oaks and hickories to be felled. Barnes found them at this work on his next trip and convinced Harper of an easier way. Tobacco needed space and sun to thrive, but it wasn’t necessary that every tree be removed at once. Almost as effective for planting a profitable crop of tobacco, was to kill the trees by girdling them with deep gashes cut into and around the trunk. The leaves soon fell and permitted sunshine through bared limbs. When the whole tree was dead and dry, it was a simple matter to burn it down, or at least to burn it through until it fell. That was the way the Indians felled trees, whether to make a canoe or to clear land for their corn. Mistress Harper brought up another subject that night, as a chilling breeze blew dark clouds from the north. Fall and winter were the time for clearing land, she knew, but another pressing job demanded time. A more permanent home was badly needed, she said. The hut leaked, and the sandy soil didn’t make good mud for plastering the walls. Harper turned to Brinson Barnes for advice. The huge logs they’d burned were no loss. Barnes had seasoned logs for building at his plantation, he said. So many trees were felled in Virginia that everyone had their choice of wood for building. Barnes, like many others, would instruct his men at clearingBOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans time to save the tallest, or the straightest, or the rarest trees for himself. The rest were burned in fires that, with those of other planters, lit the horizon in winter months. He’d let Harper have his choice, and Harper might or might not replace them. When the harvest season ended, Barnes’s men one of them a sawyer could split Harper’s weatherboards and cut him lumber for a fee. Barnes, like most masters, let his servants work for themselves when things were slow. The sawyer would be free in two more years and would need what he could accumulate to begin an independent life. Harper would have James Barnes would go back with his kinsman when Brinson returned. James would assist in the sawing and learn something of the use of construction tools. But now, Brinson had guinea fowl and Evelyn’s puppy. When Brinson presented the fowl and a small cask of soap and a cake made by Mistress Barnes he extended an invitation for Mistress Harper to visit them as soon as possible. The men had knowledge and ideas to share, but a woman’s store of knowledge was just as essential for the well-being of her isolated group. As Mistress Harper stirred her huge pot of stew, she announced a decision. "Evelyn and I will accept the kind invitation of neighbor Barnes and his goodwife," Mistress Harper said. "Husband," Mistress Harper interrupted his protest. "There be food enough here for to last you several days. If you want variety, shoot a bird or dig some clams. If my husband and my son can work so hard from the start, I will set the example about a woman’s responsibilities. We talked of it in Bristol. There be much for me to learn from his lady, like the proper way to cook their corn and queer vegetables." She held up a gourd-shaped squash. "I can learn what are the medicines I might expect to find in the forest, and what I might grow in my garden." "What a grand surprise! Delighted! My wife will be delighted. She’s not had female company since was it Easter? I must send Opeechcot ahead to let her know!" Brinson Barnes was gleeful at the prospect for his wife, and Mistress Harper was both flattered and amused. She couldn’t imagine such excitement over the arrival of a stranger, although she’d begun to feel a sense of isolation, herself, in just the two weeks they’d been here. She felt there was much more she ought to be doing, but she didn’t know what it was. And, though Opeechcot tried to tell her things, she had a hard time understanding him, and she couldn’t help but be afraid of the nearly naked savage. She worried about Evelyn looking at his body. Barnes was pleased but somewhat taken aback by the immediate acceptance of his invitation. The ketch was fully loaded from his previous stop across the Bay in Accomack and had no room for passengers. Mistress Harper must needs be taken by canoe to his plantation. That was no problem, Harper assured him, since one of the men or boys must learn the way in order to fetch the ladies back.
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Becoming Americans She and Evelyn packed a few things for themselves, and Mistress Harper pointedly chose her finest roll of yellow satin ribbon and a paper of new pins to take to Mistress Barnes for her kindness. After sunrise, when everyone had finished a mug of beer and a large piece of fresh bread, Mistress Harper took her latticed sewing basket from the ground, and Richard carried her small chest to the canoe. James Barnes would replace Opeechcot in the ketch to receive a first lesson from his settled kinsman, and Richard Williams would row with Opeechcot in the canoe that carried Mistress Harper and Evelyn. It was a brilliant, crisp morning in early fall. A heavy dew had weighted down the grasses, and the ladies skirts were damp and dragging when they reached the shore. Evelyn was particularly chatty, and Richard considered the possibility of having to listen to her for a lifetime; he knew that their coupling was an unspoken part of the deal with Harper and his Uncle Edward. Evelyn was singing, and Mistress Harper good-naturedly admonished her, "’Sing before seven, cry before eleven.’" The ketch kept close to shore. A perfect, gentle breeze allowed the luxury of clear sailing, yet the Indian and the boy could keep pace in the sleek pirogue. Evelyn pestered her mother to be allowed to see the ribbon again. The yellow was her favorite, and she hated parting with the ribbon, even if it were to be a gift. Her mother finally relented and passed back the sewing basket. There was no time for thought or reaction when Evelyn screamed and stood in the canoe, jumping violently and tossing the basket and its contents into the air. A fat snake fell from her lap into the water. "Sit!" commanded Opeechcot, but it was too late. Evelyn and her mother fell from the rocking pirogue into the water and within seconds were pulled beneath the surface. Opeechcot dived in after them and stayed underneath for minutes, long enough for Richard to believe that he’d been left alone. He poked the water with a paddle, hoping someone would grab onto it, but all was calm except for his own thrashing. Suddenly, Opeechcot burst through the surface of the water holding Evelyn by her hair. He pulled her up and over to the boat, then with the help of Richard, eased her face-down into the hollowed log. They rowed for the nearby shore and placed her on the wet sand. Opeechcot lifted the girl aloft by her feet, and she immediately vomited and started crying. Evelyn was alive, but there was no sign of Mistress Harper. Brinson Barnes saw the commotion and tacked around to their location to wade ashore.
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Becoming Americans "My God, my God," in a lone monotone, was all that he could say. The rest were quiet, save for the sobbing girl. Richard could hear the captain’s words: "Four or five of you will be dead within a year." He looked from the dark forest to the clear sky and the blue Bay. Sunlight was a different color in the fall. This would be a beautiful day back in Bristol.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Two
For two days, all activity halted in the settlement. Guilt dominated the grief: Francis Harper’s, that he had let his wife go without him, that he had brought her to this land; Edward’s, that he had not insisted on accompanying his mother though he soon accepted that he would have been no help since he couldn’t swim, either; and Richard’s, for being helpless when, had he been able to swim, he might have saved the gentle woman. The captain had said, "Take precautions." Evelyn was consumed by guilt. Only she knew that she’d lost the shell with a hole in it, a sure amulet to protect against drowning. For the rest of that day she was hysterical until, finally, Opeechcot brought a dark brew he had concocted that calmed her and let her sleep. When she awoke, her mind centered on the snake and she would periodically scream at her memory of the surprise coiled up in the sewing basket. Any touch upon her skin would bring another scream, and when not recoiling from the horror, now, of serpents, she would remember her mother and sob, "I killed her. I killed my mother!" Brinson Barnes returned to his plantation, as planned, with his kinsman and came again the next day with his wife. They brought with them a white hen and her six chicks, which Mistress Barnes hoped would distract the girl. Mistress Barnes tried to soothe Evelyn and to be of comfort to Francis and Edward. But Francis showed a stoic face and, after two days, he told Forrest and the boys to resume the work that must be done. Edward worked in silence, though he confessed to Richard that he thought he’d cried the last tears he would ever shed. He said nothing of the mixed feeling he held towards his sister. It was the moment of her unreasoning hysteria that had killed his mother. Now the girl seemed locked in that moment, and a part of Edward wondered if that weren’t justice. But life for the rest of them had to go on and, indeed, Harper told his children, if their mother’s death was to have a meaning it must be the force for them to push ahead and prosper. He was unrelenting to his crew during the next weeks. Evelyn was a constant distraction for him at first, for she seldom relented from her self-torture. Mary Bishop, his only female servant, proved to be of little use. She’d been saved from a life of crime and degradation by authorities that’d picked her up a final time and ordered her to Virginia, but she knew nothing of housekeeping, and had no exposure to the kindness that might have helped poor Evelyn. Brinson agreed to exchange her for a seasoned female servant of his own who was well trained, but who had only two years remaining of her
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Becoming Americans service. Mary still had her full five years ahead and she was strong and healthy, if not too bright. Drusilla, the new woman, was both capable and demanding. The boys and the men soon found that any moments spared for rest were not spent within sight of Drusilla. She always had tasks that needed doing. Unhappily, though, she was of little help to Evelyn, except to keep the child sedated by the dark brew she, too, knew how to make. Opeechcot, alone, could distract the girl. Saving the child’s life had given him a sense of protective proprietorship. With the permission of Barnes and Harper he built a hogan near the settlement, and when not busy with the men or boys, he’d be seen smoking tobacco with Evelyn. She would sit by his fire smoking from his long clay pipe, then pass it back. They never spoke, though he would end their sessions by fingering her blonde hair then, placing his hand upon her head, would mumble some strange words. These times would calm her for some hours, and then Drusilla would have to give the child her drink. Their daily menu changed when Drusilla came. She made it clear to Francis that, if he expected to maintain the pace of work he was demanding of his crew if he expected, even, to survive the winter he’d best worry more about their food supplies and housing, and less about clearing more land than he could handle with a limit of strong arms. She spared no words, since she knew that he needed her right now more than he needed the men. The pine thicket that was cleared, he could consider a gift from God, she said. That, and the two acres of oaks the boys had girdled, would grow more tobacco than they could tend. Killing trees should be done in the dark of the moon, anyway. He’d best be concentrating on getting the house built before winter. Harper knew, immediately, that she was right, and he redirected energies and priorities. He instructed Billy Forrest to see that a short, temporary pier was built into Pine Haven. A pier waist-high would be enough, just past the small, breaking waves where a low shallop could tie up and unload the building supplies he’d bring back. Then he set off with Opeechcot, knowing that his son and daughter and Richard and Billy would be provided for by Drusilla. Billy and the boys worked diligently their pace had been established. A series of locust poles was pounded into the soft sand to extend thirty feet into the water at high tide. These were connected and braced with a floor on top that they constructed of split oak boards. The work was completed in four days, then Drusilla let them rest.
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Becoming Americans That night they feasted better than they’d ever eaten in their lives. Even Evelyn had come out of her stupor to participate. All afternoon Drusilla had made the child sit by the open fire and turn the iron spit that speared the chunk of venison left from Opeechcot’s last kill, four days ago. When that was done, Drusilla skewered several birds that she d trapped and cleaned and Evelyn turned the spit, watching the birds roast and drip juices. Sitting over hot coals by the fire, a large pot on legs held a boiling broth of dried corn and herbs, while in a covered saucepan a simmering secret awaited the end of their meal. Drusilla had the boys bring her baskets of the oysters they had stepped around in the water, and when the time came to eat their meal, she brushed away a dying pile of coals that lay beside the fire and uncovered a shallow hole she’d dug and lined with seaweed, covered with the oysters, then covered again with seaweed, finally covering all of that with hot coals. They ate till they could eat no more, laughing and talking, occasionally one or all would fall silent, remembering Mistress Harper, then resume the eating and laughing. When they were finished, Drusilla placed two pieces of bread on the trenchers each two of them shared, and lifted the top off of the saucepan. The aroma was like nothing they’d known. The new hen had contributed the egg, but Drusilla had collected the hickory nuts and she’d found the honey in the tulip tree. Evelyn started crying, then stopped, smiling with anticipation. Drusilla ladled her sweet sauce over the bread, and there was silence. The next noon, as Billy, Edward, and Richard sat on their new pier chewing on the remnants of the venison and talking over and over the last night’s meal, Brinson Barnes’s boat rounded the spit of land and sailed into Pine Haven towing the canoe with Opeechcot riding proudly. The boat sat very low in the water, and the three of them knew there was work ahead. The sail was lowered and the boat drifted to the pier. Billy caught the line and secured the boat. Francis stepped onto the pier and vigorously shifted his weight, checking the pier’s strength. He smiled, pleased with their work, and told them so. James Barnes had returned with the mass of weatherboards he’d split, and greeted his friends as if it had been much longer than the six weeks since they’d seen each other last. They were surprised at how healthy he looked though he’d gotten dark and he admitted to the same surprise at their appearances. After a few tankards of beer, they returned to unload the boat. Brinson Barnes had remained at his plantation, allowing Francis Harper the use of his boat in gathering supplies. Harper wanted to be swift in returning the boat, so he and his crew worked hard and quickly to unload the timber and to stack it in a convenient location. His first instruction was for them to cover the seasoned wood and prevent it from getting wet.
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Becoming Americans Harper and Opeechcot retired early that evening and, by the time the others were awake, Francis and the Indian were gone. Opeechcot was directing him to a plantation on the Piankatank River where there was a source of brick. Late the next night, Francis and Opeechcot sailed back into Pine Haven, guided by the light of Drusilla’s constant fire. A full moon lit the little pier and the two men secured the boat themselves, as Harper shouted to awaken everybody. Drusilla joined the line of men who passed the bricks one to the other into a neat pile on the high shore. Evelyn cracked nuts for them to eat while they worked, and filled and refilled their tankards with beer. As the sun rose from the Bay, making the water glisten and waking shore birds to rustle in the marsh, the boat was emptied and Harper announced to Edward and Richard that they would go with him back up the Piankatank for the second load. The old Indian could rest. He promised the boys that if they reached the plantation on the Piankatank, and could load the boat this afternoon, they’d have the entire next day, Saturday, for play and sleep. On Sunday, they would go to church. Harper was concerned that there’d been no funeral service for his wife, and he was beginning to worry that the authorities might become troublesome over the fact that none of them had attended church to date. The late October breeze invigorated them, and they followed the instructions of Harper in handling the small craft. Edward was experienced with sailing since his childhood, so Harper allowed himself an occasional nap until they approached the plantation of Cade Ware. The land was not so flat here, and the boys could see gentle hills rising in the distance. Huge oaks and walnuts and hickories edged the river. Pigs crunched on the nuts, and cattle grazed on grassy slopes. This was even richer land than where Harper had settled and they were no longer surprised that this land, though further away from the civilization at James Town, had been claimed earlier. There was activity and prosperity along the river. Edward and Richard could see men harvesting Indian corn in nearby fields. All the fields were dotted with burned-out stumps. More cattle grazed by the river. From the woods they heard the sound of more rooting hogs. A black man was cutting flax, and there came faint at first, then stronger the smell of cured tobacco. Then they saw the chimneys of the planter’s manor and out-buildings. Cade Ware was a prosperous planter and it was evident. The main house was almost thirty feet in width and sat on a brick foundation. Brick chimneys stood at either end. The cooking chimney covered almost the entire width of the house, then was recessed from the building by nearly a foot when it reached the ceiling level. The other chimney was not so wide, but was enclosed, for heat, within the house. Windows made BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans of leaded, diamond panes of glass were on either side of the heavy door, and tiny, shuttered windows in the rear and by the chimneys were made of scraped sections of horn, allowing some light into the house. Both boys knew the house they were to build wouldn’t be so grand, but it was a goal to be aimed at for one day. Smaller houses for the many servants sat away from Ware’s house. Those were particularly interesting to Harper. Francis Harper’s needs had changed since the death of his wife. He wanted better than a hut for his daughter, but he didn’t need so fine a home as he’d hoped to buildfor his wife. Not yet. A sturdy framed house of about twenty feet would be more than adequate for him, his son and daughter, and his female servant. James Barnes, Billy Forrest, and Richard could then share the hut alone. With some repairs, and the addition of a lathe and plaster chimney to the hut, they’d be sufficiently prepared for winter. With the permission of Mister Ware, he studied the construction of the houses he would copy. It was a simple plan, but one that could be completed with the men and materials he now had assembled, guided by the carpenter Mr. Ware had found for him. There was a moment of confusion and near-violence when the carpenter insisted on readjusting the price he’d charge, but Harper was in a bind, and he knew how fortunate he was to find a carpenter at all. The man this carpenter was contracted to had died, suddenly, of the flux, now making him available for Harper. As Harper finalized his agreement with Coke, the carpenter, the boys were fed by Mistress Ware. They ate by the great fireplace where a young girl was turning a pig on a spit. They ate molasses over corn pone, and large slices of pie made from dried peaches, and drank mug after mug of fresh cow’s milk. As the boys ate and looked about the room of cooking utensils and chests and tables and chairs, and tapped their feet on the first wooden floor they’d seen in months, the girl was eyeing them, particularly Richard. She was only nine or ten years old, but had a penetrating stare that he found unsettling. "You’re not from here, are you?" she asked them. "No, we’re from Gloucester County," Edward said. "That’s not what I mean," she said. "You weren’t born here, were you?" "No, of course not, " Richard said. "We were born in England." "Well, I was born here. In this house. Before it was Lancaster County, even," the little girl said grandly. "But I’m not from here right now, either. I live in Lower Norfolk County." "Where’s that?" Richard asked. BOSON BOOKS
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She looked at him as if he’d asked her where the moon was, then she laughed and jumped up, wiping her sweating hands on her apron. "Grandmother! Grandmother! They don’t even know where Lower Norfolk is!" She ran from the room to tell Mistress Ware the news of their ignorance. "Children!" Richard said with disgust, and took another gulp of milk. He was glad that Evelyn wasn’t such a foolish child. Even though this girl was a pretty little thing, she’d be a nuisance to be around. The child soon returned with reddened, downcast eyes that showed she’d been rebuked. "My grandmother says that I must apologize to you for being inhospitable. So there. I have." She sat again by the fire and turned the spit, refusing to look at them. "Let me assure you, little girl, that we paid absolutely no attention to your prattling," Richard said as they rose from the table. "So true," Edward said. "But, please thank your grandmother for her hospitality." "Boys!" Edward’s father stepped into the room. "It’s time for work," he said, and they followed him out into the late October sun. A chilling wind blew from the river, and the realization struck them again that winter was approaching. "This is what our new home will look like, Son," Harper said, and indicated the nearest of the servants’ houses. It was a sturdy frame building covered with weatherboards. There was a roof of weatherboards and the windows were of oiled paper. "We’ll have a real wood floor, though," he said, and pointing to this one of bricks set into sand. Harper was kneeling to show the boys how these sills were built on cedar pillars instead of on a brick foundation, when he fell over, unconscious. "Poppa!" Edward cried, then, "Richard, go get help." Richard ran to the house for Mistress Ware, but she was gone. The little girl ran back with him and found Harper on the ground by the corner of the servant’s house. "Stretch him out and raise his feet," she said to Edward.
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Becoming Americans He stared at her. "Stretch him out and raise his feet, I said!" She was commanding. "And you go to the dairy and get my grandmother." She pointed to a building far off from the house, and Richard obeyed at once. Mistress Ware came running back and instructed two servants and the boys to carry Harper to the house. They laid him on her bed. She held her hand to his forehead and reached to lift his eyelids when Harper opened them and looked up, startled when he realized where he was. He began to apologize, but Mistress Ware paid no attention. "You’ve no fever of any kind, I think," she said. She looked at him severely. "When did you last eat?" she demanded. Harper looked puzzled, then embarrassed. "I really don’t remember," he said. "There’s been so much work to do, and when I’m not . Since Mistress Harper died may she rest in peace my Evelyn " his voice trailed off. "Anne, bring me a bowl of that stew," she said to her granddaughter. "Mistress Ware Francis began to protest. "Harper," she interrupted. "You have work to do and tremendous responsibilities. The lives of children and other adults are in your hands. You cannot bring people to this unforgiving land and abandon your responsibilities." "But, Mistress Ware " he began, shocked at her attitude. "If you do not attend to the most basic care of yourself, you neglect the rudder of the ship. Your enterprise will perish and God will hold you responsible." She was merciless with the silence that she let fall. Anne handed her grandmother a bowl of the steaming stew that always simmered by the fire, added to and taken from each day. Harper sipped from the large wooden spoon held to his mouth, then took the spoon himself and ate. "Boys, you can find plenty to occupy yourselves with today. Edward, there’s no need to worry about your father. He will lie abed today and eat," Mistress Ware said. "Anne, do your duty to our guests. Show them the horses. Show them our crops. Pick a melon." BOSON BOOKS
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The three young people went outside. The girl led the way. "Well, since you are new and don’t know anything, I guess it doesn’t matter where we start," she said. "Then we don’t need your help, little girl," Richard said. ourselves."
"We’ll find it all
"Good idea," Edward said. "Let’s go this way." The boys turned and followed the path that ran by the river, going in the direction where the smell of tobacco came the strongest. The girl began to follow them but stopped, then stamped her slippered feet. The narrow road led to an open shed uphill from the river and a separate dock. Beneath the shed was a large machine holding a hogshead into which a large screw was pressing dried tobacco. The pleasant, dusky aroma brought smiles to the boys. They asked one of the men if they could taste a chew. This was the famous new variety that was being grown in the sandy loam found in certain parts of Lancaster and Gloucester counties. They even called it "sweet-scented" to distinguish it from the common "oronoco." Richard had tasted the sweet-scented only once before. It was rare and expensive, and he’d stolen that pinch from a drunken gentleman he’d found sleeping under a shed on the Bristol docks. Oronoco tobacco, itself, was less than forty years old. John Rolfe, the husband of Pocahontas, had developed the variety; an immediate and huge success. It had been compared with the highest quality tobacco produced in the Spanish colonies, and was named for a river in their lands. Even the Indians abandoned their harsh weed and turned to the British oronoco. Small planters were commonly called "oronookes." This new sweet-scented would make a man wealthy, but since the quality of tobacco was largely determined by the soil, sweet-scented seed planted in less than ideal soil grew no better than the rest. The boys watched the men layer the bundles of tobacco into a cask, then screw pressure to the contents of the hogshead until it was filled and weighing nearly six hundred pounds. Then the men rolled the hogshead against the one wall for protection. A row of nine hogsheads lined the wall and the boys could see that there’d be several more. Each of these hogsheads represented almost two acres of tobacco light, mild, sweet-scented tobacco. They marveled at the wealth. No wonder Mister Ware had such a fine house and furnishings.
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Becoming Americans By the time the header was placed on the last huge cask, the sun was gone and the boys were hungry again. That night Edward and Mr. Harper were to sleep in the big house, while Richard shared one of the servants’ quarters. But, after eating dinner, Edward rejoined his friend in the smaller house. Only three men shared this cabin, so it was where visiting slaves and servants slept when their masters came to visit or to conduct business with Mister Ware. The three men were garrulous and entertained the boys with stories that kept them wide-eyed through most of the night. The treat of smoking fine tobacco and of drinking punch made with rum and limes brought from the Indies reassured them that life in America would be rich and adventurous, not just the toil and shocks they’d experienced so far. The men talked of their voyages to America, each one making the other s sound trivial. A sunburned, straw-haired man, speaking with an accent that Richard figured must have come from near Scotland, told of having been arrested by Republican troops when he toasted the health of the exiled King Charles II. His ship was loaded with women that the Lord Protector’s men had seized in raids on brothels. They were being sent to Barbados where women were in great demand as breeders. With the constant threat from Dutch and French ships, the island needed to increase its white population for the militia. So, with these women, his voyage was not all bad, the man admitted, despite the storms that blew the ship off course and forced the crew and passengers to eat rats and boiled leather. One of the storytellers laughed with scorn at such an easy trip. His ship had taken the quicker, more direct route to Virginia, but had been caught in a great storm within sight of Cape Henry and was blown back out to sea. A mast was broken, some of the sails ripped away, and their rigging lost. After four weeks of drifting, in which most of the crew and all but eight of the passengers died from disease or starvation one pregnant woman had offered five pounds sterling for one half of a rat, but was refused and let to die the ship limped into Bermuda. From there the man was sent to Virginia. The other man declared that his adventure was more perilous than theirs. He had run off from his wife and signed up aboard a ship that was loaded down with youngsters who had been trepanned stolen from their families or abducted on the streets. That was now so common that it was given a new name kidnapping. The ship sailed from London and had, in fact, cleared Gravesend. While he was rejoicing in his freedom among the crying children, a ship from Cromwell’s navy had approached with some lord crying out, "I demand my son! Return my son!" The ship was stopped in the water and the gentleman came on board to retrieve his child, accompanied by the runaway s wife who believed him stolen, too. It was another year before the man could escape again, this time for good. BOSON BOOKS
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The laughter faded when the men began their tales of dark forces and evil spirits. A black cat had sucked the life from a baby’s breath in Isle of Wight County. A woman no more than five miles from this plantation had poisoned her husband and run off with a servant. A black servant who’d escaped to the Sapony Swamp was placing curses on every white man whose name she could remember. And, there was the cursed James Town-weed that drove men mad. Edward told them of the mysterious appearance of the snake in his mother’s sewing basket, and that her body had disappeared. He told them about his sister’s sudden madness. The three men looked at each other knowingly and nodded. "The Devil’s work, no doubt. No doubt. And even now look no shell or hollowed stone about your neck to ward against drowning!"
at you you’ve
"Listen, boys," one of the men said. "These woods are full of spirits known only to the red men who once lived here. These Indians know their sorcery, mind you, so be mightily careful not to let any of your personal effects fall into their hands. Be sure you burn any eyelashes that might fall out. They’ll do some awesome harm with an eyelash." "They don’t need the spirits to do their evil," the oldest among the men said. And then, for the first time, Richard and Edward heard of the massacres of 1622 and 1644. On Good Friday morning of the year 1622, while everyone was at work or planning for the celebration of Easter, the Indians turned on those who were their friends. All over the colony and at the same time of day white men, women and children were butchered. "Savages rose from the tables where they were guests, some of them, and killed friends with their own weapons! Women and children slaughtered in their homes. Men in their fields! More than three hundred of us!" "And again in ’44. They killed even more in ’44, though there were many more of us here by then," the old man said. How long had they been planning it? How had they spread the word? "They can spread word amongst themselves, all by some secret means. Infernal schemers! Don’t you boys ever forget what happened in ’22 and ’44. And don’t be mindless of their evil spirits."
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Becoming Americans Suspicions about Opeechcot returned to the boys. Had he been one of the killers? "Sunday night will be the night. All them evil spirits will be let loose by the Devil," reminded his friend. "Halloween!" Both boys spoke at once and, so, clasped each other’s little finger with his own. "I say chimney, you say smoke, then our wishes will not be broke," Richard recited. Then, "bow." To which Edward replied, "arrow." "All Hallows Eve, my boys, and there’ll be a bonfire and drinking and singing like you’ve never seen!" the oldest said.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Three
When Richard and Edward awoke the next morning, they were in a bed. The men had slept on the floor, showing the same Virginia hospitality the newcomers had heard about in England, and to which Brinson Barnes and Mister Ware were giving great example. It was a Saturday morning, when work was ordinarily slack before the free afternoon allowed for rest and play. That it was the day before All Hallows Eve provided an additional air of festivity on the plantation. Harper was feeling much better today and had been assured by his hosts that the minister, Reverend Samuel Cole, would be eager to perform a funeral oration for Mistress Harper for a price and to offer special prayers for her on Tuesday, All Souls Day. The boys were fed and feted. Richard was included in most of the entertainments offered Edward since his own uncle, John Williams, was a friend of Mister Ware’s and lived just a few miles further up the river. When their boat had been fully loaded with the bricks, and the noon meal finished, the boys were encouraged to go hunting with Old Ned, one of the men whose cabin they were sharing. Old Ned had an expensive wheel-lock gun he’d brought from England. Mister Ware was the only other man on the plantation who had one. The others had older match-lock guns, which were nearly useless for game hunting, especially for birds, since the time required for firing them allowed the game to run or fly away. The boys returned from the day’s hunt like warriors with great trophies. Both were weighted down with turkeys, sweating from the burden, and silly from the triumph and the contents of Old Ned’s flask. Anne was waiting for them. She’d been impatiently waiting for hours to see them. When Old Ned emerged from the woods onto the path that ran beside the cornfield, she dropped her sewing and ran to greet the boys. She couldn’t hide her excitement and her admiration for the hunters. "I love turkey!" she said. "I’m going to save the feathers and make something. Would you like a duster, Richard? Or a fan? I’ll make you a fan, to stir the air and keep off the flies! That’s what I’ll do! Did you shoot them all, Richard? I bet you did." She ran ahead of them and twirled around.
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Becoming Americans "Isn’t this a pretty dress? I have a new one for church tomorrow." "What’s wrong with her?" Edward asked his companion. "What would you do with a duster? Or a fan?" "I can make a turkey-wing broom. They’re the best thing for sweeping off the hearth!" She was grinning up at Richard. "That sounds good," Richard said. "I think I’d like a little broom." His chest was swelling like a turkey cock’s. "What in God’s name do you want with a broom?" Edward asked. "I’ll not be refusing the graciousness of our hosts’ offers," Richard said. Edward was confused and looked from the silly little girl to his friend. Rum does different things to different people, he thought. But, rum did the same to both of them that day and, soon after eating before they’d even smoked a pipe both boys were asleep. Richard was the first awake, before the sun was up. There was no movement outside; the chickens were still quiet. He lay motionless in the bed, listening to Edward’s breathing and an occasional snore from Old Ned, across the room. He hadn’t known, back home, that life could be so good. The openness, the aromatic trees, the air, the food. The excitement and adventure of everything new. The freedom. The possibilities! There were times he missed his friends in Bristol. There were times he missed his Uncle Edward and his cousins, even. But he could make a life here that would be impossible for him in Bristol. Even a servant, here, could become rich. Old Ned had told them how Mister Ware had made his fortune on his own after coming to Virginia as an indentured servant over twenty years ago. Now, he was a wealthy and respected man whose sons were in school at Oxford. His daughter’s wedding had cost two thousand pounds of tobacco! That very idea was staggering to Richard. The little girl Anne Biggs was her name, he’d been told was the child of Mister Ware’s daughter. Her mother had died at Anne’s birth, and the child traveled back and forth from her father’s plantation in Lower Norfolk County the southeastern part of Virginia, Richard had learned to her grandfather’s plantation, here on the Piankatank. Richard felt sorry for her when he heard of that. He d never known his mother, either. He knew well what it was like to be passed around. BOSON BOOKS
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The girl liked him. He knew that and he wondered, why? She seemed to like him more than she did Edward. True, he was taller than Edward was, and he filled out his shirt more than Edward did, but he was just big for his age. His friend was catching up fast, and Edward would have a big head start on him in property and position. But, for now, Richard at least was taller, and he figured, probably he was better-looking, too. Anne was a pretty little girl. She was just a little girl, but she wouldn’t always be. He’d be smart to let her keep on liking him. You never know, he thought, one day . Richard slowly got out of bed so as not to awaken Edward. He picked up his shoes and sneaked out of the house. He ran to the edge of the woods and relieved himself, then walked to the river and jumped in. He still had blood underneath his fingernails from the deer he’d killed the week before, and he knew his body smelled. It never used to occur to him that he smelled bad, but in the last year, as changes had taken place all over him, that had changed too. He stripped off his stockings and breeches and his shirt and stepped into the river. It was much colder than he’d expected. He wondered if it weren’t dangerous to get his whole body wet, but it was a chance he’d have to take. He couldn’t wear the new suit with blood under his nails and his body stinking like a wet dog. He held his breath and grabbed his nose before ducking under the water completely. Then he shook his head and rubbed his hair in the water in case there was blood in it. He scrubbed his body with his hands and when he saw that they were clean, he climbed back up on the bank. He stood there shuddering, trying to dry himself with his shirt, but finally gave up and stepped back into his stockings and breeches to run back to the house. As Edward and the men stirred in their final minutes of sleep, Richard fed the fire and sat. He was glad Harper had warned them about going to church. Richard brought the new suit of clothes his Uncle Edward bought for him. He warmed himself and ran his fingers through his hair, hoping it would dry before they all woke up with questions. The dark hair fell in damp ringlets to his shoulders. He had in his possession a blond curl, clipped from his head when he was a child. He’d asked about that once, wondering how it could be so, since he could only remember having dark hair. It was in his family, he was told. They all started out as blond, tow-headed children whose hair darkened as they aged. It was another of God’s mysteries how the body changed. There was dark hair appearing now above his lip and on his chin. He had hair beneath his arms and it was growing around his privates. Anne wouldn’t always be a little girl, just like he wasn’t a little boy anymore. He wondered if she liked his blue eyes. He wondered what color her eyes were. BOSON BOOKS
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Edward had sat up in the bed and was staring at him. "What’s wrong with you?" Edward asked him. "I got cold, so I put some wood on the coals to get the fire going," Richard said. "You look different," Edward said. "That’s a strange thing to say," Richard said, pretending to be offended. "What have you been doing?" Edward was sure something was up. "I took a piss and got some wood! That troubles you?" offensive. Did getting clean make him look so different?
Richard took the
Edward lay back down. "I think I’m sick," he said. "Forget that. We’ve got to go to church. But, more important, it’s Halloween!" "Halloween!" Edward echoed him, and sat up in bed. "What are we going to do?" "I don’t know," Richard said, "but it should be big. Who knows when we’ll be back? We return to Pine Haven tomorrow." "Something big." Edward started thinking. Richard opened the small chest, which held the change of clothes Harper had told them to bring. "Go throw some water on your face, we’ve got to dress for church," he said to Edward. Edward groaned, but got out of bed and followed the suggestion. Old Ned and the two other men were awake. "You boys missed a fine Saturday night, I tell you," Old Ned said. "We’ll not miss this night, I warrant," Richard said. He felt foolish for drinking so much rum in the hot afternoon that he’d missed a good night’s revelry.
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Becoming Americans "Aye, it’s All Hallows Eve. We’ll catch the Devil by his tail tonight, we will!" Old Ned was then up and about. He hurried the men down to the river in order to ready Mister Ware’s shallop for the short sail to church. Richard was glad to be alone in the cabin. He lifted the lid of the chest and pulled out the suit that he d placed on top of Edward’s. The blue wool was soft and luxurious. He held the doublet in front of him. It was so short it looked like a child’s. It wouldn’t reach his navel. It was the latest fashion. A row of small, round buttons ran from the tiny skirt that ringed the bottom of the doublet, to the high, close neck. There were small ribbon-loops inside the shoulder holes for attaching sleeves, but Richard hadn’t wanted sleeves. He held up the shirt. That was why he hadn’t wanted sleeves. The shirt was of the finest, whitest linen Uncle Edward could find. Wide, lace cuffs matched the edging of the square linen collar that would fall to his shoulders and across the top buttons of his doublet. He’d leave the lower five unbuttoned to let the shirt billow out between the doublet and breeches. He lay the falling band collar on top of the doublet. That would go on last. He hurried now. He wanted to be dressed before the others returned. He slipped the new shirt on top of the long, colorless under-shirt he wore. He pulled the breeches from the chest and held them out for a quick look before stepping into them. All around the waist were ribbon loops that hung like a coarse, silken fringe. The breeches were gathered into dozens of pleats at the waistband and flared out at the knees like a full skirt. The cream-colored lining fell to the knees an inch below the hem, like a petticoat. Clumps of ribbons fell by the side of the knees. He pulled his embroidered stocking to the knees and rolled them over his garters of matching ribbons. He put on his leather shoes with the high heels and the shoe roses on top that were made of more blue-ribbon loops. Richard was tying the falling band around his neck when Edward came back into the cabin. Edward stood in the doorway, his mouth agape. "You didn’t tell me," was all that Edward could say. "Tell you what?" Richard tried to sound surprised by his friend’s reaction. "You didn’t tell me," Edward said.
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Becoming Americans "Will they let you?" he finally asked. Then he became excited by his friend’s daring to dress in clothes so far above his station. "The old folks and the minister! They re going to have fits when they see you! You look like a duke! I wager Mister Ware’s sons don’t have a suit between them that will match it!" He walked up to Richard and touched the fine wool. "Where did you get it?" he finally asked. "Uncle Edward bought it for me before we left, telling me to be sure everyone knew he was sufficiently successful to afford it. He wants more planters to use him as their agent in England." "Father will " Edward began. "I hope your father won’t be too upset with me because, to tell the truth, I’ve nothing else to wear but the other dirty set of work clothes he gave me." Richard didn’t want to anger Harper, but he was proud of the suit and he wanted to wear it. One of the men who lived in the cabin stepped inside and saw the boys. "I thought you were the young master!" he said to Edward. "I am the young master!" Edward said defensively. "Of course, he is," Richard said, grinning. Edward rode to the church aboard the shallop with his father and the Ware family. Richard rode in a long canoe that carried four other servants as well as the two men rowing. A procession of other canoes followed, bringing all of the plantation s workers who were not sick. The day would bring people from miles around for two days of preaching and playing. With All Saints Day falling on a Monday this year, most planters in the area were taking advantage of the two holy days for an extra harvest celebration. It had been a good year and, with the relaxation of immigration laws, new labor was flowing into the country at an unprecedented rate. With the help of God, next year would be even better. Nearly two dozen canoes and shallops were floating by the riverbank or tied to the small pier in front of the church. The frame building was new, but temporary. It had been hastily built when times were not so good as now. The Lancaster parish was even looking for a second minister, Old Ned told Richard Mister Ware was a member of the vestry and they should be getting one, soon. Reverend Cole shared his ministry with BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans the Chapel of Ease in the northern part of the county. There were only ten ministers for the fifty parishes in the colony, but Lancaster parish had no trouble in keeping a pastor in the pulpit. Word had reached England about the "sweet-scented parishes." Every minister was paid the same four thousand pounds of tobacco in cask but if you were the minister of a parish that grew the expensive, sweet-scented tobacco . Soon they would build a fine brick church. Not everyone was happy about this clerical prosperity. "If it won’t for the sweet-scented," Old Ned told him, "the people here would be allowed to sin in peace, like most everybody else in Virginia." Not only were there just ten ministers for the fifty parishes, their bishop, the Bishop of London, allowed them to use the old Book of Common Prayer instead of the new, official one issued under the Commonwealth. That was another surprise to Richard, because people were severely punished for using the Old Book in England. The Lord Protector’s puritanical Church let the Virginians keep their Prayer Book, and was generally tolerant of their Anglican and Royalist leanings. In return, the colonists got little support from the Church of England they lacked ministers and they had no local bishop to guide and nurture their spiritual welfare. "Thank God for small favors," Old Ned added. "The last thing we need is a bishop and a herd of priests. It’s the men of God arguing with each other what’s made England a land of orphans these fifteen years!" Richard knew that well enough. The wind was blowing cold today and he kept his full cloak wrapped around himself for warmth. He stepped onto the riverbank and wandered off from Old Ned and his friends. He saw Edward and Harper standing on the deck of Mister Ware’s boat, being introduced to Ware’s neighbors. He turned away so that he wouldn’t be seen and have to confront Harper in his new clothes. Richard was uncomfortable about looking finer than his master’s family. It would embarrass Harper if people knew. Richard walked to the other side of the church. Small groups had gathered, sheltered from the wind and warmed by bright sunlight. The sight was stunning to him. Silks and satins and jewelry glittered. Cloaks were discarded altogether, or rakishly thrown over one shoulder "Like a ruffian," Uncle Edward used to say. Everyone was on display. It was much more colorful and gay than the church crowds Richard was used to in Bristol. Freed from the heavy oversight of severe church officials, Virginia congregations used the opportunity of gathering together to act their finest, most elegant and mannered. Many of the planters came from prosperous families in England. Most of them still viewed life in the colonies as a temporary thing, intending to remain here long BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans enough to secure their fortunes, then to return home in style. Sundays were an occasion to remind themselves, and others, of their origin, of their place in society, their social standing. Richard strolled slowly past the clusters of people who were chatting and laughing and admiring each other. Some of the women were so beautiful that he stopped and stared until he realized what he was doing, then he looked away and walked on. Their dresses were bright colors. Some skirts were lifted and secured high on the sides to reveal embroidered petticoats. Necklines were low and rounded, revealing hints of soft flesh. Their sleeves full and puffed fell to just below the elbows. Sunlight flashed from the gold and silver adorning a few of the ladies and hanging from the ears of some men. Sunlight flashed from the handles of men’s swords. Two gentlemen wore jeweled buckles on their shoes. Richard removed his cloak and held it over one arm, pretending to be looking for someone as he walked through the crowd, smiling as he passed. He soon sensed that he was being watched, and stepped behind a tree, suddenly afraid that one of the gentlemen or gentry would come to reprimand him for his costume. But instead, he saw that young women from two different groups had edged forward so that he was no longer hidden. And then he knew that the stares were not those of accusation, but of admiration. He pretended to be pensive, studying an unfamiliar nut he picked up off the ground. He walked again, nervously at first, then with feigned confidence, imitating the swagger he’d noticed in the young gentlemen of Bristol. "Too beautiful for words." Richard whipped around, humiliated by the public confrontation. It was the girl, Anne Biggs, who spoke. Her words were mocking him, but her eyes were not. "Thank you, Anne Biggs. It’s nothing, really ." "Who are you?" the little girl asked. "You’re not Master Harper’s servant. Who are you, in truth?" "Indeed, I am his willing and obedient servant until I reach my maturity. M y family are not paupers, though, and my Uncle Edward a wealthy factor in Bristol saw no reason to pretend otherwise. I’m here to make my fortune, like your grandfather." The little girl looked at him, studying him and his clothes. "But for now you’re just a servant? What makes you think you’ll live until you’re twenty-one. Most newcomers don’t, you know."
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Becoming Americans "What has that to do with me? newcomers, do you Little Miss?"
You don’t place me with the rest of the
Richard looked into her eyes, smiling at her obvious interest in him, and intrigued by his own fascination with her arrogant manner. "I think you shall learn to know your place, Servant Boy. My father would whip you if you were his. I would ask him to!" Anne walked on, as if she’d only paused to inspect a curiosity. Richard turned away and caught the eyes of people looking at him. Blood rushed to his face and then it drained. He turned back and saw Anne speaking in whispers to another little girl. He reached for his rabbit’s foot. Her lovely dress was the same blue as his suit. The very same blue. Maybe the material had come from the same bolt of cloth! It was an omen. An undoubted omen of his future. Had she noticed? He hadn’t even told her how remarkably lovely she was. The bud of a lush flower in the wilderness. They were intended for each other, it was clear. This omen. Now. In the churchyard. It was God’s plan. It couldn’t be clearer. She was still a child and he not much more, but it was in God’s mind. The congregation drifted into the church. Richard waited to enter and to sit with Old Ned. He stood out among the servants in their rough kersy breeches and leather buff coats. Others in the back were nudging each other and pointing him out with questions on their faces. But Richard’s eyes were focused on a box of pews near the front, where Mister Ware sat with his family and guests. Edward looked back to find him and smiled a greeting. But Richard’s gaze was locked on the blue dress and the beautiful little girl he would make his bride. She would have a handsome dowry, of course, and Richard would have, somehow, earned enough to buy servants and a plantation. They would have a brick house as large larger than Mister Ware’s, and they would entertain guests from all over the colony. His Uncle Edward and his cousins would visit from England and be jealous of his wealth and beautiful wife. He would be called "Mister," and be chosen to serve on the vestry of the church. He’d have horses and a boat a large shallop. He’d let Edward borrow it sometimes, because Edward wouldn’t be as rich as he. And then the service was over. Richard hadn’t heard a word, but he’d planned the rest of his life. He could see it all. The chatting congregation filed outside, and Richard went to the lucky spot where Anne had approached him. He made a wish. He wished that he would always be as happy as he was today. BOSON BOOKS
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"Richard! They’ve got horse races this afternoon and Father said we could go with Old Ned after we eat!" "On Sunday?" Richard told Edward that he must be wrong. "It’s true, Richard! Things are different here. Did you notice they used the Old Prayer Book, even!" Horse racing on Sunday? He’d heard that in the days of King James, Sunday games were encouraged, and that Sunday had been the best day of the week until Oliver Cromwell and the Puritans had won England. Lancaster County was a long way from London. "I’ll find you after I eat," Edward said, and went back to the area of tables reserved for the planters. The tables of food for the servants and slaves were as laden, and nearly as elaborate, as those for the masters. Richard had never seen so much food, and on another day he would have tried some of everything, but he was too excited to do more than chew on a turkey leg. He felt self-conscious again, as he became aware of the other servants watching him. "I heard Anne Biggs tell her grandmother that he comes from moneyed people in Bristol." Richard heard a servant woman talking to another. He was proud again, and even more certain, now, that Anne Biggs would grow up to be his own. "Richard," the voice was low, almost sad. standing by his side.
He turned to see Francis Harper
"Yes, Sir," Richard said, and held the turkey leg by his side. "You’re to return at once with Mister Ware’s, Tully. I’m most disappointed in you, Richard." Harper returned to where his hosts stood with a forlorn Edward. At least his master hadn’t made a public scene. That was all that Richard could think of. He’d expected something; this wasn’t so bad. He hated to miss the races, but there’d be others. He just had to get to the canoe without being noticed. Most of these people wouldn’t know they’d simply remember a handsome gallant but had she seen? He turned to find that Anne and her friends were sucking on oranges and playing with a little dog. He hurried to the waterside.
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Becoming Americans The man, Tully, hardly spoke as he rowed downstream to the Ware plantation. Richard helped him pull the canoe ashore, then Tully went to his cabin and his ailing wife and child. Richard was alone on the huge plantation. He’d never felt so alone before. He heard a baby crying and a dog was barking in the woods, but he saw no one. He went to the cabin where he’d slept and took off his doublet and breeches. Tully had splashed water as he rowed, so Richard laid his wet breeches on the bed to dry. Then he put on the work clothes he’d worn when he arrived. Old Ned’s jug of rum sat in a corner of the room. Richard hesitated for a moment then went to the jug and half-filled a flagon that was beside it. He was nearly made sick with a first gulp, so then took smaller sips. He took the flagon and stepped outside, down to the shed where the hogsheads of tobacco were lined up. He leaned against the handle of the giant screw press and pictured the process that would occur here in the next week or so. A ship as big as the one that brought them to Virginia would dock at the pier in front of him. Goods that Mister Ware had ordered from his factor in England would be unloaded and, in exchange, the hogsheads of tobacco would be rolled from the shed after an official weighing onto the ship. When the tobacco arrived in England, Mister Ware’s factor would credit his account with the value. Richard wondered if his Uncle Edward were Mister’s factor in Bristol. The new suit had made opposite the desired impression. Richard sipped his rum and looked at the giant hogsheads. He moved to inspect them. They were poorly made, and tobacco poked out from between uneven, loose staves. He tore off some leaves and stuffed them inside his sleeve to smoke or chew later. He could make better hogsheads than these himself, he thought. His best friend in Bristol was apprenticed to a cooper. Richard had spent many hours watching his friend plane staves, or struggle with them in the setting-up hoop, even making the dowels that held the pieces together for the head. These hogsheads were just thrown together. Richard sipped the rum. It was Sunday, but it was Halloween, too. Surely, his master wouldn’t keep him from celebrating tonight. Richard was looking forward to tonight. He wanted noise and laughing people, contests, food and tricks. He should use this time alone to devise a surprise! Everyone played fun on Halloween. Perhaps he could repair some of today’s embarrassment. Anne would be impressed. He sipped the rum. These hogsheads were dangerous, even. Richard unhooked his sleeve from a broken hoop. The huge barrel was coming apart. Pressed tobacco from inside, and the arching green staves were pushing it open. BOSON BOOKS
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Richard looked at the other packed casks. Several hoops were splitting and about to break apart. The hogshead would never make it through the transit back to England, if they made it aboard ship. He pulled at a hoop with his hands, but it held. He found a wedge of iron by the ramp and forced it between the hoop and a stave. A slight tapping on the wedge forced the wooden circle to snap with a sharp noise that Richard found exciting. He sipped from the flagon. The next cask required harder tapping with the wedge but gave a louder retort. The remaining faulty hogsheads were more or less easy, and by the time Richard had popped all the splitting hoops, he had also emptied the flagon. He sat on the edge of the shed floor, dangling his feet. He squinted at the river as the sun settled down towards it. He leaned his head back against the corner post. How lucky for him to have noticed the poor hogsheads. When he reported this, Harper would reflect the glory of Richard’s discovery. Mister Ware would be delivered from potential disaster and Richard would be honored before young Anne Biggs. When he awoke, it was dark for but a distant bonfire and the torch held to his face by Harper. "Richard! Richard!" Edward was shaking him. Richard forced his eyes to stay open, and tried to concentrate. "Edward . I did it again! The slept through the celebration?
rum .
Is it over? Is Halloween over?" Had he
"We were getting worried about you," Edward said. It grew darker as Harper moved the torch toward the hogsheads he now noticed. "Did you do this?" he demanded of Richard. Richard was not yet awake. "The broken hogsheads! Did you do that?" Harper’s anger was rising.
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Becoming Americans Richard turned to see most of the casks in mid-collapse. The unseasoned staves had forced apart the hoops, uneven staves had slipped out, then others fallen. Tobacco now spilled onto the floor of the shed. "It was the hoops " Richard started to explain. "I’ll sell you!" Harper shouted. "I’ll beat you to near death, or I’ll sell you!" "Father ." Edward tried. "Your Uncle Edward Williams will hear of this! Do you realize how much time will be added to your indenture to repay me for the costs of this deed? You’ll be swinging my broad ax for the rest of your life! Vain and arrogant. Evil! The Devil is in you, Boy." Harper’s open hand slammed against Richard’s head, then hit again. Richard held his breath. He’d not known such fury could come from Francis Harper. He made no attempt to defend himself, to point out that this seeming destruction was, indeed, a blessing for Mister Ware. "Go to your sleeping cabin! You will be summoned." Richard returned, and waited in the dark, listening to the shouts and laughter from around the roaring, distant, mid-night bonfire. "Father will see you now." Edward stood in the doorway. His lighted candle threw deep shadows across his face. His eyes were wide with fear and anticipation. Francis Harper and Mister Ware were flanking the parlor fireplace when the boys entered. Harper dismissed his son and Richard stood alone before them. Their faces were drawn tight with the serious situation, and red with the long day’s festivities of food and drink. "Richard." Harper spoke calmly now. "Mister Ware and I have inspected the damage you inflicted on his property. It is serious and you will be punished accordingly. It falls to me to make good the damage. The court will add that to your contract of indenture. At Mister Ware’s suggestion, I have decided to allow the vestry to decide your punishment. You will face them after the All Saints’ Day service tomorrow. And, Boy, best begin your prayers this night, for you will be in agony tomorrow night." Richard remembered Harper’s rage and he remembered the beatings he had witnessed when his apprentice friends had angered their masters. Mister Ware spoke now. BOSON BOOKS
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"It puzzles me, Boy, how you think. God has blessed you with advantages. You were not plucked from the streets, nor from Bridewell hospital, nor the jails of London like so many of our servants. You come from a meritorious family. God has brought you to this wondrous country of opportunity. I, and my family, have shown you the hospitality and generosity you can expect in this land. You respond to us with a childish prank of willful destruction. I know not how you think. Surely, you do think?" "Sir, I do," Richard blurted out. "But I didn’t think the hogsheads would explode tonight. It was consideration of your good that led me to my action! The hogsheads were poorly made, Mister Ware. The staves were green and uneven. The hoops were made of a softwood, not hickory or ash, like they should have been. The hogsheads and your beautiful tobacco would have been destroyed before they left the Chesapeake!" "Your impudence will only warrant additional punishment! to Harper s voice.
Anger had returned
But, Sir, I could not have busted the hoops had they been . If you had suspicions you could have told Old Ned, or spoken to your master, here. Mr. Ware sounded less angry than curious. There was no one here, and I Richard began. And you were drunk, again, with our host s rum? Harper s anger had returned in force. You were angered by me sending you from the churchyard, and this was an opportunity for mischief! Don t try deceiving us, Boy! Mister Ware would not have slack coopers! Harper stepped forward and boxed Richard s ears. Richard did not protest. He waited silently as the ringing in his ears subsided. How do you know to say this about my casks, Boy? Mister Ware asked calmly. Most of my days, before coming to Virginia, were spent with my friend who is apprenticed to a cooper. I couldn t help but learn some basic things. And when my sleeve caught on a hoop, and I looked closer at the hogsheads, it was obvious that they wouldn t hold. I was amazed that on such a grand plantation as yours, Sir, that such workmanship would be allowed. Mr. Ware needed to know that his was the real responsibility for the shoddy casks. It was Ware s tobacco in Ware s hogsheads! Harper boxed his ears again.
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Becoming Americans How dare you criticize our host! Enough for this evening, Harper, Mr. Ware said. the morning light.
We will pursue the matter in
Return to your quarters, Harper said. Richard stumbled back to his dark cabin and sat on the bed. He replaced his suit in the chest, then went to the corner and felt for Old Ned s jug of rum. It was gone, no doubt, to the fireside revelry; being passed around. A fusillade of muskets and other firing guns exploded, frightening away the evil spirits that the Devil loosed on this night. Richard feared for the morrow. He undressed and knelt by the bed. His prayers were long and earnest. When he d finished, he felt for his rabbit s foot and climbed into the bed. A crowing rooster brought him back. Old Ned was snoring, but the third bed was empty. The morning had arrived so quickly! What would he do? How could be he prepared? He must make a plan. Penitent and innocent. Both. Penitent and innocent. That s what he d show them. And that s how he felt. He d apologize for not reporting the stretched and splitting hoops instead of breaking them. He d apologize for getting drunk. And he d tell Francis Harper about the suit; that it was Uncle Edward s parting gift. He d admit to vanity he d admit to that but he d not intended to embarrass Harper. He d look humble, wearing his work breeches. He d . His clothes weren t on the floor where he dropped them when he d undressed. He looked about the dimly lighted room and knew that they were missing. He scampered to the chest and opened it to find only his fine blue suit and linen shirt. Someone had stolen or hidden his clothes. A trick, to make him wear the new suit again today. To force him into renewed embarrassment and shame at a time when humility was called for. It would look like defiance! Old Ned turned in his bed. A rooster lets no one sleep. Old Ned muttered and coughed the cough of one who’d concentrated on pipe and tankard for most of two days and nights. "Old Ned! My clothes! Where are they? I’m sorry I drank from your rum, but I need my breeches and shirt. Old Ned!" BOSON BOOKS
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The old man opened his eyes for a moment, then closed them again. He made no sign of understanding what the problem was. "Damn you, Boy, for waking me. I’m not to speak with you. Only to say that I’m to take you to church myself. And damn you for that." Old Ned rolled back over. Richard lay back on his bed. Maybe, if he hadn’t fought so much with his cousins, Uncle Edward wouldn’t have sent him to this place. No! He’d wanted to come. He was glad to be in Virginia! Yesterday’s dream might be gone, but he’d soon have another. Edward stepped into the cabin. Surprising Richard, Edward looked stern, and he spoke in a loud voice. "Father says for you to fetch Old Ned’s breakfast, and for you to row the boat to church yourself." He shut the door behind himself, turning back into the morning haze. Richard dressed hurriedly in his blue breeches and doublet and tied the ribbons of his shoes. He ran to the kitchen cabin where female servants lived who fed the single men. He was given tankards of ale and a piece of corn pone for himself and Old Ned. Ale splashed on his linen cuffs as he rushed back to the cabin. He silently offered the ale and bread to the man. But then, he had to speak. "I didn’t do it, you know, Old Ned. Not like it looks, I didn’t." The man tipped his tankard. "Was there a good bonfire, then?" Richard asked. "Were there games of chance?" Old Ned chewed the pone and looked away. "Aye, we’re betting on the number of lashes you’ll receive," he said. Richard left the cabin and went to the river’s edge. He must prepare himself to go through this with dignity. He could at least do that, he thought. The tide was going out as he rowed against it, upstream to church. God was starting the punishment early.
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Becoming Americans They were among the very first arriving to the churchyard, and Old Ned told him that he was to proceed inside and take his place at the rear of the church. He would be alone with God to consider his sins, and he would forego the social aspects of the day. The church was dark and damp. Oiled-paper windows let in very little light, and the dirt floor, though protected from the rain, was dank and pitted with wormholes. He heard mice chewing on a bench. A black snake slithered underneath the wall. He tried to be remorseful. He remembered the words he’d heard all his life; that God was good, that God was love. Yet, all he’d seen of God’s influence in life’s daily affairs and the workings of men’s minds and actions still left him wondering. What had he done to warrant the treatment he was about to receive? Was God so angry about the blue suit? Or, was it the rum he took? Or, maybe that he hadn’t told someone about the brads? God had no sense of humor, he did know that. Gathering voices outside talked about the night before. Men compared stories of the tricks they’d pulled, or of the wenches they’d been with, or of how their heads had never ached so badly. He heard the rumor of a visiting servant to the Ware plantation who had broken into Ware’s house to steal his good wine then had destroyed Ware’sentire tobacco crop, all casked and weighed for shipping. The church door opened and Richard fell to his knees, assuming the posture of penitence and supplication. As the parishioners entered the sanctuary he modestly returned to his seat, looking downward but towards the aisle. He was the subject of muttered comments and giggles as the benches were filled by people returning to the seats they’d held the day before. Anne Biggs entered with her grandfather and grandmother and with Francis and Edward Harper. No one seemed to notice him, and Richard was relieved to be spared the looks of recrimination, especially from Anne. The minister entered in procession and began the service. Soon there were muffled snores about the room. Two babies cried, awaiting their baptismal services. Richard’s thoughts lamented his own fate except when his eyes drifted to Anne and her family. For the first time he noticed a stranger sitting on the bench with the Ware family and the Harpers. He was an old man for Virginia, maybe fifty. His clothes were fine and expensive, though dated. His doublet was high-waisted and tied with a wide sash; the sleeves were deeply slashed for a protruding shirt. Richard could see long, narrow breeches far below the knees that were fastened with visible buttons. His collar and his cuffs were edged with plain lace. Strangest of all, the man looked oddly familiar. So much so, that Richard’s attention was briefly diverted from Anne and his own problems.
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Becoming Americans "And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, What are these which are arrayed in white robes? And whence came they?" The minister read the Epistle of All Saints’ Day and Richard again became selfconscious of his suit. "Who is the boy arrayed in the blue suit? And whence came he?" Richard knew what they were thinking. He caught a side-glance from Anne, and he thought he saw his friend Edward smiling. The services were brief. The congregation and the minister shared the morningafter pain, and Reverend Cole was eager to anoint the babes and collect his fees in rich, sweet-scented pounds. The procession left the church. The congregation again filed out as Richard felt their stares. He waited until Francis Harper came and led him in silence to a row of men seated on a bench beneath an ancient, spreading oak. The minister and Mister Ware sat with three other men, one of them the stranger Richard had noticed with the family. He knew these men were of the vestry and they were waiting to consider his actions and to decide his fate. Harper was the first to speak. His shame for the misdeeds of his servant was profound. His shame was doubled, he told the men, for he bore the humiliation that his wife God rest her soul would have felt. She, in whose memory the Reverend Cole would offer words on the morrow, All Souls Day. "May she rest in peace," said the minister. "God rest her," said Mister Ware. "God rest her soul," said Richard. "My servant has done grievous damage to the fortune of Mister Ware, to whom we are so greatly indebted." Francis Harper was interrupted. "The facts are these, gentlemen and Reverend Cole," Mister Ware began. "Upon returning from our day of worship and communion yesterday, we found the lad drunk to the gills with rum beside some broken hogsheads of my sweet-scented. Hoop brads had been sundered, and the casks expelled their contents onto the floor of my shed."
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Becoming Americans "The brads were faulty!" defense.
Richard surprised himself with his explosive self-
"Quiet, Boy!" said Reverend Cole. "And how came you to be wearing such apparel? Your arrogance and your vanity are condemnatory in themselves!" "He came by both traits honestly." The stranger with Mister Ware spoke. "They were traits of his father." "Sir!" Richard protested with shock and heat. He crossed himself and reached for his rabbit s foot. The odd familiarity of the stranger was frightening. "As was the trait of honesty," the man went on. "His father and his father’s brothers cling to honesty with a pride so fierce it begs forgiveness from Our Lord." "We know that to be so of you, Mister Williams," the minister said. "The boy is my nephew," John Williams said. Mister Ware regained the men’s attention. "At the request of my honored friend, Mister John Williams, I have investigated the situation and have satisfied myself that the boy spoke truth. The hogsheads yet to be pressed are weak. That was clear on close inspection. The boy was right; my entire crop would have been lost. I am in his debt." Richard looked at the man who was his Uncle John. Uncle Edward had spoken of an estranged brother who had left for Saint Christopher Island in the Indies when Richard’s father was still a boy. An Uncle John who if alive now lived in the Virginia colony. The brothers had argued over some religious fine points during the reign of the late King Charles. The name, John Williams, was now rarely spoken in the Bristol household. Cade Ware continued. "Intemperance in the heat felled my cooper in July. His new apprentice was left to complete the casks begun. Your boy, here, was right, too, with his impertinent implication that the fault was mine for not insuring ." "The boy is impertinent," Harper repeated. "Vanity and arrogance," Reverend Cole repeated himself.
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Becoming Americans "He saved my crop and will be rewarded." Mister Ware made it clear that the discussion had ended. "Sir, my reward would be your forgiveness of my arrogance and impertinence," Richard said to Mister Ware. He turned to Harper. "And if you could forgive my seeming vanity in apparel. It was the suit my Uncle Edward gave me for church functions ." "And to advertise his wealth, no doubt," John Williams added. "My brother has never been ashamed to show his wealth." He smoothed the fabric of his old, high-waisted suit. Richard turned and took his uncle’s hand as he knelt before him. "My dear Uncle. God has rewarded me with you, even in my sinful state." The old man’s eyes misted and he pulled Richard up, embracing him. "You are a gift from God to me, my boy. You’re the image of my youngest brother when I saw him last." Richard stood there within the arms of his uncle, stunned by his turn of fate. His future was assured.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Four
On the Monday before Christmas, Harper installed his family in the new manor house. Work had finished the previous Thursday but, to avoid the bad luck of moving into a new house on Friday, and since moving-in on a Saturday foreordained a short stay, Monday was the beginning of their settled life. It was a fine house, built on cedar pilings, with a broad brick chimney and, as Harper had promised his wife, a wooden floor. There was a sleeping loft for Evelyn and Drusilla. Two windows of scraped horn let in the earliest morning light as the sun rose from the bay. Two more shuttered windows in the back opened onto a space for flowers and a sweet shrub that Drusilla promised would flood the house with its aroma in the spring. Time moved swiftly at Pine Haven as Harper and his settlement fell into the rhythm of plantation life that moved with the rhythm of the seasons. They had cleared and burned in December. In January, they seeded the beds, following the basic system taught to them by their gregarious neighbor, Brinson Barnes. Barnes had learned the fashion of raising tobacco from Opeechcot, himself. Now Barnes and his wife enjoyed their role as teachers on frequent visits to the Harper plantation, while instilling in the newcomers an appreciation of neighborliness and of hospitality. Tiny tobacco seeds were sewn in softened earth and covered with protecting straw. As the seed sprouted and grew to the height of three or four inches, the men, and sometimes Drusilla, prepared the hills for the planting. Each worker hoed circles of arm’s length while standing in the middle. When dirt was pulled up around one foot to about the knee, the man stepped out and patted the top flat with his hoe, then moved on about three feet or around the stump to begin a new hill. By the end of February, most of the hills were ready, and by the time of the New Year’s celebration in March, the corn was planted in its hills. In April they could finish the tobacco hills, and in May the tobacco plants were sturdy enough for transplanting in the one clear field and beneath the dying branches of those giant chestnuts, hickories, and oaks which still stood. In the early summer months, as the new Virginians began to experience the power of the country’s heat, they hoed at the weeds and topped-out the fast-growing tobacco, preventing development of flowers and seed, forcing strength into the leaves. They "suckered" to eliminate the sapping by growth that sprouted at the base. In the silencing heat of August, they cut and hung the plants to dry in sheds they’d built almost as carefully as the house. That left them free to harvest corn when it was ready, then they could cask the dried tobacco in October, celebrate the harvest, finish
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it was winter they
could clean and
As the newness became routine, Francis Harper became increasingly withdrawn and secretive. He worked as hard or harder, as long or longer, as his servants. He heeded the admonishment of Mistress Ware about his responsibilities, though, and responded to the sensible prodding of Drusilla. Still, whenever possible, he was alone wandering the woods, or fishing in the bay. Evelyn Harper had grown more strange, until they all feared the Devil had completely captured her. They found her one late-spring morning, silent, with an arm outstretched, holding a coiled black snake. Her face dripped perspiration, and her eyes blazed. Drusilla started making larger portions of Opeechcot’s brew, as, otherwise, the girl required too much attention. Opeechcot was no longer an object of fear but, instead, the boys were fascinated by the old savage’s knowledge and understanding of his land. Many of his ideas were bizarre and laughable, but Opeechcot had lived to be an old man in this place, and Richard still held the fear of the ship captain’s warnings. James Barnes and Billy Forrest grew restless in the wilderness, and sometimes escaped work to go to court with Harper. They went to the militia drills required of every man of sixteen years or older. There they found excitement, as the drinking and horse races and gambling always led to fights; even an occasional duel. The stories they brought home made the boys eager for manhood. Richard and Edward were inseparable, but finally had their first fight when Edward admitted to his Halloween trick of hiding Richard’s old clothes on the morning of the confrontation at Mister Ware’s, with Edward laughing even as Richard’s fists fell hard on him. For them, the adventure had turned into mostly work. The days were hard and boring. Few visitors were seen, except the Barneses, although ships passed in the Bay with cargo and new settlers. They looked forward to church each week, as they never had in England. Richard often thought of Anne Biggs and, as his body grew and hardened, he thought of her increasingly in anticipation of her womanhood. Word arrived in 1659 that Oliver Cromwell had died at about the time that Harper and his people arrived in Virginia. The slow news also delayed tales of unrest and revolution in England. Certainly, in due course, King Charles II would be called from European exile and the monarchy restored. Maybe England was the exciting place to be, the boys considered. But their future was in Virginia, and Richard, increasingly, was aware of his need to prepare for the day he became a free man. BOSON BOOKS
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In the full heat of their first August, word arrived that two servants at a plantation on the York River had died from the sun, and that another two exhausted men had died when they exposed their half-naked bodies to the dew and damp earth, hoping for a full night’s respite. It came to Richard that he must make a way to escape the killing labor of the fields. He took seriously the suggestion of Mister Ware. Mister Ware had been fulsome in his praise of Richard’s astuteness in noting the faulty hogsheads, and had suggested that Richard put his knowledge to good use. Harper had seized upon the idea and set aside time for Richard to develop his rudimentary skills. Mister Ware sent him home with green staves and hoops and heads to measure, copy, or improve upon. Richard studied the materials, and began his first hogshead. The hogshead must come out forty-three inches tall and twenty-six inches across the head. The inspectors for the tax collection were strict enforcers of that law. The seasoned staves he brought from the Ware Plantation, and the few good hogsheads Harper owned, were Richard’s models. He selected from the fallen trees those trunks of red oak that were the straightest and strongest-looking. He and James sawed the trunks into sections about the length of the ax, then they split the sections into quarters and removed the sapwood from the center ends. Rough staves were then rived from each section and trimmed on a saw-horse with a pull blade. He left these staves to season for a couple of months depending on how dry the logs were then he worked with each stave separately. Richard had no measuring tools except his eye and the models. He experimented with green staves as the wood seasoned; tapering it at both ends, and beveling it with his broad ax. He scraped out the inside of the stave, leaving the ends thicker, making each a little concave. By the time the real staves had seasoned, Richard was able to shape them quickly, and he did so with growing pride in the ease with which he did a thing that others even Edward noted with surprise and respect. Then he practiced arranging the staves in a setting-up hoop, placing thick staves beside weaker, thin ones, using the thickest the bung stave, in a liquid-containing pipe as a reference point, leaving the narrowest stave for last to make the tightest fit. Then a sizing hoop was slipped over the setting-up hoop and forced down evenly with a mallet to the middle of the staves’ length. This was then replaced by a permanent truss hoop. The rough beginning was turned over a fire, warming and softening the wood to make it receptive of the increasingly narrow truss hoops that were forced down the cask, narrowing the mouth that would be held by an iron hoop that matched its opposite, the setting-up hoop. Then the barrel was heated again to permanently set and bend the staves. A ridge was scraped out around the top inside, into which he forced the round head he’d already made. BOSON BOOKS
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Richard was less than proud of his first hogshead, but he’d learned a lot and, what’s more, Francis Harper was very pleased. When the news arrived about the four dead servants in York County, Richard dared to suggest that he was more valuable to Harper with an oak stave than with a grubbing hoe. In the early weeks of their second winter in Virginia, Harper told his people that they’d have some extra time this season, as he wasn’t out to burn and clear so much acreage in advance. He’d learned there was no need to clear more land than they could tend, so they’d merely girdle a few more acres and leave the trees to slowly die until he had more men. Some days after that, Brinson Barnes reported that Opeechcot had approached him with the suggestion of taking the boys into the woods to teach them lore and medicines of the forest. Drusilla urged Harper to let the Indian have them for two weeks, and her opinion had assumed increasing weight at the plantation. The days with Opeechcot were long days of walking many miles, mostly in silence but for the short words the old man used to teach his lessons. They walked, touching trees and tasting bark and feeling different types of dirt. He told them names for everything they saw, always a Pamunkey name and often the English one. They tried to remember the English names they didn’t already know, and they were questioned repeatedly about what he’d told them. On the morning of the second day they reached a river and, in the afternoon, the boys identified the chimneys of the Ware Plantation on the far shore. They kept walking, not allowed to stop and eat a noontime meal, but nibbling from the tiny grains of crushed, dried corn they carried. They drank water from a stream, feeling full and satisfied. At nightfall they made beds of pine boughs and listened to Opeechcot’s stories of the animals, and about the spirits that surrounded them. In time, they told Opeechcot stories of their God, and shared knowledge of the amulets and omens that they’d learned back home in England. The savage was surprised and bemused by the white man’s need to pray to and worship a good god. He, too, believed in an all-powerful god of goodness, but his god’s gifts were plentiful and freely given, so that, with this bounty naturally available, the affairs of men were left to men. However, there were many jealous, evil spirits about which delighted in the interference of that flowing munificence, and who devoted themselves to the bedevilment of men. It was to these spirits that respect must be shown, and sacrifices offered. They dared to ask him about ’22 and ’44. "There is no beginning and no end to the folly and the sorrow." They insisted, "Were you here?"
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Becoming Americans "I will not wake the spirits and the sorrow by telling these old tales." Opeechcot closed his eyes, and the boys stared at the motionless old man. He had ended the conversation for the night. The land grew swampy as the river narrowed, and movement forward became increasingly difficult. Richard loved the darkness and the mystery of unknown sounds. Both boys felt safe with Opeechcot, and enjoyed the adventure of being miles away from Pine Haven, and unlawfully traveling without written passes. That fact made it necessary for them to avoid plantations, Englishmen, and the ferry over the Piankatank River. With Opeechcot’s direction, they improvised their own small raft of two logs lashed together for the short crossing. After a brief walk north, the path began to rise, and parallel the road that ran northwest along the ridge above the broad Rappahanock River. They followed the road until there was no road, and they walked on with the Indian, losing sight of the great river at times, until it curved back to the path the Indian pursued. When they neared the falls of the Rappahanock, they stopped to gaze westward. From where they stood, the boys could see vast distances, and a shared feeling came to them that they’d only felt before in church. A blue haze shrouded hills that Opeechcot assured them reached to the skies, and were the home of the cold winds and ice that came in winter. Edward urged Opeechcot to lead them there, but the Indian replied that it was too far. He accepted the guide’s reply, but insisted that he would go there one day. When he was grown, he would go there. Richard didn’t share his friend s longing. He already missed the waters and the teeming life of the great Chesapeake Bay. One night, on the return, Opeechcot spoke reverently of the initiation of men into his tribe. Boys of about Richard and Edward’s age group were taken into the forest forcibly from their mothers. For two months they were schooled and tested and tried. They were daily fed on a brew, which made them, in the end, forget their pasts. They returned to their village unaware of any previous belongings, or even of their families. At the boys’ insistence, Opeechcot prepared a weak potion of this drink and they drank freely from it. They saw images and spirits in the trees and listened to the water and the wind talking to them and, when they had calmed down from the day of colorful visions and hysteria of tears and laughter, they felt closeness to this country that they hadn’t known before. They could understand why the Pamunkey boys had returned to their villages changed into men of their own making. Their friends and relations in England had never talked with trees, had never seen the living water. They could never imagine the immensity of this untamed land
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Becoming Americans The year’s backbreaking labor had prepared the boys for the lesson they received in the forest. England wasn’t home to them. This was their home, now. They would be men of Virginia. Their children would be children of Virginia, and would be born surrounded by the spirits they had seen in their forest sojourn with the Indian. In September of 1660, word reached the colony that King Charles II sat happily on his throne, returned to cheering throngs in May of that year. Governor William Berkeley had returned to power, and Virginia celebrated the monarchy. Pine Haven received that word from men aboard the shallop which Mister John Williams had sent to fetch his nephew. The boat was returning from James Town with provisions for the planned celebration of Mister Williams’s fiftieth birthday. Now, certainly, there would be grand festivities. The invitation from his uncle had arrived by horse and rider. The old path of Opeechcot’s from Pine Haven to the Barnes Plantation was being used more often, and the visiting horseman politely noted that the path might be slightly widened and cleared of underbrush and fallen logs. Then they would have a road. Harper added that new item near the top of his agenda. He would be able to buy a horse this year. The men on the Williams shallop were friendly and deferential towards Richard. He was their master’s nephew, even though a mere servant himself. He played the role, and stood in the bow with the wind blowing his long curls. It was a sunny voyage through schools of fish as they briefly sailed the Bay, then entered the wide mouth of the Piankatank, retracing the route Richard had gone with Edward and Francis Harper. Fields opened in the dense forest and lapped at the river’s edge, where cattle grazed or corn stood tall and ripe. Hills of clipped tobacco stalks dotted other fields where pigs roamed wild, hunting for more to eat. When the familiar chimneys of the Ware Plantation rose from the ridge, Richard felt a surge in his pulse. By the time the shallop was tied up at Mister Ware s dock, word had spread of the boat s arrival. John Williams s neat shallop was familiar to them so Mistress Ware herself met it, Mister Ware being occupied in a distant field. Standing by her on the dock was a young girl showing promise of adolescence. Anne s face had changed somehow, Richard thought. Were her lips fuller? Her eyes were different, or did she just use them differently when she looked at him? Her dress seemed to flare more from the tiny waist, and was she developing breasts? He barely heard the words of greeting from Mistress Ware, but soon recovered, telling the lady of the visit to his Uncle John, and that he d requested the sailors stop that he might offer his greeting to Mister and Mistress Ware. And to their family, he added,
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Becoming Americans bowing to Mistress Ware then, more deeply, to her granddaughter. He lifted his head in time to see the flush rise in Anne s face. Despite the urging of Mistress Ware that he wait until her husband s return, Richard was firm in that he must hasten to his uncle with the great news of His Majesty s restoration. Richard was content to go on, knowing that with neither of them having said a word, his claim for the future was restated and acknowledged with a smile and a blush. The plantation of John Williams was at the upper reaches of the Piankatank, on the edge of the Dragon Swamp, above the ferry Opeechcot had avoided. Richard noted with pride the chimneys of the manor house and the number of outbuildings. A road ran westward in the distance to a bridge that crossed the narrowing river. This was the lower reaches of the same road they d followed with Opeechcot. Uncle John was well placed for travel by land and by the river. The house was not quite so grand as Mister Ware s, but it was most comfortable. A small section of the house about fifteen-foot square must have been the original house, for it had the large chimney required for cooking. It remained the kitchen, but another section about twenty-foot square had been added on. Some things still bloomed in the old garden, and the smell of crushed apples was stronger than the smell of tobacco that blended with it. John Williams waited on the riverbank as Richard s shallop drifted to the pier. Welcome, Nephew! Uncle John shouted to him. My thanks, in advance, for your hospitality, Uncle! Richard shouted back. Richard hurried to the portly gentleman. I am forever in your debt, Uncle, for the honor of this invitation. his uncle, but was taken into the man s embrace.
He bowed to
You repay that debt, Richard, by being the upright boy you are. The son of a noble father. John Williams directed Richard s attention to the tiny woman who stood beside him. The boy standing by her side, though just a child, was as tall as she. This lady is your Aunt Mary, Richard, and this, your Cousin Thomas. Richard took the woman s hand and raised it to his lips.
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Becoming Americans No, Richard, she said, your Aunt Mary wants more from you than Cavalier manners. She pulled him with surprising strength into her arms and gave him a long and full hug that almost brought tears to his yes. He tried to remember if he d ever been made to feel so wanted and belonging. When he was released his heart was full, and so were the eyes he turned to Thomas. He took the boy s hand in both of his and shook it warmly. You look like your namesake, our Cousin Thomas in England, Richard said. And he s a terror! The boy blushed and his parents laughed. I bring you a present Uncle, and I bring you news that will insure this as the best birthday of your life. The man stammered and his wife glowed. The boy could sense excitement coming. First, my humble offering in honor of your birth feast and in appreciation of the blind faith you showed me at our first meeting. The sailors lifted onto the dock and rolled towards the group a hogshead of Richard s making. It was the best he d made, and he was proud of it. His uncle circled the cask and felt the barely perceptible seams on the staves. The hoops were firmly bradded and filed; the whole had been smoothed and oiled to give it the appearance of a piece of furniture. "My boy, my boy," his uncle repeated as he circled the hogshead, making much of his nephew’s work. "You are a craftsman, indeed. How could I soil this cask by using it?" "I’ll keep my linens in it," his wife replied. "Now we have no need to order a new chest from Bristol." She hugged Richard again, this time making him feel uncomfortable. "Did you make this?" Thomas touched the cask and looked up admiringly at his cousin. "Did you make it from scratch?" "I grew the tree and dug the iron," Richard said. "You did not!" the boy replied and blushed again. "And now, Uncle, the news to warm you through the coming winter. The King is home! King Charles is home in England!" BOSON BOOKS
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John was silent for a moment, then gave a long prayer of thanksgiving. He sent Thomas to ring the bell that issued warning of attack, or summoned workers about the plantation from their work or play, to come at once to the manor house. The celebration lasted for a week. Pigs and cattle were slaughtered and roasted. Turkeys were roasted, chickens and pigeons stewed, and pies and tarts and cakes covered tables that bowed under the weight of food. Guests arrived by river and by road. Gunfire went on throughout the first night, and all the days that followed were filled with horse races and games and with Mister Williams’s example hours of Bible reading and prayers. Richard went on his first carriage ride when he accompanied his aunt and cousin on a visit to the lordly, brick manor house of Edward Diggs, a man whose wealth and fame came as the grower of the colony’s first and finest sweet-scented tobacco, and as a highly praised producer of silk worm. When they returned from the two-day visit with the Diggses, Uncle John showed Richard an engraved brass plaque he’d attached to the polished hogshead: "This cask arrived with the news of the Restoration of King Charles II." John and Mary Williams treated Richard as if he’d been born to them. His cousin Thomas tagged along behind him like a puppy. The God of Love they talked of constantly was real to them, and they reflected it in their acceptance of him. But, by the time the visit was ending, and Richard’s thoughts were preparing him for the months of backbreaking clearing and burning that Harper had promised, he’d tired of the nightly Bible readings and the lengthy prayers. The trip to church with his family was a disappointment because Anne had returned to her father’s plantation on the Elizabeth River, although Richard did enjoy the reception that his blue suit received when he sat in the Williams’ pew with his new family. On the night before returning to Pine Haven, Uncle John called Richard into the hall and asked his wife and son to step into the other room. It was the end of twilight, so Aunt Mary closed the windows before the mosquitoes could fly back in. The scent of bayberry filled the room as she lit the candles and pulled the door behind her. "You’ve made me proud and you’ve brought back memories I thought were lost," Uncle John began. He fingered something as he spoke. "And you give Thomas something that no one else could have. A family connection that will we pray to God survive his mother and me. The blessing of a family’s love and devotion is exceeded only by the love and devotion of our Heavenly Father and the family of Saints." BOSON BOOKS
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Richard’s uncle stared at the small round object in his hand. "You brought me a gift of love and labor, my boy, that your Aunt Mary and I will always cherish. I have for you a gift of love that no one could have convinced me to part with." He unsnapped the locket that he held and stared at the contents. "This is a lock of your father’s hair," he said. Richard hesitated, then stepped to where his uncle stood holding the cherished memento to the candlelight. It was the blond curl of a child’s hair, of the same texture and color as the lock of his own hair that Richard owned. "I remember when our mother snipped this curl from his little head. I wasn’t that much bigger, truth be told, but I felt I was. About like you and Thomas, I suppose. About that age difference. He was a precious child and a noble man." Uncle John handed him the locket and Richard mumbled a quick rhyme to ward off ghosts as he took the locket into his own hands. It was like seeing a ghost, he thought, and marveled at his own emotion. He owned nothing that had been his father’s; he’d seen no image of him. He’d been fascinated and comforted when Uncle John had told him of his resemblance. Now he felt a closeness, a true blood connection. "As a more practical matter, I give you these." Richard looked to his Uncle John, still caught in the power of the tiny thing he held. He saw the canvas bag his uncle was reaching for and bent to lift the bundle for the elderly man. It was heavy, it clanked, and Richard placed it gently on his Aunt Mary’s polished chest. "One gift for the heart, one for the hand," John Williams said. He opened the bag and took out tools: a draw knife, a mallet, an adz, a rounding knife, and a hollowing knife. "Cooper’s tools!" Richard nearly dropped the locket. "Not all you need, but some of the basics. Harper, your master, should supply the rest." "Uncle John ."
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Becoming Americans "The gifts come with love and with advice, my boy. You have a gift from God that will secure you from want. Men will always need hogsheads and pipes as long as there are dry goods and liquids to hold or ship. You may not become wealthy, but you will not want, and you will have time for the truly valuable things in life your family and your friends. Wealth is not the blessing that is claimed for it, I’m learning. Your Aunt Mary has recently come into an inheritance of six hundred more acres on the Dragon Swamp. It comes with debts and worries that already drag me down. So, the advice I give you with this locket and the tools is simple. Continue to live simply when you are a free man. Do not be caught up in the mad scramble for ever more land and servants that has overcome Virginia with your generation. Avoid debt when possible. To maintain the love of life I see you have, work for enough to give you independence, but not so much as to bind you with heavy responsibility." The fortnight with his family on the Piankatank rushed by for Richard, but it melded with the lesson he had learned with Opeechcot in the forest. Virginia was his home. This was his family.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Five
Edward Harper ran down the dock to greet the boat. Before Richard could begin the stories he’d been rehearsing, Edward blurted out, "Brinson Barnes is dead and Father is to wed Drusilla!" Richard forgot his brief resentment of the timing and asked for details. "For three days the chills of the ague racked him," Edward explained. "I was there in father’s stead. The grippe had laid Father low for a fortnight vomiting and the runs. He’s better now. I watched Old Brinson die, and a frightening thing it was, by God. You got back in time for the funeral!" Old Brinson Barnes had been good to them. Richard touched his rabbit’s foot and poured a bit of beer on the ground by his left foot. Without Barnes, they would probably all be dead. God had sent them Barnes and Opeechcot. Maybe He’d taken Mistress Harper in return for the favor. Truth be told, they probably got the better of the bargain. These two years of guidance had been their apprenticeship, Richard thought. He remembered the faces he had looked to as the Deliverance’s captain made his prophecy. How many were still alive? "Opeechcot is gone, too," Edward said. "We don’t know if he’s dead, but he’s gone. He disappeared the morning after Barnes died." "Opeechcot’s not dead!" Richard insisted. "He wouldn’t disappear and die!" The two young men were silent for a moment. "And the bans have been posted for Father and Drusilla." "That’ll just make them legal," Richard said, and smiled. They were silent again. "Everything keeps changing, doesn’t it, Richard," Edward finally said. The funeral was large and grand. That was the custom of the country and it had been one of Barnes’s last requests. Mistress Barnes had rented a lush velvet pall from the church that draped gracefully from the peaked lid of the coffin. The crowd was feasting and drinking the best the widow could summon, and Edward expressed the question that he knew was plaguing the widow and that was bothering his own father.
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Becoming Americans "Old Brinson made it hard for her in the end, he did. He kept asking for this fine farewell and he kept insisting that she should remarry when he died. That she should marry his kinsman, our James Barnes. But she isn’t able to buy his contract from Father. She’ll have nothing left after paying for this funeral." The drunken guests were firing guns now, and Edward stopped talking as the fusillade of gunfire chased away the evil spirits. Gunfire had become such a dangerous part of drunken funeral celebrations that some people were talking about instituting regulations. "The minister gets four hundred pounds of tobacco for the funeral fee! And this is real Madeira wine!" "I know," Richard said. "And there’s French brandy for the gentlemen." Edward shrugged and looked to the drunken widow. Her eyes were red and swollen. She held the arm of Harper’s servant, her recent kinsman, James Barnes. Her own recently freed servant, the sawyer, Robert who now called himself Robert Sawyer stood near behind her, smiling at the sumptuous feast. The sawyer spoke into the ear of the goodwoman. Mistress Barnes lowered her head, as James Barnes stood by, rigid in restraint. "He kept talking about home, at the end," Edward said. "He was homesick for England." "That was a sad waste of time," Richard said. He felt no pity. Within a week the word was out that Mistress Barnes was soon to wed Robert Sawyer. There was such haste, that the bans would not be posted. The sawyer would, instead, pay the two hundred pounds of tobacco for a license and, as soon as the formalities could be arranged, Widow Barnes would wed the man whom, just weeks before, had been her servant. James Barnes struggled to contain his rage. He knew the wishes of his cousin Brinson that he wed the widow. He’d expected to be freed to wed this lady of some substance. But the expenses of Old Brinson’s first dying wish had precluded the second. Edward was right, the funeral had nearly taken the whole estate, leaving nothing to afford the purchase of James Barnes’s contract, and leaving the grieving woman with a plantation, servants and slaves that demanded a man’s firm hand to manage. Robert Sawyer was at the ready with coins a rarity and with credit he had accumulated using the time and tools his master had allowed him. Harper and the other BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans planters were suspicious that such a sum as the new freedman evidenced to hold could have been amassed by honest means. The man had sawn lumber for most of them, had been hired by them for some carpentry, but it seemed unlikely that as a servant he could have accumulated such an amount. Mistress Barnes was in no position to be too curious. She was desperately in debt and like all the planters was suffering from the low price of tobacco that was the result of over-planting. The only recourse to low prices was to plant even more, and Brinson had been slow to act on that. His last year’s crop had been no larger than the previous. Her creditors were being impatiently, and only temporarily, polite. No one would openly question the sources of Robert Sawyer’s wealth. Richard and Edward were amused by the scandal and were only curious as to the amount of rum punch Sawyer would provide the wedding guests. When the day had come and gone, they tried to console their friend and co-worker, James Barnes, that he hadn’t lost a bride and freedom, he had gained a source of spirits. The new planter had told Harper and his people that his pipes of wine and ale were never empty and that they should treat them as their own. James Barnes would not be consoled, although he drank the wine. Instead, he made vague threats and hinted at troubles that would come. Francis Harper and Drucilla Smittle were more circumspect. One month passed without celebration as the bans were read on subsequent Sundays for Harper and his servant girl. Work resumed on the plantation. Richard spent long days wielding the heavy ax that now swung easily in his control. More acreage of trees must be felled to free the land for cultivation. Huge trunks that he’d girdled the year before were now hacked at until they fell. Again the night skies were lit by huge fires that sparked the horizon, warming the English settlers on cold nights as they sat around their own blazes telling tales of England and of their dreams for the future. Richard preferred the days alone when he could work with his ax and with his thoughts. He could contemplate the future. His own future. Plans that must be his own, independent of his friend Edward and Pine Haven. Uncle John promised to be helpful, but Uncle John was old. He would likely die before Richard was a freedman. That was six more years! By then Anne would be . He made notches in the hickory trunk to add it up. She would be sixteen, and probably already married! Certainly, there’d be many established planters or their sons vying for her hand. He’d have little chance as a new freedman with no more than he’d be able to save by hiring out his cooper’s skills. Anne was spoiled already. She’d want a man of means who could build her a brick house and buy her clothes. Yet, the sawyer had done it. It was possible, somehow. Suddenly, the questions about Robert the sawyer became interesting. More than gossip, they might hold the key. Sawyer wasn’t just a survivor, he’d prospered. Richard determined to find out how.
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Becoming Americans On most days, James Barnes worked with Richard, drinking hard and long in his resentment. His grin was gone. He was no longer "Robin Hayseed." He made full use of Sawyer’s offer, as if to ruin the man by emptying his pipes of wine. He felt no gratitude, he said. It was less than his due. Two years earlier, when James was staying at Old Brinson’s, splitting and sawing weatherboards for Harper’s manor house, the sawyer had told him things that James had sworn to secrecy. He’d told Barnes of his life in England and the crimes that had brought about his exportation to Virginia. "Robert Cutpurse" was a better name for him than Robert Sawyer, Barnes told Richard. Now he was a respectable planter while Barnes, who came from a good, hard-working family, remained a servant. He’d been an heir, almost! This new land gave everybody a chance, Richard reminded him. It wasn’t over. Barnes would be free himself in two years. He could settle his own land . But where, Barnes wanted to know? All the good land on this side of Indian country was going fast. And where would he find a wife? What good woman would settle for a new freedman with just an ax and rifle and a suit of old clothes with a bag of seed-corn? That’s about all he’d be providedas his rights with freedom. Even the whore Drusilla was going to marry well above her station. Brinson Barnes and even the sawyer had finished with Drusilla long before the trade for Harper’s young girl servant two years ago. When Richard betrayed his shock, James Barnes spat on the ground and called him "an innocent babe who hasn’t learned his cock from his thumb." "Does Harper know about her? If it’s true," Richard added. "It’s true enough," the drunken man replied. "And if he don’t know, he’s the biggest fool in Gloucester County, he is!" "Well, you best mind your tongue, I think, or you’ll be losing it!" Richard said. Dangerous talk about a woman who’d fed them all and nursed them through their gripes and varmint bites. A woman who’d nursed the Devil-possessed Evelyn. A woman who’d soon be mistress over them. And even if she had given pleasure to other men before she came to Pine Haven, why should they turn on her now? Barnes’s jealousy would be his ruin. On a bright, cold morning three days before his wedding, Francis Harper gave the men an extra pint of beer and announced that they were going processioning. This ritual, repeated every few years for every plantation, led friends and neighbors around the perimeter of a man’s land so that boundaries were observed and acknowledged by all. Trees were re-marked as necessary, or a stone might replace a dying tree. It was generally BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans a convivial day of friendship to renew or continue the understanding of ownership or to acquaint new neighbors of territorial limits. Robert Sawyer was anxious that the friendly company bestow upon him the welcome and acceptance of his arrival. The land of Brinson Barnes came to him with the widow. James Barnes and Richard Williams were included in the procession as porters of food and drink for the planters. Barnes carried his own flask of rum as Richard walked with Edward, sharing a flagon of their own. By noon, the men had reached the southwest corner of the Barnes now Sawyer property. They stopped to eat in a cleared area that was warmed by sunlight. The marker for this corner was an old tulip tree that had been struck by lightening, and the men had to devise a new marker for this limit. "By rights, this should all be mine," Barnes told Richard and Edward. "’Cutpurse’ the sawyer took it from me. Like he always takes what he wants. Watch out when he comes for your new mum," he said to Edward. Edward frowned and started for the man, but Richard stopped him with the offer of half a chicken and a yam. Barnes muttered to himself and walked off into the woods. Richard was calming Edward with the tale of a new girl he’d seen at church, when Barnes emerged into the clearing with a branch broken from the dead tulip tree. He ran for Sawyer yelling, "Thief and fornicator, I’ll tell it all!" He held the branch above his head, aiming for his enemy. But Sawyer grabbed the club and pulled it from the man’s hand. He swung his fist into Barnes’s face and then again into the stunned man’s stomach. With the club in both hands, Sawyer shoved Barnes into the rotting tulip tree. Bees flew from the rotten trunk and dispersed the non-fighting processioners. Barnes lay by the stump, and though all who witnessed it later said he was only stung by two of the insects he screamed in agony and, as the bees flew away, the men could see Barnes begin to swell. Within minutes the man’s throat had swollen larger than his thigh and the screaming ceased. Soon the thrashing ceased, and he lay dead. The men and boys knew they were in the presence of God or of the Devil. All said a prayer, and most of them snapped their fingers or walked backwards or did whatever they thought might mollify the Evil One if this had been his work. Who knew what evil spirits of the Indians were still about to send this "English fly," as the Indians called the bee? The death of this valuable servant cast a melancholy spirit over Harper and Drusilla’s wedding day. Some guests whispered of it as a bad omen for the Harper’s union. As a guest, the new Mistress Sawyer was silent, except to give warm wishes to the new couple. No one blamed Sawyer for defending himself, though a cloud of vague suspicion hovered. Richard searched for a meaning in the strange death and could only BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans conclude that some Higher Being had wanted Barnes silenced. Life, and everything around them, was a mystery. Was God saving Sawyer for good deeds in the future, or was the Dark One protecting him and perhaps Drusilla for future Evil Deeds? It was no natural death to die from two bee stings. The community agreed on that, and the church congregation was large and reverential for many weeks afterwards. The loss of Barnes’s needed strong hand, plus the costs of the servant’s funeral and of Harper’s wedding, following so closely on each other, placed Harper in a difficult position. Sawyer sensed his neighbor’s financial problem and, himself, made an offer of help. He would loan Francis Harper what he needed to purchase three more servants, provided Sawyer was given the headrights for the three, fifty-acres of land they would bring, and a short-term mortgage on one hundred acres of Pine Haven. In addition, he would make arrangements to hire out young Richard Williams for his skills in felling trees and handling tools. Captain Bartolomew Ingolbreitsen, a Dutch trader of some reputation and, somehow, a friend of Sawyer’s was hard-pressed for workers to complete the courthouse he had contracted to build in Lower Norfolk County. For Francis Harper it was a welcome solution. Richard, Billy, and James had cleared all the land that could be cultivated with three new workers, and the income Richard would earn Harper for the work in Lower Norfolk would help repay Sawyer’s loan. The servants Sawyer brought to Harper were not all that could be hoped for. They were cold and sullen men who were captured soldiers from Cromwell’s Republican army. With the Restoration of His Majesty, King Charles II, many prisoners of war were being dispersed throughout the colony as servants. Those who came to Harper were a hard and bitter group, and he knew at once that they must be handled with exacting firmness. A man’s wife and children were under constant threat. The loss of runaway servants could ruin a man if they disappeared at harvest time. Edward’s jobs now included that of guard and jailer. When Richard heard of the arrangements made with the Dutchman, he was temporarily dismayed at parting from his friend Edward; but that thought was outweighed by the fact that Lower Norfolk County was the home of Anne Biggs. He’d see her on her own territory and, maybe, find a way to impress her father as he’d done her grandfather. Captain Ingolbreitsen’s sloop picked up Richard from Sawyer’s wharf. Richard stowed away his tools and hoisted aboard three light hogsheads for delivery on Lower Norfolk County’s Elizabeth River. The one-day s sail took a leisurely three days as the sloop stopped at more plantations for additional workers and for another hogshead. Richard and the other rented workmen slept on shore each night, as the crew of Dutchmen dealt with the ship and cargo. The Dutchmen were a comic lot, and the English mimicked BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans their funny accents and guffawed at the voluminous breeches and close-cut hair. They seemed a good-natured lot, though, and Richard was soon enjoying himself. It was a late winter afternoon as they sailed down past Point Comfort and into Hampton Roads, where the James, the Elizabeth, and the Nansemond Rivers flowed into the southern entrance of the Chesapeake Bay. The sloop rode with the incoming tide, and Richard watched the setting sun set gild the waters of the merging rivers. It was here that the captain of the Diversion had warned his charges of the dangers they faced. It was here they’d passed again a fortnight later on their way to Pine Haven. Once more, he was passing through this gateway to the New World. This time he felt less alone, no more a stranger. The lanterns of a dozen ships flickered from the east, and more lights were scattered by the shores. Some of these ships held newcomers who would perish through their foolishness or from evil influence. Other lights must be from ships that carried wealthy merchants or planters and their cargoes. Already, Richard felt more akin to the prosperous and confident than to the poor and frightened. He moved the tobacco in his mouth as he congratulated himself on his first two years, and smiled with anticipation of the years ahead. They sailed on under the bright light of a full moon trusting in an experienced crew who knew these broad waters and the shallow creeks and narrow bays that entered them. An old sailor pointed to firelight on a southern shore and told the boys that it had been the site of the village of Chesapeake Indians where the Bay had got its name. The great chief Powhattan had wiped out the village soon after its English discovery, and had replaced the people with some of his own tribe. Now most of them were gone, too, the sailor said, thanks be to God. Passing Sewall’s Point, they continued south into the Elizabeth River. Smoke rose from scattered settlements on the eastern bank. More lights came from up wide Tanner’s Creek and from the northern shore of the Eastern Branch they entered. Still long before midnight, they tied-up near a cluster of small fires on the upper reaches of Broad Creek, a tributary of the Eastern Branch of the Elizabeth River. Rude huts, fashioned from forked branches and thatch, were standing or leaning with half-a-dozen tents. Stacks of half-hewn timbers lay beside a saw pit. Planks already sawn were neatly stacked nearby. The beginning of a brick chimney was rising from the high ground, and huge sills lay on broad pilings waiting to support the walls of the new courthouse. The smell of cut pine and cedar mingled with the salty air. The crew and the English workers hurried ashore to make themselves known, to find food, and fill their
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Becoming Americans tankards with the beer that was, evidently, flowing freely. Songs or arguments or laughter came from around the fires. Richard was already glad he’d been sent. Captain Ingolbreitsen was unlike any man Richard had known. He was a man of enormous appetites, always with food or drink at hand. His tobacco pouch held a type of nut he chewed which had caused his teeth to turn black. His orange hair was short and course, and stood out from his head. His easy, loud laughter could quickly turn to chilling threats and torrents of blasphemy when he was crossed. He was generous with his beer and he was merciless in his punishments. Many of the men working on this project were, like Richard, rented servants. Free carpenters and joiners directed the work and lived apart from the workers. The Dutch kept to themselves, though they admitted a few Englishmen to their circle at some times. Three English workers had helped them unload the light hogsheads from the sloop when it arrived, and they were often in the company of the short-haired Dutchmen. They worked closely with the Dutch and seemed to be given preferential treatment. And, though Richard couldn’t detect any difference between their duties and his own, he overheard two of them speaking of Spanish coins they were saving to buy their freedom. Richard hadn’t seen a Spanish coin or English one since he’d arrived in Virginia. His first thought was just to see a coin again; his second was to find out how he could get some for himself. Instinct told him he should find out how to do that in some way other than by asking. Work stopped here as elsewhere on Saturday noon. On Sundays, the English workers rowed the short distance to the Elizabeth River Parish church. For the first time in his life, Richard was eager to be at church. He was in the first boat to leave the work site and he chewed on sassafras twigs as he waited anxiously for the arrival of Anne Biggs. She didn’t show up that day, or on succeeding Sundays. For weeks he speculated over what the reason might be. Was she sick? Had she died, even? No, not Anne, he told himself. Those born in Virginia were born already seasoned, and were much more likely to survive and grow up to have children of their own. Anne was too ornery to die anyway, he thought. She would live to take care of him when he was an old man like Uncle John. Maybe she was back with her Grandfather Ware, he consoled himself. On a gloriously warm Sunday in March, as Richard pondered the magic in the numbers of the new year, 1661, he saw her coming. He recognized the blue dress that he’d seen her in nearly two and a half years before. She sat aft in the broad-beamed shallop beside a man whom Richard took to be her father. He thought of the blue doublet and breeches that he’d left at Pine Haven. He wondered what she’d think of the rough kersey breeches that he wore today.
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Becoming Americans A leather doublet and sleeves, with only a plain collar and cuffs, were the best clothes that he’d brought on this work trip. His shoes were new, though, for he’d outgrown and worn out his old ones, and he wore a new brass buckle on his leather belt. His stockings were without holes, and earlier this week he’d repeated the extraordinary and dangerous measure he’d taken before he’d seen her in church the first time. He’d sneaked away early from the men and washed his hair and body in water that was being heated by the cook. He said a quick rhyme, now, to acknowledge the good luck of doing it this very month. Richard maneuvered through the crowd to a spot near where the shallop would tie up. He turned his back to the drifting boat and waited nervously for the moment he’d allow himself to be seen. He made himself think of Anne’s father and the impression he must make on the man. But what if she ignored him! Pretended she didn’t know him! Richard turned around and gasped in genuine surprise. A man, more than six feet in height, towered over him, inches from his face. "Richard!" The girl’s voice shrieked. "Excuse me, Sir!" It had happened too fast! "Boy, you must move or I’ll tumble into the river." Richard jumped aside as the man and girl stepped away from the riverbank. "Richard, what are you doing here?" Anne had regained control and so had Richard, but he’d noted the excitement in her voice when she first said his name. "Anne," Richard bowed low. "I finally found out where Lower Norfolk County was, and I decided to build you a courthouse." "Who is this, Anne?" the man said to her. "Father, this is the cooper boy I told you about. Richard Williams. The nephew of Mister John Williams?" "Oh yes. You are the boy who was so helpful to my father-in-law." Richard was already tired of both of them referring to him as a "boy." "I learned soon that the men of Virginia survive by helping one another, Sir." BOSON BOOKS
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"That’s the essence of it, Boy. We are each dependent on the other. And you are here with Ingolbreitsen in the construct of our new courthouse?" "I am on loan, Sir. Helping my master and Captain Ingolbreitsen and Lower Norfolk County. And doing what I can to prepare for my own future," Richard added. An elegant gentleman interrupted them, and Mister Biggs turned away. Richard was struck by the contrast in appearance of the two men. The stranger was a richly dressed as anyone Richard had seen in the colony. He wore a curled wig in the style that was reportedly worn by King Charles. His long buttoned coat and the bright yellow doublet and breeches beneath were buttoned and beribboned. The high-heeled shoes sported silver buckles and his padded and well-fitted hose were silk. Mister Biggs wore a suit of fine black wool with a scarlet cloak and a regular, feathered, broad-brimmed hat. His shoes were black leather with black ribbon ties. His collar and cuffs were only trimmed with simple lace. Richard was glad for his rough kersey. And, even though he coveted the fashion of the stranger, he was impressed that Mister Biggs was the commanding figure of the two. "You look well, Anne," Richard said. She had grown an inch in the last six months, and she definitely had breasts. "Your grandparents are well, I trust?" "Yes, thank you." She blushed as she caught his gaze darting over her. "Have you been well? I haven’t seen you at church in all the Sundays I’ve been coming." He was afraid he’d betrayed his anger and frustration. Anne’s eyes twinkled. "I’m sorry you were disappointed. This is the parish vestry church. Father and I usually attend the Chapel of Ease up the Southern Branch, nearer our home." Her smile warmed and broadened. "Welcome to Lower Norfolk. It’s good to have you visit in our county." "It’s beautiful," he said, and blushed like the boy he was trying not to be. After the services and the horse races, Richard was told to row back to the courthouse site with Captain Ingolbreitsen. The incoming tide made for an easier pull upstream. Richard was glad to be occupied with rowing, and he was glad that the other rowers were Dutchmen who spoke BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans little English. Most of the other men on board were drunk and sleeping, leaving him to dream and plan. Spring and the new year and Anne had come to him together. There’d been few moments for them to be alone this day, but he was content. He pulled on his oar, thinking every stroke was one more moment closer to the time when they would have a life. Uncle John would call this time "preparation." He could feel his muscles growing and his strength increasing with every pull. "Why are you grinning, Boy?" Captain Bartholomew Ingolbreitsen was watching him. "I like my work, Sir," Richard said, and despite himself, he laughed aloud. "You like your work?" Ingolbreitsen asked, then burst out with a hearty laugh of his own. "That’s good, my boy, that’s good, for there’s plenty of it yet to come," he said. "Yes, Sir," Richard said, and tried to stop smiling. Ingolbreitsen had never spoken directly to him before. "Come to my cabin in the morning, Boy, as soon as you’ve had your bread and beer." Richard’s smile was gone. Had they discovered that he’d sneaked an extra pint of rum? Or, was it about the scuffle he’d had with Ingolbreitsen’s best joiner at last night’s cockfight? Maybe someone had complained about him carving bowls for sale on the Sabbath. He continued rowing. He’d find out in the morning. The stars were coming out and this had been a wonderful day. Early the next morning, Richard drank his beer and chewed on the pone while standing by the sawpit fire. A heavy fog obscured the river and most of the camp, blowing through the standing frame of the courthouse, and reminding him of a bear skeleton that he’d stumbled over in the forest trip with Opeechcot. The fog moved through the beams and joists like the forest mist had crept through the beast’s ribs. He held his rabbit’s foot as he went to Ingolbreitsen’s cabin. He knocked hard on the heavy door. "Come." BOSON BOOKS
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Ingolbreitsen was sitting by the fire in a high-backed chair. Building plans for the courthouse were spread upon a large table. A heavy curtained bed filled one corner of the room, and with two chests and a hogshead, the house was crowded. "You wanted to see me, Sir?" "Come by the fire and dry yourself, Boy," the man said. Richard stood in the light and warmth of the blazing fire. "Cedar burns fast, but it burns hot. And I like the smell of it," Ingolbreitsen said. "But you know all about different woods, don t you? That’s your job, isn’t it?" "Part of it, yes Sir," Richard said. "This fire should have been the roof of our building," the Captain said, moving his boots away from the heat. Richard had heard that the boat bringing shingles for the roof had sunk last week when it struck something underwater. Only two bundles had been salvaged. "I’m taking you with me to get the new one. And I’ll be watching you," he said. "Go tell Heinrich that you’re going with us." He nodded Richard’s dismissal. With some effort of the tongue, Richard relayed the message to the Dutchman, then went to his hut and put on his worn-out shoes and his torn hose and canvas breeches, knowing that he could get wet on the trip. He tied a kerchief over his head and knotted it on the side, as the Dutch sailors did, then pulled his Monmouth cap on top to keep in some warmth. He tied another kerchief about his neck. Ingolbreitsen and Richard rode with two sailors in one shallop, followed by another light vessel. The captain slept and snored as Richard whittled at a tankard he’d been hired to make. He’d trade it for tobacco. Low marshland lined the river on both sides and opened as they returned to the mouth of the Eastern Branch. Heading upriver, they were now in the Southern Branch of the Elizabeth. Here it narrowed, but still bore traffic to and from the settlements that sent up smoke on both sides. Richard whittled on his wood and watched the egrets wading in the water’s edge or standing motionless in the marsh. He wondered if there was a number to describe the types of birds in this country. There could be no number large enough to name the BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans quantity of geese that came here each year to feed themselves and to feed the colonists, and certainly not a number to name the pigeons that came in quantities that blocked the sun and broke the limbs of trees when the birds lighted. Stories abounded of the fish that jumped into the boats of fishermen. The crabs were numberless, and the oysters and the sky was bluer in Virginia than anywhere. It truly was a land of plenty for the man who’d simply reach out and take what he wanted. The boat slowed as the wind moved to the south and west. The sailors picked up oars to help them reach their destination before the tide turned. Like Harper’s hunting dogs, Richard lifted his head and sniffed the breeze. The hint of a new odor mixed with the smell of salt. It was a musky smell he’d learned back at the sodden head of Garden Creek of Pine Haven plantation: rotting logs and ferns and juniper and cypress. But here the land, which rose from the small bays and channels of dark water, was dry land. "It’s the great swamp, you smell." Richard looked back to see Ingolbreitsen awake and staring at him. "The great dark sea of swamp that lies to the south of here. The barrier from here to the Southern Plantations," he said. "Who lives there?" Richard asked. "Is it beyond the line of settlement?" "Bears and snakes and great alligators and more snakes, dwell there. And giant cypress trees that rise sixty feet clean, before a branch. And song birds and giant juniper and deer and dark water that will stay fresh for six months. And what people there are, give not a damn for any line drawn by your Governor Berkeley. Such people as you’d not want to meet up with, my boy." He laughed. The boats tied up opposite a large creek that flowed from the western shore of the river. A slight man in clean and somber clothes met them at the pier. "Welcome, Captain Ingolbreitsen," the man said. "Hodges! Glad to see you again," replied the captain. "We were sorry to hear about the misfortune with last week’s shipment, but are pleased to offer his hospitality to thee again so soon." To "thee!" He was a Quaker! Richard raised an eyebrow. Quakers were known troublemakers and they were outside the law. The captain of the Deliverance had refused BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans to board a number of them who were being sent from Bristol against their will. The Friends brought bad luck and discontent. "And famous for his hospitality, your master is, Hodges. This is one of my men, Richard Williams. He’s known to your master." "Thee art most welcome, too, young Richard. If thee both would follow me, then. I’ll take thee to him thee call my master. " Richard looked to Ingolbreitsen, who showed no sign of surprise or disdain. But, thought Richard, the Dutch were known as heretics, themselves. Stacks of shingles lined the pathway to the small building where the Quaker led them. The smell of boiling tar came from behind a row of hogsheads. Smoke rose from the pile of burning pine knots that Richard knew was smoldering behind the barrels. John Biggs was seated behind a table, quill in hand, working on his accounts. He rose to greet his visitors, then pulled them to the fireside to dispel the cool damp air of the late afternoon. "Bartholomew, you arrived early! Dinner will not be ready, but you’ll drink a mug of rum punch, I wager. Ale for our young friend?" "You know I’d sink a whole ketch of shingles to return for your fine rum punch, John. The boy, though, will be helping load the boats after paying his respects to you, Mister Biggs." "It’s an honor to set foot on your plantation, Mister Biggs. My master and my uncle will be proud for me when I tell them." "Well said, young man. We’ll see you at our supper table, then." Richard stepped outside and ran back to the boat. This was no punishment, but God’s reward for some unknown good deed he’d performed! Did Anne know he was here? He looked around, but could only see the chimney top of the manor house upstream, and beyond, the stacks of shingles and outbuildings of the plantation. Richard and the sailors and Biggs’ men worked quickly in the fading light to load the boats before dark. They would set sail before dawn with the falling tide.
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Becoming Americans Richard’s toughened hands were bleeding from the task when the hurried work was completed. He returned to the building where he’d left the men. The Quaker was sitting at the table with the quill in his hand. He pointed out the path to the manor house for Richard. "Cleanse thy hands in the river first, my boy. John Biggs and his Anne would not be pleased by dripping wounds." Richard went back to the river and held his hands in the water until the bleeding stopped, then dried them on his breeches and hurried to the house. The windows beside the door were made of oiled paper, so Richard couldn’t see inside. Neat rows of low shrubs lined a walkway to the door and surrounded the shingled house, hiding the low pilings and the bed of a small dog that ran out from beneath the house, yapping at Richard’s feet as he knocked at the door. A woman opened the door, her scrubbed face smiling beneath a white skullcap. Her simple gray dress of homespun matched the breeches of the Quaker man. "Yes, Boy?" she asked. "Mister Biggs told me to come " Richard began. "Thee must wait here," the woman said. Another Quaker! "Sarah, let the boy in." Richard heard Mister Biggs’ voice. He stepped into the hall of this two-room house. Captain Ingolbreitsen and Mister Biggs were seated at the table smoking the longest clay pipes Richard had ever seen, as the Quaker woman busied herself with the final preparations of the meal. A young girl in a patched dress sat by the fire turning a spit with two chickens on it. A large stew pot simmered over the fire, and a smaller pot on legs stood over hot coals at the edge of the hearth. The girl’s hair was tucked beneath a skullcap, and she was staring at the fire as she turned the spit with obvious and intense boredom. "Richard. Come tell me about the loading," Ingolbreitsen said. BOSON BOOKS
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"Yes, Sir. Hello, Anne," he dared to add. Anne stopped turning the spit long enough for the birds to sizzle as she looked at him with surprise, then with a broad grin that he’d seen before. "Hello, Richard," she said. "There’s no telling where you’ll turn up, is there?" "Anne, mind your manners," her father said. Richard reported that the shingles had been loaded and secured, that they were good, solid shingles, and that the sailors had gone to the servants’ quarters for supper. "Then sit quietly by the fire until we’re ready to eat," the captain said. Richard glowed as he obeyed the order, and squatted by the wide hearth opposite the girl who looked like a child again tonight, he thought. That thought held some disappointment and frustration for him, as he’d begun to have grown-up dreams about her and about their future. They spoke quietly as the men drank and smoked their strong-smelling pipes of oronoko. "How did you get up with him?" Anne asked softly, and nodded her head toward Ingolbreitsen. Richard quietly told her of the news since they’d talked at length, and that this trip had been arranged through a man who only recently was a freedman but who was now well-established. "A friend of his?" She nodded towards the captain again. Richard nodded, "Yes." She studied Richard. "So?" he asked. "You are such a child," she said, and looked away in dismissal. Richard was surprised and hurt then angry and frustrated at not being able to express it now, with the men sitting at the table laughing, and the Quaker woman glancing to the hearth every few moments. His clenched fist began to bleed. BOSON BOOKS
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"Father!" Anne cried. "He’s hurt his hand!" Richard was embarrassed and tried to hide his hand. When pressed, he explained about the cuts. "Anne, take a torch and lead the boy to Molly’s cabin for some salve," her father said. "And be back instantly, thy supper’s ready," the Quaker woman said with some suspicion in her voice. Anne led Richard out of the house by the light of a burning stick of lighter-wood. Richard’s silence forced her to speak first. "I’m sorry. I am. But I thought everyone knew about the various dealings of Captain Ingolbreitsen." "I know he’s a trader with several boats and ships. I know your county’s Commissioners think well enough of him to contract their building of a courthouse! The imaginings of a little girl who sits by the fire turning a spit could be of little interest to me!" "I said I’m sorry and I truly am. The last thing that I want to do is make you angry." Richard looked at her tortured face in the fire’s light. "I’m not angry. Truly, I’m not," he said. Was he ever angry with her? "I want us to be friends, Richard. Remember that turkey-wing broom I made for you?" "I still have it at Pine Haven." He’d given it to Evelyn. "And I’m making you a gift. I’ll give it to you the next time I see you." He would make her something. Something wonderful. She beamed in the torchlight. "How very thoughtful of you," she said. "But what about the captain?" Richard asked.
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Becoming Americans "I only know what the servants say, and you know how servants talk and lie ." Richard stopped before he spoke and reassured himself that she wasn’t talking about him. "I heard that he forges headrights," Anne went on. "And smuggles tobacco brought down the rivers and takes it directly to Europe without paying the King’s duties. I heard that he was suspected of clipping coins and making new ones. I know that he’s helped practicing Quakers and Dissenters escape the law when they were accused. The swamp is full of criminals and escaped servants that he’s abetted! Your friend Sawyer must work with him." "That can’t be true. Your father wouldn’t be dealing with him. He wouldn’t be smoking a pipe with him, feeding him ." "My father is a Christian man who has sympathies with the Quakers and other Dissenters. He says a man is innocent until they prove him guilty. And there never have been any charges made against Captain Ingolbreitsen." "Then no more of that talk," Richard said. "When we walk back to the house, the talk will be of when we might see each other next." Biggs’ black slave Molly put a salve on Richard’s cuts. She was the first African that he’d seen close-up. It was said that the Assembly, this year, would make Africans now in servitude, and those to come, servants slaves for life. And that their children would be slaves for life, and so on. He studied the face of this strange-looking woman and wondered if she knew what freedom was. There were people who said that these Africans were people just like him. He didn’t think so. They were too different. Anyway, they would be more valuable if they were servants for life. A man who started with a few of these slaves could if he had good, seasoned breeders grow a stable of workers who’d not be leaving after they’d finallylearned a useful and productive trade. They’d multiply, and a man could become rich from their labor! Molly bandaged his hand and looked him in the eyes. They were kind eyes that smiled at him, and they made Richard momentarily ponder the upsetting possibility that these Africans just might be fully human! He dismissed the thought. They hurried back to the house with Anne’s dog circling them and barking at the odor of a stranger. Anne told him of the upcoming May Day Fair that was to be held at the Old Field near the parish church. Richard said he’d bring the present that he’d made for her.
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Becoming Americans The young people ate in silence at the end of the table and, when they’d finished the pipe they were allowed after supper, Richard was sent to the servant’s hut to sleep. He arose early in hopes that he might see Anne again before the journey back to the courthouse. She didn’t appear, and he took the opportunity for a brief inspection of the near grounds of the plantation. The garden was neatly plowed, and early peas were in bloom. A fence surrounded the vegetable garden, and the geese who angrily honked at his passing wore yokes, fashioned from shingles with a hole cut for their heads. This prevented them from poking through the garden fence, but it didn’t improve their dispositions. Flowers bloomed along the south side of the house and the powerful aroma of a first-breath-of-spring bush made him think of Pine Haven. Captain Ingolbreitsen found him squatting in the herb garden and motioned him to follow. The Captain proudly pointed to the row of bright tulips that bloomed within a neat, short fence of their own. Richard had never seen flowers so beautiful. The petals were like wax, or butter, or like velvet. "I give the child one tulip bulb each year. She likes beautiful things. Such beauty is expensive, my boy." He spoke the words to Richard like a warning. Anne came up behind them. "This is the one you gave me last fall, Captain," she said, pointing to the deep-red one that Richard thought of as velvet. "Your Quakers do exacting work," Ingolbreitsen said. "Everything is so orderly." "I do the gardening," Anne said. "They are my flowers. Today the gardening must wait, though, for I’m making soap. I always have luck with my soap. It always hardens. I make soap for the entire plantation. They depend on me," she said with satisfaction. "She’s the hardest working child I’ve ever seen," the captain said to Richard. "I know the hard work and the courage of my grandfather and my father, Captain Ingolbreitsen. I’m grateful for the safety and the plenty that they’ve given me. Grandfather Ware says that gives me a debt of duty." Richard looked at her as if there were an old woman hiding in the child’s body. Only old folks talked of "duty."
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Becoming Americans "I think I like that one best," Anne said, pointing to the red tulip again. "Sarah says it’s improper for a young girl to like such a color. Which one do you like, Richard?" He pointed to the blue one. "Blue has been my favorite color for two years and more," he said, and she blushed. "We must go, Anne, but maybe we’ll see you at the May Day Fair," the Captain said. "You mean you may not be there?" she asked him with some worry in her voice. "That depends on how much work my men have done by then," he said. She gave Richard a severe and threatening look. "They will work hard, I’m sure," she said. The wind blew cold from the north and Richard and the Captain rowed with the sailors to get warm. The captain let him drink freely from the jug of rum, and by the time they stowed the oars to ride with the current, eating the bacon and fresh bread that Sarah Hodges had given them, the captain was speaking to him as if Richard were a man, though he still called him, "boy." "She could do worse than you, I suppose, but she most certainly could do better. And unless you’ve come by the means to impress Mister Biggs by the time she comes to the marrying age, she will do better. Have no doubts about that, my boy." "My Uncle John will help, I know. And I’ve worked with my cooperage to have a skill to hire out like I’m doing with you, Captain Ingolbreitsen. And I’m open to do whatever it takes. She will be mine. I decided that over two years back. It can be done, gathering the wherewithal, I mean." He looked directly at the captain. "Robert Sawyer did it." Ingolbreitsen took another drink. "Maybe the sawyer worked harder than you do. Or maybe he was willing to take on tasks that you might shy away from, Boy." Richard waited until he had the captain’s direct look. "Maybe not," he said defiantly, and with an air of knowledge. BOSON BOOKS
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Ingolbreitsen bit a chunk from his rope of chew. "Work hard, Boy. We’ll see," he said. On a night in late April, Richard was awakened by one of the English favorites of the Dutch. The pox-marked man motioned for him to be quiet, and they sneaked out of the hut, leaving the other five men sleeping on their beds of rushes and straw. Outside, the cloudy, moonless night was as dark as inside the windowless hut where the men still slept. He was led to a tent beside the water where two Dutch sailors and the other English favorites waited. "Tonight can be the beginning or the end for you, Boy," one of the men said. "Captain says we’re to chance it with you tonight, but he leaves it up to us to judge your trust. He says you’ve asked for it. We’ll find out." Richard was curious and frightened and excited. He’d had his ears opened by Anne’s talk and by the Captain’s intimation about Sawyer. He’d watched for strange doings in the last month and had only seen that these three Englishmen were frequently absent from work details on the site, and that any questions asked were answered by a sharp reminder to tend his own furrows. It was not a night of great adventure, though the work was stealthily and silently done. The men separated into two groups that rowed two shallops down the river to a waiting ship of Captain Ingolbreitsen’s. Hogsheads of tobacco were hoisted and heaved onto the shallops, and then rowed back up and transferred to another ship of the Captain’s that had papers to transport only port, shingles, and tar to Holland. They were back by dawn, and Richard had barely closed his eyes when it was time to rise and do his day’s work. No mention was made to him of payment, and he didn’t ask. The Captain had trusted him; he would bide his time. The task was repeated twice more that week and still nothing was said. In the middle of the second week, the Captain sent for him. Richard knocked and entered the cabin when summoned. The Captain didn’t speak directly of the week’s activities.
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Becoming Americans "I’ve heard good reports of your work this week, my boy. Things look promising for you. You may, in time, win your prize." "Thank you, Captain." "Partly as a reward, and partly as a business proposition, I’d like you to take a little trip for me. We’ll tell the rest of your crew that you’ve gone upriver to find a new source of tar before the worm season." Richard was still mystified by those weeks of June and July when worms attacked unprotected bottoms afloat in fresh waters. Only ships anchored in fast-moving currents or taken out to deep salt water for the season were protected. Smaller boats were pulled ashore for the duration, or were hauled up for a total scraping and heavy tarring. The reward and business proposition was an exciting trip to James Town. Again at night, Richard and the three other Englishmen were rowed to a waiting ship in the Eastern Branch. They, themselves, were the cargo this time. The ship weighed anchor and flowed with the tide to Hampton Roads, where she set sail up the James River to James Town. An English gentleman, George Manning, was waiting for them in the captain’s cabin when they boarded. The plan he outlined was simple, and he spoke the details of the plan in a manner that suggested to Richard that this activity was a common practice and one that, for this particular gentleman, was routine. Their bodies were to give substance to the list of indentures Mister Manning held that, upon being registered with the authorities in the city, would entitle the gentleman to fifty acres per head. These headrights were negotiable instruments that entitled the bearer to fifty acres of unclaimed property. The English gentleman was simply an agent for Bartholomew Ingolbreitsen. Captain Ingolbreitsen would sell the contracts to planters or to investors desiring more acreage. In the morning, the four seasoned Englishmen joined the group of three children and two women who were newly arriving in the colony. Richard and the men looked at these frail creatures and agreed among themselves that none of these would survive a year. They spoke briefly to the frightened group, learning only that it had been a harrowing voyage that left them starving, the remnants of a collection being imported by George Manning. Richard and his cohorts were replacing four men who had died on the long voyage. Richard and the men lay under blankets when the inspectors came aboard in James Town to verify the lists. Their healthy bodies would have given them away, though the BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans inspector passed by so quickly as he chatted with Mister Manning that they weren’t even seen. The news was of the Assembly’s recent decision to make this a real town of thirtytwo new brick houses large ones. It would be another failed attempt to construct towns in Virginia, the inspector said. The wealthy settlers were only here amassing wealth to carry home to England. There was no support for such town-building efforts by men of substance. Their plantations were on deep rivers, they traded directly, and had no wish for centralized markets. Again, Richard couldn’t touch land and explore James Town. But, he and his friends could see the bustle of activity in the town, and were watching from the ship when the hastily raised beams for a new house collapsed, killing two workers. That night, as a construction site blazed on the far side of town, the four of them were transferred to another ship of Ingolbreitsen’s that was returning to the Elizabeth River with supplies. This mission was repeated three more times that spring and summer, including much to Richard’s distress the day and night of the May Day’s Fair. He made no complaints to Captain Ingolbreitsen, but asked the Captain to deliver his present to Anne. He’d fashioned her a small chest of walnut wood that was polished and stained and rubbed with wax until it had a great sheen. He’d lined the inside with a piece of velvet for which he’d paid dearly to one of the Dutchmen. A latch was crafted with the initials "AB" carved into it at the suggestion and design of Captain Ingolbreitsen. "Tell her that I’m sick and asking for her," Richard asked the Captain when told he’d not be at the fair. "I’ll tell her you’re recovering from the flux and that yousend your warm greetings to her and to her father," the Captain replied. By the end of summer, the courthouse was completed and Richard prepared to return to Pine Haven and resume his work for Francis Harper. The Captain summoned him for a final, private task. "Richard, there are few Englishmen under forty years of age that would step inside a church were it not for fear of His Majesty’s sheriff, or of the wrath of a vengeful deity. Those who do claim a love for God and live according to the rules He lays down for them whatever they decide those rules are earn my respect. I’m not one of them, but I admire a man or a woman, for that matter I admire a man of courage. That’s why I engage in this little business that we’re about on this trip. True, there will be some money to change hands, but "Tonight we load hogsheads for delivery to near the Biggs plantation. We’ll stay the night there you’ll see your prize and load on shingles for delivery up the BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Chesapeake when you’re returned to Harper. The hogsheads that we load tonight will contain men. Like those on the sloop that brought you to Lower Norfolk County." Quakers! And Anabaptists! The captain was smuggling Dissenters. "Quakers !" Richard began. "We’ll not discuss the matter further, tonight. Things left unsaid cannot be repeated. We leave with the next tide." Richard helped gently load the four hogsheads for the trip upriver. He was the third Englishman now, since one of the men had been killed in a knife fight that had won Richard three shillings of English money. Gambling and drinking and fighting were the leisure pastimes of the work crews, and Richard had held his own over the summer. His private hoard of coins was growing, and he held notes for tobacco poundage that he would exchange for tools before he left Lower Norfolk County. The Captain still hadn’t spoken of the payment for the extra tasks he’d performed, and Richard had decided to broach the subject on this trip. The hogsheads were light, and Richard wondered about the men inside. He wondered what had happened to the men smuggled down from Gloucester County when he came? But mostly, he was wondering about Anne. Had she grown more? Had she missed him this summer? Why had she and her father not been back to the parish vestry church all summer? He’d not seen her since the trip to her father’s plantation. His questions were answered the next day. The sloop sailed down the Eastern Branch and up the Southern Branch of the Elizabeth River, just past the Biggs plantation and Deep Creek, to another channel on the western shore where two pirogues, lashed together, were pulled up onto the bank. The light hogsheads were transferred to the pirogues and then rowed ashore. Immediately, they were opened and their contents emptied. Men crawled out and stretched themselves to stand up. One of them broke into sobs that could be heard back on the sloop. As one of the pirogues brought the captain back, there were cries of, "God bless thee, Captain." "Thank thee and thy crew, Captain." They docked at the Biggs plantation in time for supper. Hodges was there to greet them and to help secure the lines. He directed them to the manor house, but they saw Mister Biggs standing by an apple tree at the edge of his orchard. He hailed them over.
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Becoming Americans "Have an apple before supper, men. Sarah will be furious if we have no appetite for her meal, so keep this to yourselves." Ingolbreitsen and Richard bit into the luscious fruit with relish. Such moments as these made Richard long for Pine Haven and the taste of fresh meat and vegetables. Though Harper’s orchards were not yet producing, Brinson Barnes had always allowed them access to his trees, and no doubt, now that the orchard was Sawyer’s, they would still have fruit. At these times Richard was torn between the thoughts of becoming a planter with access to natural riches like these, leaving himself always at the mercy of God’s whims of rain and wind and cold, or whether to concentrate on his efforts at the craft of cooperage, where he could be assured an income, though there was no likelihood of wealth. Wealth in Virginia came through land, though Mister Biggs was making good use of all his timber. For now, Richard knew, it was cooperage that would earn him income to win Anne aided by what he could amass in other ways. Anyway, Anne was the only child of Biggs, and this prosperous plantation would one day be hers. And that meant his. "You work our young friend hard, Bartholomew," Biggs said, looking at Richard. "You must think highly of him to use him for special duties. He must be privy to a great deal of your business." The Captain studied Biggs, searching for the base of the man’s interest and comments. "I’ve found him to be industrious and trustworthy, John," he said. "Then I will speak freely and honestly with him, Captain. If you would give me a moment, I would speak to the young man while you go to the house and stuff our pipes and pour us a brandy." "You are generous and thoughtful, as usual, John," the Captain said. He turned and walked to the house. Richard was concerned. He waited for the worst. "Richard, you come to my home highly recommended. I know your uncle, John Williams a devout vestryman of the Church of England. I have heard good things of your master, Francis Harper. I have heard the story of how you helped my father-in-law, Mister Ware. I’ve heard that story many times from Anne, though she always omits the part about your drunkenness. Now, I think you are engaged in dangerous undertakings.
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Becoming Americans "I will speak bluntly, young man. For you are a man, now. And my fair, precious Anne is but a girl. She will remain a child for some years, though Mistress Hodges has informed me of things of things that make this conversation necessary. You have put thoughts into her head that should not be in the head of a child." Richard tried to protest. "Stop!" Biggs said. "I do not mean to imply that you are deliberately turning her thoughts to unwholesome subjects, but I am saying you have a man’s body and thoughts, and she is a child. A child whose thoughts and speech are too much centered on you. The gift you sent her was thoughtful, and she would wish to thank you were she here " Richard’s heart fell further. " but it was a gift too personal and too expensive for a grown man to give to an impressionable young girl. My concern has become alarm since Mistress Hodges spoke to me of . I don’t want you seeing Anne again. She became twelve years old this week. When she is fifteen you may ask my permission to see her. If you’re still alive." He looked toward the captain’s back. "Until then, I must insist." "But I don’t understand, Mister Biggs!" Richard was puzzled and desperate. "I would never harm your daughter. I love her! I only want what is good for her!" "You are much too young to speak of ’love’! For you to use that word regarding such a young child my only child is, indeed, to endanger your very life, young man!" Richard could see that blood had rushed to the man’s face and that he was surpressing a great rage. He suppressed his own rage and tried another tact. He lowered his head and spoke softly. "I am truly sorry, Mister Biggs, that you treat my words in a manner that dishonors me. My Uncle John is a vestryman and has taught me that we are all to love each other and, in that sense I said ." "I am no fool, young man! I know what you meant and I know your evil intentions! You should humble yourself before God and before me. Your uncle is an elder of the Church of England and should be more respectful of his words and his God! You will not see the child until she is fifteen and you have shown thy humility!" John Biggs turned and walked in great strides towards the house. Richard stood frozen, holding on to his rage to ward off the sadness that might engulf him.
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Becoming Americans He walked into the orchard, thinking of revenge for himself and for his uncle. He picked another apple, then picked two more and stuck them inside his doublet. A servant of about his age was picking apples and putting them into an Indian basket. The young man questioned Richard about his identity, they talked, and Richard awakened before dawn in the servant’s hut beside an empty jug of hard cider. He forced his eyes open and, despite the pounding in his head, he ran outside to empty the contents of his bilious stomach. He’d never felt so ill. He remembered little of the night of drinking that had brought on this vomiting and diarrhea. Did he have the plague? By sunrise, when the Captain came searching for him, he was weak, but his empty stomach had calmed. Captain Ingolbreitsen was gruff and short with him. "That’s no way to impress the man you’re so determined to win over. I question my own judgment of you," he said. By the time the shallop reached the courthouse pier, Richard and the Captain were speaking again. They’d eaten Sarah Hodges’ pone and bacon, and they’d drunk from the Captain’s flask of rum and sucked on lemons that the Captain supplied himself with in his West Indian trade. "No, you have no recourse, Boy. You must do as Mister Biggs says or you’ll lose all chance of winning the girl’s hand. And he’s right, by God! She is merely a girl! Leave it alone for a few years. They’ll pass quickly enough. You need to be getting experience from a real woman, you do. I’ll fix you up with a lively wench tomorrow evening. That’s my duty. And it’ll be my parting gift for you!" Richard saw that the Captain was serious. The prospect was exciting and worrisome. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was expected to do with a woman. Still, the thought was more exciting than frightening, and it occupied his mind throughout the next afternoon, as he helped the crew clean up the work site for the celebration of the completed building. His thoughts brought forth a bulging in his breeches that brought forth laughter from the other workmen. "Got a hernia, Boy?" "Leave a boot in your breeches?" "Looks threatening, Boy, best take matters in hand." He forced himself to think of John Biggs and what he’d said. He tried to think of what he, himself might have said to calm the man. But Biggs didn’t want words. He wanted something that Richard found very hard to give: humility. "You’ll not see the child until you have shown thy humility!" he’d said. "Thy" humility? Yes, that’s what he’d said! "Thy" humility. BOSON BOOKS
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Was Mister Biggs turning Quaker? Was that why he spoke of Uncle John and the Church? Would he make Anne wear those ugly, drab clothes? Maybe that was Mister Biggs’s real objection to him then, that Richard was not a Quaker? He turned his thoughts away from a subject that he couldn’t change today, and lingered on the subject of this evening’s adventure.
The wench had red hair curled in a great mass that fell to her shoulders. Richard was sitting in Captain Ingolbreitsen’s high-backed chair when she entered the cabin. The Captain’s present included the solitary use of his cabin for an hour, as well as the cost of the wench. "Well, you’re a big one, you are. Captain told me you were a boy." She closed the door behind her and bolted it. "It’s so hot tonight, isn’t it?" she said. As she slowly walked towards him, she untied the laces of her bodice and pushed her chest forward so that the laces loosened and her breasts were free to move against the low-cut blouse. She knelt at his feet and pulled at one of his shoes. "My name is Sarah," she said, and pulled off his other shoe. He thought briefly of the Quaker woman until this Sarah, reaching up to undo his belt, brushed against the rigid rise in his breeches. She stood again as she bent to unbuckle his belt, and her breasts slipped from her bodice and hung free. Impulsively, Richard reached for and grabbed onto each pendulous breast. "No! Please! Not so rough," she advised him. "We’ve plenty of time." But Richard knew he didn’t have plenty of time, and when she opened his belt and slipped her perfumed hand inside, it was over for him.
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Becoming Americans "That’s all right," she said. "I’ve known young men before. I’ll have you ready again in a very few minutes. Then we’ll fill the Captain’s hour with makings for your memories." She boldly undressed herself in front of him and, by the time she’d undressed him, he stood erect and ready for her lessons. He was awakened by the Captain standing by the bed, laughing and yelling, "Get your naked arse out of my bed, Boy!" Richard looked around for the wench, Sarah, but she was gone. The captain laughed as Richard dressed and took large gulps from the tankard of rum punch that the Captain offered him. "Well, how was it, Boy?" the Captain asked. Richard had recovered from his embarrassment and exuded a confidence that he’d never had. He was a man. "She was the best I’ve ever had!" he told the Captain. "I’ll bet she was!" The Captain roared. "I’ll just bet she was! Now, get out of here, it’s my turn!" Richard took another large drink of the punch and finished putting on his shoes, remembering. "She was right good, she was," he said. "And I thank you for the present, Captain. You’re a good, Christian man to work for." The Captain was still laughing when Richard let a blond wench in as he shut the door behind himself. Torches blazed around the camp and candles burned in every window of the new courthouse. Kegs of beer and ale sat on the rear of carts where men crowded to refill their tankards. A group of men surrounded two Dutch sailors who were fighting, the excited spectators were shouting bets and urging on their man. Two lines of open-ended hogsheads were laid out that younger servants were running through in races that promised a rope of chew to the victor. A large pig was still turning over coals where it had been roasting for hours. A shriek of female laughter came from a worker’s hut and Richard wondered if it were the wench Sarah. He felt a temporary pang of jealousy that he dismissed. He was a man now, and would have many such as she.
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Becoming Americans Richard won more tobacco notes at a cockfight where the favorite, Richard the Lion Heart, was blinded and killed by a strutting, mottled cock that belonged to one of the Dutchmen. The Dutch were becoming his friends and partners, as Richard saw it. His fellow Englishmen were countrymen and kinsmen but, so far, it was the Dutch who were building his accounts and who treated him like a man. He switched from ale to wine and then to rum and remembered that he’d not yet spoken to Captain Ingolbreitsen about compensation. It was time to do that, Richard thought. He sat outside the Captain’s hut until the sounds of raucous activity inside had stopped. Finally, the blonde wench came out, staggering and struggling with the laces in her bodice. He knocked on the door several times before the Captain called, "Come!" Captain Ingolbreitsen lay sprawled upon his bed, as naked as at birth but for the mats of dark orange hair that covered much of his body. "If you want more tonight, you’ll have to get it for yourself," the Captain said. "But don’t go near the blonde. She’d kill the likes of you!" The Captain roared and rolled over to reach for the tankard that sat by the bed. "No, Captain. It’s about what’s due me. There’sbeen nothing said about what I’d get for for the special duties and trips I’ve made." "You want something in writing, Boy? Are you daft? You’ll get what’s coming to you. Have you doubts? Am I not an honest man?" Richard quickly backtracked. "No, Sir. I’ve no doubts. I was just curious, that’s all. I’m learning to cipher figures and I want to know what I have, what I will have." "You know that any commerce with an indentured servant is against the King’s law, don’t you? That law protects you from being misused, and protects your master from having his goods stolen and sold to freedmen. And anyway, any contract we wrote wouldn’t read well before the Governor and his Council, now would it?" The Captain laughed and Richard picked at a pimple on his chin. "All I can say is, trust me, Boy, and work with me. Look at your neighbor, the sawyer. I did well by him, didn’t I?" Richard’s face was already glowing from the drink. Now, a grin covered his face. BOSON BOOKS
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"Thank you, Captain. Thank you, Sir. I don’t know what to say. so good to me ." "Get out of here, Boy.
You’ve been
You get foolish when you drink too much. Go to your
bed." Richard went outside and ignored the insult. He’d keep his mouth shut and do whatever the captain said. If he did as well as Robert Sawyer .
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Becoming Americans Chapter Six
Pine Haven was a welcome sight when Ingolbreitsen s sloop sailed by the curving spit of land that protected the small harbor. One of the sailors fired a musket and aroused the attention of two men repairing the pier Richard had helped build. Richard called to the men and Edward’s voice came back. "I’ll meet you at Sawyer’s wharf," Edward yelled out to the boat. Robert Sawyer met the boat, and Mistress Sawyer came to bring them bread and fruit. Richard looked at her and lamented kindly old Brinson Barnes and Opeechcot. The place looked better, now. The infusion of Sawyer’s money had brightened up the plantation. Another room had been added to Barnes’s cabin and another chimney rose from that far wall. The manor house was whitewashed. Two horses grazed within a fenced area, and Richard saw a wagon underneath a shed. Edward appeared on a horse, riding down a road that had grown from Opeechcot’s path. He held the reins to another horse that trotted right behind. Edward had changed in the months since Richard was away, and was now as tall as he. "You’ve shrunk since you’ve been gone," were his friend’s first words to Richard. "Not all of me," Richard posed and bragged, until he saw Mistress Sawyer blush. "My pocket book has grown," he added. Things had changed at Pine Haven, too. Richard learned about it as he rode back astride a chestnut mare. Edward rode a frisky stallion he’d named, "Handful." Francis Harper had become a quiet man but for occasional angry outbursts. Drusilla was demanding of her new husband, Edward said, and had insisted that Harper further extend his credit with Edward Williams back in Bristol to improve their lives here in Virginia. Harper had slowly relented, but insisted that the stallion and the mare be their first purchases. Drusilla agreed, on the condition they have a small cart equal to that of Mistress Sawyer that could carry them to church in some style. And so began, for Harper, the enslaving credit system Edward Williams had bragged about so often to his sons and nephew. Since hard currency was nearly non-existent in Virginia, business was conducted with tobacco. A planter’s factor in Bristol or in London would credit delivery of goods against the year’s crop. Seldom was there an excess, and the planter’s debt continued to BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans mount, with the planter bound to his factor as surely as the indentured servant to his master. Drusilla now had an adjustable, iron pot-hook, called a trammel, which hung over the fire and made cooking in her great stew pot much easier. She’d ordered pewter chargers to hold meats, and two brass pots. Her only brass pot now was reserved for the medicine that Evelyn needed. As Evelyn’s madness worsened, the doses had increased until she demanded constant potions. To satisfy their debts, Francis Harper had planted extra crops this year and Richard had arrived just in time for the harvest. Richard was amazed by the size of this year’s stand of tobacco. The old fields were full, of course, and the new ones too, but the acres of trees he’d girdled to be felled this year were standing over tobacco plants which covered every spot of land that caught sunlight. The cornfield remained, but the former field of flax was now tobacco. Tobacco grew around the house and lined the paths. Edward explained to Richard that, with the growing number of planters and the increasing numbers of plantations that were spreading up the rivers, there was such an abundance of tobacco that prices were falling rapidly. Luckily for them, the price of the new "sweet-scented" was not affected so much as the regular oronoco, but the price of sweet-scented had fallen, too. The only solution short of an agreement with Maryland and the planters of the Southern Plantations to produce less was to grow even more. This was not a new problem, but it was becoming a critical one. Richard was thrown back into the fields with little time to think or plan. His free thoughts centered more around the memory of the red-headed wench a story that he repeated often to anger the envious Edward. His free time was spent with drink and the free rough-and-tumble of cockfights, wrestling matches, and games of skill and chance that he and Edward sought and easily found. Occasionally, news came from Lower Norfolk County. Ingolbreitsen’s sailors brought word of the death of the Quaker Hodges, and of the upcoming marriage of Mister Biggs to the man’s widow, Sarah Hodges. Did this mean that Mister Biggs was now a fully confirmed Quaker? And Anne? Quakers couldn t marry outside their sect! One near-meeting occurred when Richard accompanied Harper on a day’s trip to Mister Ware’s plantation for brick forms. Though Anne was there visiting her grandparents, she sent word to Richard that she wouldn’t see him. He waited by the cabin where he’d slept on the last trip. Once, she stepped outside the beautiful house and saw him, but immediately went back inside.
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Becoming Americans When he tried to question Harper about Anne or about the Biggs marriage, the response was, "Don’t try to get above your raising, Boy." He’d seen her for an instant though, and he’d seen that she was no longer a little girl. In the late summer of 1663, Richard was invited to his Uncle John’s plantation. The word came at a good time. Harper’s tobacco harvest was in, and the harvesting of corn was less demanding. The former soldiers had become good workers and obedient servants, so they, with Billy Forrest, were able to finish bringing in the corn. Casking of the tobacco had begun and Richard had pleased Harper by making a store of hogsheads that was more than enough for the crop. Richard journeyed to his uncle’s manor aboard a sloop of Ingolbreitsen’s that was trading up the Piankatank. Richard’s hogsheads with false bottoms were lashed down on the sloop, and he went as guest and passenger. The Dutch sailors knew him well by now, and surprised him with the news that Anne Biggs, too, would be in Lancaster County in two days to visit at Ware Manor. He determined that he would see her. He was eighteen years old, almost fully a man, and he would speak to his bride-to-be. She was now fourteen, herself. Many girls were married at that age, and he couldn’t afford to let pass this opportunity of renewing of formalizing his claim. Uncle John and Aunt Mary met him at their pier. Cousin Thomas stood on the riverbank with a dog by his side, and a musket slung over his shoulder. Richard was near enough the age, himself, to recognize an adolescent wanting to be treated as a man. He was effusive in greeting his aunt and uncle, and warmly presented them with a crate of limes that he’d purchased with the false-bottomed hogshead. He then made a special showing to greet his cousin with a manly handshake and a respectful inquiry as to this year’s hunting. A slow and sumptuous meal welcomed the nephew. Mary Williams was a wonderful cook and the serving girl she had was also an expert. As he took in the food and the family surroundings, Richard began to notice changes in the Williams Manor. The fine chest that Aunt Mary had threatened not to order stood by the door. The polished hogshead that he’d given them remained, though it didn’t appear so expertly crafted as it had three years ago. Three pewter chargers held the food and two pewter candlesticks stood on the table. Three chairs now seated the adults instead of the bench that Aunt Mary and he had used before. Glass panes were in all the windows and candles burned extravagantly instead of the usual, smoking, bear-grease lamps. Yet, Uncle John spoke of the "hard times." Planters of Virginia were increasingly furious with Maryland for its treachery in their agreement to "stint," or limit, the BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans production of tobacco. It would bring them all to ruin, his uncle said. Richard shared his uncle’s anger with the Marylanders, but couldn’t bring himself to pity any planter with sweet-scented acreage. It was the new men, like Richard, who’d have to worry. The sweet-scented land was all claimed and government said the English had to remain downriver of the falls where the Indian country began. Uncle John’s attacks against the politics of the "popish Marylanders" then turned to attacks against their religion. Richard’s anger subsided. He had no passion for his own religion; he certainly had none for another man’s. Much of England was upset that the King’s brother and heir, the Duke of York, was a Roman Catholic. What would Uncle John say about him marrying into a family which might now be Quaker, he wondered to himself? "To the north, it’s the idolatrous Catholics, and to the south it’s the Quakers. Nansemond and Lower Norfolk are full of them, I hear tell," Aunt Mary said. "Word came to us in Gloucester that your Mister Ware’s son-in-law is to wed a Quaker," Richard said casually, between bites of the rabbit stew. "It’s the real truth, it is," his uncle said. "But Cade Ware has prevailed upon the man to not yet force that hard, sad life upon his granddaughter." Richard rested his spoon on his trencher and toyed with his bread in relief. "Then he’s not gone all mad," Aunt Mary said. Richard vowed that he would see her soon! "Thomas and young Anne Biggs are about the same age," Aunt Mary said, and smiled at her son. Richard smiled at the coincidence and at the oddity that this mere boy could be the same age as the young woman he had glimpsed at Mister Ware’s house a year earlier. Then, he saw that the look on his aunt’s face reflected a dream that she was having of her son’s future with Anne Biggs. Thomas recognized the smile, too, and was embarrassed. "Please, Mother," Thomas said, and looked sheepishly to Richard. Richard put down the piece of bread. Cousin, or no cousin, that would not be.
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Thomas walked ahead of Richard on the next day’s hunt. They were after the wild pig that had killed a dog and had torn up a plot of yams. "I guess it would be a good marriage," Thomas said in response to Richard’s probe. "Anne is a good friend of mine. She’ll bring a good dowry, to start off with, and she’s the only child of Biggs. She’d get her dead mother’s part of the Ware estate. And she’s damned pretty." The brush was thick, and briars scratched Richard’s face. Richard knew what his Dutch friends would do. There’d be a mistake in the chaos of the boar’s wild charge and the musket accidentally go off . But he’d not have to consider such tactics, surely. Still, he wondered if he could do that. "I don’t know her father," Thomas continued. "But Mister Ware’s a good man, I know that for sure. Mister Ware took in two friends of mine when their father and mother both died after building up large debts to the physicians. My friend and his twin sister were indentured to Mr. Ware by the vestry, to pay off the debts." "Friends of yours live at Ware Manor?" Richard was attentive. "What is the relationship of your friends to Anne Biggs?" "They are like cousins, I’d suppose," Thomas said, and looked appraisingly at Richard. "Then we could all meet, sometimes, perhaps." Richard had the plan. "You are like the new glass windows, Richard. You are easy to see through. You wish her for yourself. She knows that. Her friends know that." Richard sputtered with guilt for his musings and at the surprising effrontery of his young cousin. These native-born colonists had different rules.
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Becoming Americans "I heard all about it from my friends at Ware Manor. You know how servants gossip and tell tales," Thomas said and raised a lofty eyebrow. Richard was silent. Thomas took a bite from his roll of chew and handed it to Richard. "We think that we can trick her into meeting you this Sunday." Thomas’s tone was matter-of-fact. To Richard, the boy was astounding. He was always one step ahead. Thomas and the twins delighted at the possibility of foiling the wishes of that "Quaker-lover," John Biggs. They’d see to it that his daughter, Anne, could get her wish without willfully defying her father. An outing after church by Anne and the twins would include a visit to an out-ofthe-way place where Richard would be waiting. The barn on the River Road belonged to Arthur Newman. The house beside it had been burned by Newman to retrieve the nails for a larger house he was building further uphill from the river. Anne would be curious to see the burned shell, and to see the famous view from the new site. Richard sat in the Williams pew across the aisle from the Ware pew. Richard had smiled and nodded when he saw her arriving in the churchyard this morning. He spoke to Mister and Mistress Ware separately while Anne was off with friends and her twin "cousins." He wanted to avoid placing her in an awkward position by a face-to-face encounter, yet his eyes discreetly followed her about the grounds and into the church. After the service and dinner on the grounds, Thomas Williams said his good-byes to Anne and the Birkenhead twins, and returned to the Williams’ and their friends’ shaded spot to rejoin Richard and ride off. Richard and Thomas tied up their horses in the woods, several hundred feet from the site of the rising structure. The view up and down the river was softly panoramic and gave the owner ample time to prepare hospitality or hostility. Boats could be seen approaching in the distance, and the dust of riders on the road could be seen from a mile each way there were still the massacres of 1622 and 1644 to keep in mind, and a Virginian never knew when a Dutch or French privateer might try a daring raid. This was where Thomas and the Birkenhead twins would retire to, briefly, while Anne and Richard talked in the barn below.
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Becoming Americans The young men ran down the hill, jumping across the rows of tobacco-plant stumps. They hid in the corncrib at the end of the barn, covering themselves with the dried ears of corn. They talked underneath the corn, hidden from each other and, thus, masked. "What’s it like in Bristol, Richard?" Thomas asked. "It’s not like the old folks make it seem," Richard said. "It’s cold and damp. It never is summertime. Sunday is a terrible day. Young people are fair play to evil men. But, it’s exciting. Carriages and sedan chairs. Processions of the army. They must have great royal processions, now. You want to see it, but you want to live in Virginia. Believe me," Richard said. They shushed each other as they heard voices running down the hill. The speakers came to stand in front of the slatted wall of the corncrib. "So, why did you insist on coming down here? I don’t want to see an old burneddown shack. It was cool up there in the shade." Richard knew Anne’s voice. "Because we tricked you," Jane, the Birkenhead girl, said. "We have a present for you!" "For me! You do?" Anne was still a little girl, Richard thought. "Here!" he said, and sat up in the corn. He put his face up to the open slats. "Richard!" She yelled, and threw her hands over her face. They all laughed. Jane and Thomas pulled her arms down. "You have to look! You have to look!" they said. Anne opened her eyes to Richard. She smiled, and then she frowned. "I promised," she said. "Father would be very hurt that I deceived him. And I’d get in trouble." "He won’t know, Anne," Jane said. "It’s just for a very few minutes." BOSON BOOKS
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"I’ve missed you, Anne," Richard said. "I hope you know I tried to talk to your father. I think he’s a fine man, I do, but ." Charles Birkenhead ran down the hill, interrupting the reunion. "Some men are coming! Several of them. I recognize two Roundhead servants. Some of them are talking loud. Angry," he said. "A servant uprising!" Anne said. "Grandmother keeps saying we’re going to have one!" "Everybody get in here!" Richard said. "We can’t be seen!" "But, I’ll get my dress dirty," Jane said. "Those corn husks make you itch," Anne complained. "Do what he said," Thomas ordered. "Quit being stupid females." They crawled into the corncrib and, when they’d made themselves comfortable, Richard and the two boys carefully covered the two girls with the cleanest ears of corn. Then they burrowed underneath the corn, themselves. Soon, they watched five men enter the barn while another waited outside, by the door. "We’ll get plenty of recruits once the word is out," one of the men said. "Even my master says, ’If you want a thing done right, call on one of Cromwell’s men.’" The others murmured their agreement, and one man added that it wasn’t just the former Republican soldiers who would join the fight. Many other servants would join in. "Aye! We’ll go to Councilor Willis’ house first and seize his arms and his drum. Then, we’ll march from house to house, and by God, kill those who won’t follow!" "The Governor will have to give us pardons, or at least let us go to another colony. New England! Where the people are more Godly." "The righteous Christians aren’t the only ones unhappy. We’ll be dealing with the Devil, to be sure, but the criminals and the whores the King keeps sending over here won’t be fighting against us."
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Becoming Americans "And the slaves!" another man said. "Now that the Council’s made their bondage permanent, there’s some smart Africans what’ll join us." Richard and the others hardly dared breath. The danger that a planter feared above all was in the making: a rising of the servants, black slaves, and any Indians that might be nearby. Rumors of such risings often flew about, that planter’s families had been slaughtered by their dependents. Richard was enraged by the folly of these servants. He was a servant himself, but the hope of this new land was that you could rise above the station you arrived in! These rebels could make lives for themselves, soon enough. And, as for rising up against authorities for the way they made you pray? That was absurd. No one need know what was in your head. For an hour there was silence in the corn crib as other former soldiers came to make their vow with those already assembled, and to confirm their plans for the coming week. The plan was for them to meet at Poplar Springs on the next Sunday and, with all the recruits they could safely gather in this week, they’d march to Councilor Willis’ house and seize the crucial guns and drum. The uprising would be on! Richard motioned for the others to be still long after the men had gone. Then, they went inside the barn and picked their clothes clean as they vented their excitement. They calmed to listen as Richard spoke. "We have a problem, now, of our honor to protect Anne, and our duty to the safety of our friends and family," he began. Anne buried her face in her hands and muttered, "What am I going to do? What will I do when father finds out I was here with you?" "Anne," Richard pleaded in apology. "You will be spared, I promise that. That problem comes from our scheming. We will find a way." "If Father knew I saw you, he’d be furious with me, but he’d blame it on Grandfather!" she screamed. "I’ll tell them all that I heard the plan. Alone," Thomas said. "No, Uncle John saw us ride off together," Richard reminded him. BOSON BOOKS
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"What if Anne and I heard them?" Jane asked. "No," Charles Birkenhead said. "What happened was, I left Anne and Jane at the house and came here to answer nature’s call." "A most excellent plan," Richard said. "And you’ll be a hero. I applaud the way you think. A true Cavalier!" For all of them, it was a brush with destiny. Mister Ware did more than applaud Charles Birkenhead’s report; he relayed the alarm to the County Sheriff and magistrates and to the county militia. The uprising was thwarted, the plotters lashed and branded, and after the crisis plans had reached Governor Berkeley and his Council, it was thought that a fitting reward be given to the young servant, Charles Birkenhead. Richard heard from the Dutch sailors at Pine Haven that Charles Birkenhead had been awarded five thousand pounds of tobacco! In addition, the day was made a date of annual commemoration and celebration. The bad part was that now to avoid more extensive plotting no servants were allowed to be off their master’s property without permission. Richard liked young Birkenhead well enough. He appreciated the help in luring Anne to the barn. But five thousand pounds? The boy owed him something of that five thousand pounds. Richard heard about it at Pine Haven because his visit with his Uncle John and Aunt Mary had been cut short with news brought by a rider from Ware Manor. Evelyn Harper was dead, and he was needed at Pine Haven. Troops were on the march and on the rivers, so travel was dangerous in those first days after Birkenhead’s revelation to Mister Ware. John Williams’s boat couldn’t take Richard back to Pine Haven until the morning after Evelyn’s funeral. Edward caught the line thrown from the sloop and tied it to the pier. He offered Richard a hand with his knapsack, and Richard saw the brace of pistols that Edward wore stuck into his belt. Richard was surprised that the fear of rebellion reached back to here. Edward led him to a bench that nestled between two holly trees. "The Devil’s madness finally took her. Drusilla says that Evelyn was sitting at the hearth drinking her potion, staring into the fire, when she started chanting, "Opeechcot, Opeechcot, Opeechcot," and then she just wandered off while Drusilla was grinding corn. Billy found her drowned, here on the beach. Father’s in a bad way.
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Becoming Americans Drusilla says it’s all a curse put on us by the old pagan. Including Mother’s drowning when we first got here!" Richard crossed his heart and then crossed the fingers of both hands. Why would Opeechcot do that? "This was his homeland, Richard! He put the curse on us in revenge!" Edward explained. "And he must have cursed Old Brinson, too," Richard said. Both young men said silent prayers and vowed to take the minister a gift. Francis Harper’s silence grew darker. Sometimes he sat by the open window at dusk so that he could hear the gulls. It was said that birds carried the wishes and spirits of the dead. He imagined that he heard his parents, his wife and, now, his daughter. His land was cursed. He’d paid dearly for this tract of land this productive tract of land. His wife and his daughter had been taken. Surely, that would satisfy Opeechcot and his devils. But, if there were more to be paid, he’d pay. He wasn’t leaving now. The spirits of his people were here, too. This was his land. Work resumed at twice the tempo and ferocity as after Mistress Harper’s death. Francis Harper would chase away the Devil with his will and with his activity. The possibility of rebellious servants weighed on him and made him restrictive on them all; much harsher than usual with the former soldiers. Richard felt the man’s suspicious eyes, himself. On two occasions he felt his master’s whip for simply being nearby when Harper released his rage for no known reason. Harper encouraged Edward to make other friends; other sons of planters who had boats to race on the bay, or horses to race in the Old Field. The days became boring days of unceasing labor for Richard, and his status as a servant became more strictly upheld.
In the summer of 1664, Francis Harper bought two black slaves. He was convinced it was the coming thing cheaper in the long run so, with more credit from Edward Williams, and with the connections to Bartholomew Ingolbreitsen through his neighbor, Sawyer, he bought Eno and Philly.
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Becoming Americans Eno, the boy, looked to be about twelve years old. Philly, the African girl, was a little older, with budding breasts, which she was not ashamed to have seen. Though very dark, she had fine, sharp features that made her look like a European girl who’d suddenly gone black. Philly and Eno seemed not to speak the same African language, and neither of them could speak English, other than the most basic words, like "eat," "no," "yes, master," and "please, master." Communication was done with gestures and by miming. The task of teaching them the language was assigned to Drusilla, for the girl, Philly; and to Richard, for the boy, Eno. Richard soon lost his apprehension of the strange-looking child, whose flat nose, square face, and large lips became intriguing. He tried the same techniques that Opeechcot had used with Edward and him. He held objects and said their names. As the boy watched him work, Richard said what he was doing, then made the boy repeat the sounds as well as attempt the task. Soon the boy was following him around and asking "what?" of everything he saw. Finally, Richard had to tie him to a tree to teach the meaning of the word, "stay." When the boy first laughed, and when tears of hurt were shed one day after harsh words from Richard, Richard came to believe that they were, in fact, human beings, if only of a simple type which might be left as useless savages in their forests, or trained to help their betters while living in a much more hospitable climate as well as be introduced to the Christian God. That was one of Uncle John’s favorite oration topics. Harper had bought two children for the price of one prime laborer. Investing in the future, was what he said, but Richard didn’t care about Harper’s future, Richard wanted help in the hot fields. He’d become so proficient in his cooperage that he had more free time, and Harper took the free time he’d been promised and put a hoe in Richard’s hand when he wasn’t using an ax or a froe. The young man had been with no woman since the red-headed wench, and he was increasingly discontent and restless. He was twenty years old and still had a year of this bondage that he hated more and more. He’d saved enough to buy his freedom, now. He could pay Francis Harper for the remainder of his indenture, but that would leave him with little more to start his life. He didn’t know what Ingolbreitsen would pay him. Anne was not yet fifteen, though she would be soon. He told all of this to Sawyer on the Saturday night of his twentieth birthday. Edward was with his new friends, and Richard had gone alone to refill his cask with the wine that Sawyer still dispensed. The man’s grapes and the wine he made were well known now, and Sawyer was making money selling whole pipes of wine. BOSON BOOKS
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"Everything that he touches turns to gold," Drusilla had said of Sawyer. "He’s made a pact in blood with the Devil. James Barnes’s death was proof of that." She’d spat over her left shoulder. "The whore, Drusilla, knows a lot more about the ways of the Devil than she should, I think sometimes," Sawyer replied to Richard. "I won’t accuse her of being a witch, but she’s mighty knowledgeable about curses and potions and omens and such." Richard insisted on his topic. I m ready for my freedom and my dues," he said. Sawyer looked at the "R" branded on his hand that had been burned there when he was caught and returned to his original master for the second time. "I’ll talk to Ingolbreitsen when next he’s here. I think you re right. It’s time to get on with your life," Sawyer said. "Ingolbreitsen can probably make better use of you than can Harper," Sawyer said. "The Captain is a good man," Richard said. He noticed that his words were slurring. He tried to speak more clearly. "He treats me with respect," he said. "He paid for my last woman, he did." Richard drank deeply from his tankard. "Then I’ll treat you to your next!" Sawyer was delighted. He stood and pulled Richard up. "I do you a favor and, hopefully, in nine months, it will be a favor to me. Though it may favor you!" "I’m too tipsy for riddles," Richard said, but he followed Robert Sawyer to a small hut where his host opened the door for them to enter. "This here’s Delilah," Sawyer said, and indicated a young black woman sitting on the hearth by a fire in the dirt-floor hut. She was nursing an infant while another small child lay in a basket nearby. A toddler sat with her by the fire. "She’s my breeder. She knows she gets to stay with the babies while the other slaves work all day. She eats well and does some light chores for Mistress Sawyer, but she has it pretty easy. She doesn’t know it, but in a few years I’ll have a good crop of strong young slaves to work or sell." BOSON BOOKS
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Richard nodded with the logic. "And it’s your luck that my breeder’s ready for a new stud." Richard stared back, unknowing what was meant. "She’s for your use tonight, Man! Make me a strong boy baby?" He slapped Richard on the back. "Nobody’ll know but you and me and Delilah," he said, laughing. "And it ain’t in nobody’s interest to blab the word, is there?" The planter laughed again. Richard stood and stared. The wine had warmed his insides, and the sight of Delilah’s naked breasts as she fed the child brought back a vision of the red-headed wench. His heart was pounding. Sawyer closed the door behind himself as he went out laughing. Delilah knew what she was supposed to do, and simply lay back on the dirt floor and opened her legs wide. The child continued to suckle as Delilah watched the young man release his breeches. Then she quietly studied the thatch ceiling as he mounted her.
For some time after lying with the slave, Delilah, Richard was preoccupied with fear and guilt. The guilt lasted for only a few days until he was desperately in need of a woman again. The fear, though, kept him from returning to Delilah, or of searching out another wench like Sarah. He couldn’t marry Anne if he carried the pox from being with such women, yet the need for a woman grew more powerful. When, after a month, he’d shown no signs of the disease, he determined that he must have Anne sooner than her father would permit. He couldn’t wait the year remaining of his indenture. Solving the dilemma was his obsession until events outside Virginia came to his attention. Word arrived before the end of 1664 that hostilities had broken out between the English and the Dutch. And, as the new year came, it was learned that the horror of the worst plague in memory had returned to London. An epidemic of such ferocity struck in 1665 that the tobacco fleet was forbidden from leaving English ports to come for Virginia’s crop. Both of Anne’s uncles were dead.
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Becoming Americans The life’s blood of the colony was stopped from flowing. Harper and Sawyer met with other planters in the county and sent a delegation to Governor Berkeley pleading for some action. Sir William Berkeley needed no prodding from these minor planters though, for his plantation at Green Springs was among the largest in Virginia. Governor Berkeley’s solution was to organize a fleet of eighteen ships already in the colony that would sail to England united in a convoy for mutual protection from the Dutch. If this were successful, other convoys would follow. But, with such a small fleet sailing, poundage from each planter would be limited, and there was no assurance that the fleet could evade the massive Dutch men-of-war or their privateers. Even solid men considered risky ventures to save their fortunes. As the difficulties mounted, Francis Harper became frantic with worry about his obligations of debt. Edward Williams would be happy to extend more credit that was his business, but unknown to Drusilla Harper a clause in his mortgage to Sawyer called for payment by Harper of certain of Sawyer’s obligations to Sawyer’s own Bristol factor; obligations that must be satisfied no later than this year. "Why’s the wood-cutter speaking so cocky and so unconcerned about the fleet, that’s what I want to know," Drusilla said to Richard one morning as she handed him his beer and bacon. "He’s made some deal with the Devil, he has. That Dutchman friend of his is smuggling, he is. That friend of yours!" She slammed Richard s filled tankard onto the table. "Captain Ingolbreitsen has become a subject of the English crown, I’m told," Richard said. "The Lower Norfolk Court were pleased with his services to them. There were petitions on his behalf ." "He’s still a Dutchman to me, and all they think about is making another pound. They’re next to the Jews in avarice, the Dutch are," she said. Then I’m next to a Dutchman, Richard thought. And if Sawyer and Ingolbreitsen knew of secret advantages to be made of this war with Holland, Richard wanted in on it. With some more money, he could have his freedom and could have Anne Biggs. Drusilla looked out to the moonlit bay. Ingolbreitsen’s largest ship was anchored offshore from Sawyer’s pier that night. "That Dutchman’s dealing with the Devil," she said to no one. The tide was out, and Richard ran along the beach to where he saw two shallops of Sawyer’s ferrying hogsheads to the ship. An English flag flew from Ingolbreitsen’s mast.
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Becoming Americans Another load of Quakers and corn bound for Nansemond County," Sawyer said as Richard approached. "A large load, this time," Richard said. "The sect is growing fast." "Aye, it is," Sawyer said. "But the Captain’s touchy now he’s an Englishman, so you best get away before he sees you." "I bet that ship could make it to England in six weeks. Richard said, staring at the ship and remembering his voyage over.
Eight, at the most,"
"Not with all those Dutch cannon at sea " Sawyer began. "I m no fool, Richard said. "It’s the Captain’s friends who man those Dutch cannon. Your tobacco will be the first to reach England. Should fetch a fancy price, I’d think. I wish to speak with the Captain for my master." "For Harper? Your master wouldn’t dirty his hands in smuggling out tobacco without paying His Gracious Majesty’s tax. Or, is he suddenly desperate enough, I wonder?" "I’ll speak to Ingolbreitsen," Richard insisted. "Your balls are bigger than your head, Williams," Sawyer said. He hesitated. "But, sometimes that’s what it takes." He waved one of his workmen over. "Take Williams out to the ship," he told the man. Richard climbed the rope ladder to the deck of the ship. Onboard, his footing was sure. The bay was calm, and this ship was bigger than the one he’d arrived on. He knocked on the cabin door and went in when answered. "Welcome, Richard, welcome. Are you free now, and come for your payment?" the Captain asked. "No, Captain, I’m not yet free, but you could hasten that day, whilst I bring you a few pounds extra." "Tit for tat. Always the best business arrangement." Richard rushed out with the proposal as fast as it came to him.
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Becoming Americans "My master is desperate to get his crop to England. If you deliver some of his crop with this early sailing, he’ll pay dearly. And, for making the arrangement, I earn my early freedom!" It was an audacious proposal that he made. How would he ever approach Harper with such an idea? Harper was a strict follower of all rules. "Harper? I’m surprised that he would consider so risky an operation. desperate times call for desperate measures. For us all. Right, Richard?"
But
"Yes, Sir, Captain." "Send him to me within the hour. If he agrees to my terms to our terms we must reach Pine Haven and load his hogsheads in time to sail with the next tide. There’s not much time." Not much time, indeed, Richard said to himself as he ran back down the narrowing shore. He ran to the Harper’s house and banged on the door. Drusilla Harper opened the door in surprise. "What is it, Richard? Where did you go? What’s wrong?" she asked. "Nothing. I need to speak with the master. Alone." Drusilla and Harper looked at each other, then she stepped outside to let them talk. "Master, I know this is a surprise, and I know you can whip me for the impertinence, but I’ve conceived a plan that will free you of your pressing debts. But, a plan that must be acted on tonight!" Richard stopped to catch his breath. Francis Harper slammed closed the Bible he was reading. "Who dared speak to you of my debts!" Richard remained silent as Harper searched his face and calmed. "I warned my son about relationships with servants," he muttered. Harper’s mind came back to the pressing subject. BOSON BOOKS
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"Smuggling, is he? I saw Ingolbreitsen’s vessel in the bay this afternoon," he said softly. "My wife’s said she’s suspected something all along. There’s always been talk," Harper said, while staring at the wick lamp. "He’ll slip past the Dutch without a shot," Harper said to no one. "Even if my small shipment in the Governor’s official convoy does get through ." He turned to Richard. Richard looked to the floor. "This will cost me dearly, will it not?" he asked Richard, then looked away. " M y honor, above all." He looked sad and weak to Richard. "Not so much as losing your plantation to your neighbor, and leaving your wife and son penniless in this harsh land!" Richard was so surprised at his own daring words that he was slow to notice the blow to his head that Harper delivered. He lowered his voice. "Please forgive me, Master, but the time for decision is now. There is no time to waste. His ship sails with the tide." Harper hesitated for a moment as he looked out the open window to the strip of sandy beach. "Saddle my horse, then get to the warehouse and roll out the hogsheads. I’ll ride to Sawyer’s."
By the end of August, war with the Dutch was bringing results to the colonists. The English had taken New Amsterdam, and captured prisoners of war were sent to Virginia to help fill the growing need for servants. The Governor paced each day, awaiting news of his convoy, but at Pine Haven and at the Sawyer plantation, relief came early. Ingolbreitsen’s ship was fully rigged on the nearly windless day in early September when its sails drifted above the tops of the spit of pine trees and past Pine BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Haven. Edward was the first to notice it, and ran to fetch his father who was harvesting the year’s crop. "Father, Ingolbreitsen’s ship is back," he said in a voice of hushed anticipation. Harper stood up and held the knife that he’d been cutting plants with by his side. Richard stood erect in the next row and waited to be spoken to. Eno continued cutting stalks of tobacco and placing them on the ox-drawn sled. "Edward take my knife and continue the work. Richard, I will most likely want a word with you later." Richard watched this master walk down the row of tobacco towards the house. He heard what he knew were prayers being uttered by Harper, and he briefly said one for himself. Edward knew of Richard’s deal with Ingolbreitsen and looked at his friend with mixed emotions. Today could be the end of their long relationship. Edward was proud that Richard had been stowing away his private earnings in planning for his freedom, yet he would miss the ready presence of this servant who was also his closest friend. He was secretly jealous of Richard’s adventures in Lower Norfolk and with the Birkenhead uprising, and he longed for a day when he’d be free to leave his father in pursuit of his own adventures. But he knew that that could never be. Pine Haven was his future. "Remember when we met in Bristol?" Edward said, and bent to cut a stalk. "The High Street was full of Cromwell’s troops, so Uncle Edward and I had to come ’round by the Dry Street with all that crowd of merchants and beggars . So many people in such a narrow street." "We didn’t know how much our world would change," said Edward, as he nudged Eno to move on down the row. Richard hesitated. "And we don’t know, now," he said finally. That night, one of the Dutch sailors came to the old hut Richard shared with Billy. Richard was wanted on Ingolbreitsen’s ship. Captain Ingolbreitsen sat at his desk smoking his pipe in friendly conversation with Francis Harper when Richard was let into the cabin. Harper’s face was flush with rum and tobacco and success. "He’s been my right hand, Captain," Harper said. BOSON BOOKS
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Richard waited at the door. "Come in Williams, and have a seat," Ingolbreitsen said. Richard did as he was told, waiting for his curiosity to be satisfied. "It was a successful voyage, Richard. One in which we have all been rewarded," the Captain began. "And you, no less than we," Harper interrupted. "Be assured of that," he said and lifted a paper from the Captain’s desk that Richard recognized as his Contract of Indenture. "I have signed this willingly and joyfully," he continued. "And with the signature I give, I ask a favor of you as my former servant and the loyal friend of my son." "Times are difficult, you know," the Captain interrupted," and a planter is reliant on the goodwill of his neighbors." Richard waited, mystified. "No one can know of my participation in this voyage," Harper pleaded. "I ask for your co-operation in this matter and have arranged with the Captain to make it easier on us all." Ingolbreitsen held the Contract. "Your Contract has been assigned to me," he said. "This paper binds you to me for your remaining year." He placed the paper on his desk and scribbled two lines and made a flourish of his signature. "I have now signed the Contract back to you, Richard," the Captain said, and handed it to Richard. Richard looked in wonder at the markings on the paper that gave him freedom. Captain Ingolbreitsen continued. "Gloucester County need know, only, that Harper assigned me your Indenture in exchange for credits that he greatly needed. He asks you to record the Contract, and my
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Becoming Americans release of it, in another county away from prying eyes problem with that, do you?"
and eager tongues. You have no
Richard looked from the paper to each of the men. The Captain went on. "Tomorrow I sail for Lower Norfolk. You might wish to display your freedom there, and record it in the courthouse that you helped build." Richard’s eyes grew wider as the possibilities crowded into his mind. He could approach John Biggs to ask for Anne’s hand. He could search for land to purchase with the money he’d saved. He must let his Uncle John know! Credit was due him from the Captain. How many headrights could he purchase? The remainder of that night was blurred from his memory, except for running back to Pine Haven to tell Edward of the news. The drinking started and he didn’t remember when it stopped. He stood by the railing of Ingolbreitsen’s ship the next morning and waved to Edward and Harper and Drusilla. Billy, and Sawyer’s servants and slaves stood by the pier, some of them knowing that one day it would be their turn; others, knowing that it never could be theirs. Eno stood with Philly. Delilah held her newest child an infant son much lighter than her others and watched his young father sail away.
September’s sultry breeze slowly moved the ship into and down the bay. When it passed from view of Pine Haven, the ship veered toward the Eastern Shore, and then turned back northward, finally dropping anchor some miles above Pine Haven. Sweat dripped into Richard’s eyes, and he squinted to see a ship that drifted towards their own. A dozen men with short-cut hair moved about its deck. Captain Ingolbreitsen let slack his sails, and waited as the Dutch privateer came aside. Richard didn’t question the Captain, but stood well astern to be innocent of participation in trade with the Dutch enemy. Ingolbreitsen and the Dutch captain shouted greetings as the ships closed in on each other. The pirateer boarded with a crew that immediately began transferring the hogsheads of tobacco to the other vessel. BOSON BOOKS
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Richard could hear the men clearly, though he understood almost none of their language. He knew that the tone of their conversation had changed though, as the words were more and more strained until the words came as short bursts of anger from both men. The sailors stopped their loading, and one of them reported to their captain. The Dutchman followed his sailor to a hogshead that Richard knew contained a Quaker. Their captain rocked the hogshead and questioned Captain Ingolbreitsen. The answer amused the Dutchman, who stood over the hogshead and pounded on its head, beating it like a drum as he laughed. The four hogsheads that held Dissenters were put aside as the sailors went on transferring tobacco. Richard saw Captain Ingolbreitsen’s angry face and sensed a business deal gone awry. He turned away and looked across the bay, in the direction of Pine Haven. Most of the day had been spent in this futile business. They could have been on the Elizabeth River by now. They were further up the bay, now, than when they’d left. He squinted into the west and saw a dot on the horizon that had been a mere speck some minutes earlier. Another ship was coming in their direction. By the time the Dutchman saw the approaching ship, all booty had been transferred. After a brief, angry exchange between the two captains, the Englishmen were all bound and secured, then left adrift. The Dutchman’s laugh and shout came across the water. "Good-bye, new Englishman!" Richard lay in the shade of two hogsheads and waited for the rescue. He asked the Quakers inside how they fared. They were uncomfortable and concerned for their safety. The hogsheads must be opened, and they released, or else they’d be found-out when the tied up crew was freed. There was no answer, and all waited in silence until the coming ship arrived. In these waters, at least, there was hope for rescue by neighbors. It mattered who would board the ship. The first man to climb aboard was Old Ned, from Mister Ware’s plantation. He hurried to the Captain, then to the others, untying men and listening to their stories of the pirateer. Old Ned was followed by an officer of the King’s Navy who introduced himself as Colonel Neville, of the Virginia militia. Governor Berkeley had charged him with pressing into service those ships that he felt would be useful for the colony’s defense against just such pirateering acts as this, or against a possible attack by the Dutch fleet.
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Becoming Americans As Colonel Neville’s outrage at this piracy in local waters subsided, he saw the hogsheads that had been abandoned. With a silver-buckled shoe, he rocked a cask until it fell and rolled across the gently pitching deck. A Quaker’s groan revealed the contents. The casks were opened and the somber-clad dissenters lined against the rail. The ship was searched, and the questions came quickly. "Where did you load your cargo?" "Where are you bound?" "Why were none of your personal valuables taken by the pirateers?" "Have you sworn allegiance to His Majesty and to the Church of England?" "The boy’s a cooper what belongs to Francis Harper of Pine Haven plantation. The boy’s uncle is Mister John Williams." Old Ned volunteered the information as help, Richard supposed. He hoped it was the last time anyone called him "boy." Everyone’s papers were demanded and examined. More questions were raised when Richard’s transferred and canceled Contract of Indenture was discovered. And then, Old Ned recognized Richard’s stamp on all the hogsheads. The mark he proudly hammered into the setting-up hoop of all his work. Colonel Neville suspected a conspiracy of illegal trafficking in tobacco, and abetting of dissenters. Sailors from the Colonel’s ship piloted Ingolbreitsen’s vessel back to Ware Manor where the authorities were summoned to hear evidence. Colonel Ingolbreitsen rested as a guest at Ware Manor, where the County Court was due to convene within the next week. Richard and the hapless crew were tightly quartered in one servant’s hut. The Quaker men were transported to the jail in James Town their guilt was unquestioned. Less certain for the Court were the specific charges to be leveled against Bartholomew Ingolbreitsen, Richard Williams, and the ship’s crew. Colonel Neville and the Court decided against pressing any accusations when Captain Ingolbreitsen freely offered his ship to His Majesty’s Government for patrol and defense of the colony during this period of hostilities with his former countrymen, the Dutch. John Williams came and spoke to the court of the honesty and loyalty of his nephew. He made a substantial BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans donation towards the maintenance of the ship and crew while they served the King’s Navy. Although they were freed, Richard walked the grounds of Anne’s grandparents’ plantation alone, in shame, waiting for a sloop that might take him to Lower Norfolk. Uncle John had returned home without a word to him, and Ingolbreitsen had gone across the bay to Accomack to take command of his newest ship. The Ware’s hospitality was visibly forced, and lodging with Old Ned was no pleasure. The next day Uncle John’s smaller sloop arrived for him. His man carried instructions to deliver Richard to Lower Norfolk, or wherever he desired to go. The man carried with him, too, a written message to the nephew. Cade Ware read the letter for Richard in a tone as cold as the words he read. John Williams had broken with his family in England thirty years earlier for their lack of reverence for their God and for their King. For him the honor of his family had been returned only through the death of the beloved brother who died fighting for his King and God. Now, that man’s child was revealing the sinfulness and waywardness of the other brother, Edward, and was importing the dishonor like the plague by his sinful aid to the dissenters and his treasonous dealing with the Dutch. Richard was to refrain from using his name as a reference, and to consider himself denied. This letter would serve as final notice.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Seven
"Will they let us tie-up here, Pa?" The worn, low-riding shallop slid towards the narrow dock. "This, and the whole damned wharf ought be mine for the taxes I pay. Now turn back around, Boy. And don’t get wet! Your mother’ll have my head if you come home with a running nose." "Yes, Pa." The boat grazed the dock and gently moved towards the riverbank. Joseph jumped from the boat and caught the rope his father tossed, while their man George backpaddled deeply. "We made good time," Richard said. He looked up to the sun as a flock of birds flew over, heading north. "Richard!" A voice called to him from towards the town. Richard looked around, searching for the caller, then went back to work lashing down the sail and stowing oars. "Richard!" "Pa, there’s a man up here calling you," Joseph said as he secured the line. Richard Williams turned around again. A short, stout man stood against the sun. His tall felt hat, shaped like a sugar loaf, and his round, knee-length cloak formed a dark wedge against the light. "Well, then?" the man said. "I’ve been down here looking to each boat all day, and you can’t even say a greeting?" "Uncle John? "Yes, Nephew, it’s John Williams."
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Becoming Americans Richard stepped onto the dock and approached his uncle. He made the mistake of stepping with his left foot, so he spat over his left shoulder. He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "What are you doing here in James Town, Uncle? How did you know to be looking for me? And why?" "I was in James Town already, and I heard talk of the John Biggs business in Court tomorrow. I thought you might be coming." The older man held out his hand. "I was hungry to see your face again." Richard relaxed his guard. He grasped his uncle’s hand in his own and shook it warmly. "Joseph, come here!" Richard shouted to his son. The boy sauntered up the dock. "Son, this is your Uncle John," Richard said. "Uncle John, this is my second boy, Joseph. "George!" He called back to the boat. "Take care you don’t leave them pelts alone. Part of them’s your wages!" Uncle, nephew, and grandnephew followed the river’s edge past wharves piled with goods unloaded from huge ships of one hundred, one hundred and fifty, and even two hundred tons. Hogsheads of last year’s tobacco were being rolled from the warehouse across the path of crushed oyster shells. Joseph ripped a leaf that was protruding from a broken cask and reached up to his father. "Pretty tobacco, ain’t it Pa?" His father didn’t hear. His father was listening to the older man whom he was calling "Uncle." But Joseph knew what an uncle was. He played with his uncles. They were his mother’s young brothers. He stuffed the leaf into his mouth. "And do you let the child take what is not his?" The older man looked to the father, then to the child.
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Becoming Americans "Uncle John, the boy has no mind for stealing. He’s just testing the chew, that’s all. He’s a mind and an eye that won’t be filled up." Richard snapped his finger and the child’s head turned back, arrested for a moment from the constant twisting which just moments ago had the two men laughing. But Joseph turned too late, this time, to avoid collision. "Blast you, Boy!" An elegant stranger sat in the dusty street and fingered the broken feather that hung limply from his hatband. "Look, Pa! He’s got a suit like yours!" "I doubt that," the stranger said as he examined the rough tow of Richard’s breeches, and the old leather buff coat with one side slit nearly to the armhole. He pulled himself up struggling to regain his dignity muttering, "That boy should be at work, this time of day," then hurriedly resumed his errand down the busy Front Street by the river. "You lost a ribbon!" Joseph called after him, but the man had disappeared into the crowd of sailors and merchants and slaves. The boy rubbed the strip of satin against itself and marveled. He’d never known a thing so smooth or slick that wasn’t oily. "But I just stepped from my boat." Richard spoke to himself, but he was talking to the stranger. Why had he let Anne talk him into wearing these work clothes to James Town? "It is like your suit, isn’t it, Pa?" "They’re both blue, if that’s what you mean," his father said. "The fine suit my brother sent you over with? I’m surprised you have it still, living in the wilderness. It must be Anne. God blessed you with an industrious wife who could mend your clothes and mend your ways." "Uncle! I pray you guard your resentment of my youthful indiscretions and remember the ears of children ." But Joseph wasn’t listening to the adults renew an ancient squabble that meant nothing to him. His eyes and ears and nose were in the present, the excitement of this day. With one turn of his head he saw more people than he’d seen in the whole nine years of his life. The city of James Town was alive with activity and colors and smells that he BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans hadn’t imagined on Deep Creek. His plantation home at the edge of the great wilderness swamp held excitement of its own, but the life in the city capital in the spring of 1676 was more than . "Joseph. Boy!" What do you think?" This man, this "Uncle John," was talking to him. "Sir?" "What do you think, Boy? What think you of our city?" "I don’t know, Sir. I don’t know what it is." "What is, Boy?" "A lot of it. I don’t know what a lot of it is. I’ve never seen so many houses and outbuildings. There must be as many houses as I have fingers and toes!" "I think there probably are, Boy. A slight few more, there are." "I like all these ships together, Pa. Did you come in one of those ships?" "One much like that one, Son." Richard pointed to a two-masted ketch at anchor. Some people leaned against the rail while others lay about the deck. Holding still to see, the boy could tell that those who lay about weren’t moving, and that creatures who were skin and bones and filth hovered over them, wiping brows and holding piggins and buckets for them to be sick into. A mast was broken, and the sound of saws and hammers came from below decks. The smell of vomit and of new sawn pine drifted from the ship, and Joseph remembered last year when his baby sister, Mary, and the old servant, Robert, died of the flux. "You had an easy voyage, Richard. Fair winds and sunshine, in just seven weeks, it was. Old Captain Ferris told me it was the only smooth voyage he’s made yet." "Uncle John, my son asked me to describe the ship which carried me. It was much the size of that unfortunate vessel." Joseph stared at the older man whom he was beginning to dislike.
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Becoming Americans "Pa, why do you call him "uncle?" "He is my uncle, Son. A brother to my father. That makes him your great-uncle. Your Grandfather Williams’s brother." "A noble, gentle man, your grandfather was, my boy. You are greatly honored to be his namesake. A martyred defender of his God and King. A loving brother to me. And to our brother, Edward. God rest both their souls of blessed memory." Father and son echoed him, though Richard looked sideways at his Uncle, who was rolling his eyes upward in prayer. "Had I an Uncle Edward, too?" Joseph was intrigued. Richard gave the lesson: "Your brother John is named after Uncle John, here. You were named after my father, Joseph; your brother Edward, for my Uncle Edward of loving memory," he looked at Uncle John. "Baby Richard was named after me." "I thought John was named for Grandfather Biggs." "So think he and your mother," Richard said, and he and Uncle John laughed. Joseph though for a moment then, "Who did you get named for, Pa?" Richard slowed his step and bent to adjust the garter of his stockings. "My father was up to Oxford fighting for King Charles the first King Charles when I was born. My mother died to give me birth they said I breathed my first as she breathed her last. Her mother my Grandmother Batts kept me for a while, and named me for Grandfather Batts. Grandfather Richard Batts. He was dead. And before I knew him, so was my father, fighting for his God and King. As Uncle John has often said." "Batts?" Joseph was confused. "I never knew my Batts kin. None of them. My Uncle Edward took me from her and raised me, more or less, until he found the way of being rid of me. And I of him." "Ingrate!" Uncle John had turned red. "Forgive me, Uncle. I place no blame. I might well do the same were I bequeathed a rebellious and deceitful child such as I was."
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Becoming Americans "Edward had his faults, but he did well by you, and I must have faith that he died a God-fearing man." Uncle John was flustered with competing memories and emotions, and not completely willing to accept the explanation. "Look, Pa! An Indian!" Tall and proud taller than the invaders who surrounded him the old Pamunkey strode towards the white men, walking with such confidence and purpose that young Joseph stepped aside to let him pass. Joseph wanted to reach out and touch the bronzed skin flesh tanned with smoke and bear’s grease. The men had different reactions. "Brazen heathen," Richard grumbled, reminded of Opeechcot by the knot of tied hair. "His people have been here for many more generations than our own," Uncle John said. "They, too, are sons of Adam. He has every right to be here, as he wears the badge for passage issued to our tributary Indians. He is about some business, no doubt." "No doubt," said Richard. "But I hear tales of the business of these savages up the rivers, nowadays. Some of them are about no good business. And how can you speak up for them? You were here to witness the massacre of ’44." "We are at peace with these people, Richard. They provide us markets and labor and information against those western and northern tribes who might not be so peaceful. Not to mention the Dutch and the French traders." "So it’s said." Richard wanted no more argument. He was thirsty, and he saw a sign that beckoned. "The clouds have brought a chill," he said. "A mug of ale and a fireside are the thing we want for a good chat. What say you, Uncle? The boy and I have had a brisk sail today." "I’d hoped we might first pass by the church and offer thanks for your safe voyage. Certainly, you’ll be offering a prayer for your father-in-law before he faces the General Court tomorrow." John Williams was a pious man who searched for ways and opportunities to express his sense of duty to the Established Church. "Governor Berkeley and his Council may not be in a lenient mood." "Then God will not be looking, and the Governor and his Council can be hanged!" Richard had little patience for the participants of the process that was closing in on his father-in-law.
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Becoming Americans "For Heaven’s sake. If you must blaspheme, then not so loud!" John was shaken around such talk. "We’ll have a drink before." Richard had halted beneath a painted sign that displayed a red cock and bull. "Not here," insisted his uncle. "The costs here are too high. The Cock and Bull is for gentlemen of substance. Or for men of substance who would pass as gentlemen. There’s no lack of inns and ordinaries in James Town, though none be anything but dear. But follow me, if you will persist." John led them through the newer part of town, past the brick church and its recently completed tower, towards the older, western part of town where filth and rubbish lay in the streets, and abandoned houses of daub and wattle still existed among scattered, low frame buildings. The glorious State House stood on a slight rise not far away. Sounds of laughter, and of wooden trenchers being banged on tables, and of female voices squealing in mock protest came from several doors along the street. The General Court was in session and that alone was occasion for the gathering of crowds to town, though James Town always bustled with the business of trade and government. Half of the population on any given day was just passing through. The Blue Ball seemed to be the liveliest establishment, and so was like a magnet to Richard. Smoke rose from the chimney, then poured out the door when he pulled at the latch. A burning log had rolled onto the dirt floor and added to the smoke of tobacco that clouded the packed room. "We can’t talk in here," Uncle John said. "Fine. Fine. That’s true enough. You know of another place?" Richard looked about before he pulled the door behind him. He’d come back here alone. This looked like his kind of place. John Williams led them to his favorite establishment, The Hawk and Dove. "A pint of cider for the boy, and maybe then a bowl of popped corn with milk and sugar." Richard looked to Joseph whose eyes were wide with anticipation at being served in a real ordinary. "For me, hot rum. And for my uncle ?" Richard grandly played the host to his uncle and his son. He’d spoken with the owner when they first entered, showed the man his papers, and was granted credit till the fall, when all bills were due and payable in tobacco notes. BOSON BOOKS
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"Hot rum, extra sweet, for me." John was glad to be sitting down, and relaxed his demeanor of family patriarch. The Hawk and Dove was much to his liking. Here the clientele was an older, more settled group. He smiled, comfortable here. He was glad to see his nephew after these ten years. And he was pleased to see this boy who had already impressed him with intelligence and curiosity. John Williams had lived to acknowledge the intemperate piety of his own passing generation, and often worried for the future of Virginia when it was left in the hands of Richard’s. But, then he’d meet one of this new generation of youngsters. "You’re raising a fine boy, Richard. I must say I’m surprised." Joseph the boy he spoke of didn’t know whether to be pleased for himself or insulted for his father. He held the wooden mug for its warmth. "I try to give him what I didn’t have." Richard took two deep swallows of his rum and sighed. "Ahh. I’m going to make it." "Ahh. Me, too, Pa," Joseph said, and took two sips of his cider. "I’ve thought of you often over the past years, Richard." John wanted to heal the wounds. "Your Aunt Mary speaks fondly of you." "Uncle John, that was another time. Much has happened since I left Gloucester County. I have a family, a plantation ." "Family, Richard. You always had family. A proud, vindictive uncle, maybe, but a loving aunt, and a doting cousin. You must always know and you must tell your children that you have family. And we must never let that knot be untied again. Family’s the most valuable resource we have in this huge country. You must know that by now, Nephew." "I do, Uncle. And I know I didn’t show the gratitude I should have. Uncle Edward did me a great favor. And you did. But I was just a child not much older than my Joseph when I was sent to Virginia. I was only thirteen, Uncle." "You didn’t act thirteen," said his uncle. "True enough. I was old for my age." He took another drink of rum. "You all were old for your age. It was a strange time, when you were a child. Cromwell and the Devil were on the prowl. Fathers being killed. Some by their own kin. Families moving to the cities. England overrun with orphans and loose children in the BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans streets. Stealing, attacking innocents. Wild. The wildest ever. And even here, even now, your generation is undisciplined and violent ." "It’s good to see you, Uncle John. I’m glad my Joseph has met another Williams. His only family has been Biggses. I’ve missed you all, too. How fares Cousin Thomas?" John relaxed again. "He’s fine, God be thanked. We nearly lost him in ’72 withthe flux, but he survived." Joseph wasn’t listening to them anymore. He was staring at a man with hair so short it barely covered the ears. "My master shamed me before my wife and child, he did," the man was saying. The short-hair wasn’t Dutch, and Joseph strained to hear the shorn man’s conversation with an old man, whose faded silks must once have been as elegant as those worn by the man Joseph had knocked down. "I weren’t no runaway, my time was up and he cut off my hair! Not only weren’t I no runaway, he owed me by due rights! I got ’em too, and my revenge. Thanks be to God and to our Christian Governor." The fading Cavalier laughed and clapped the short-haired man on the back. "Can’t blame the man for trying, can you? It’shard to get good help nowadays, it is!" The older man laughed again, but then, to calm the man he was riling, "I pray to have your luck in Court tomorrow and not that of your old master. I’m in danger of losing the patent to my whole plantation since my thieving neighbor claimed title to it from an old land grant that he says he just now discovered! I can’t start all over again for a third time at my age!" Joseph listened in to the undertow of conversation around the room, though some of the accents were so strange he missed half the words. A drunk, still in his carpenter’s apron, swore at a soldier wearing his armored breastplate beneath the lace collar that fell across his shoulders. The soldier stood with a hand on the cage of his sword handle, his legs forced apart by the wide tops of the lacetrimmed boots that were folded at the ankles. "Your forts are useless," his accuser yelled. "Who do you think you’re going to fight? Is the Emperor going to send troops to find you? No, you idiot! Those savages aren’t going to come to your fort; they’re going to my daughter’s farm! They’ll sneak through the woods and find someone to scalp and butcher like they always have. Like BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans they’re doing still, day by day. What makes you think a scattering of forts is going to do the job? We need to search ’em out and kill ’em all!" "I just follow orders," the soldier said. "Talk to the Governor." "The Governor? Indian lover!" The carpenter spoke the title and epithet with disgust, and emphasized his feelings by spitting in the dirt. His voice carried through the crowd, and there was a hushed moment as all turned to see the man, the resumed their own conversations. "Wild talk, isn’t it Uncle? I’m surprised to hear such open talk. But you must know of the doings of the Governor’s men. The times are bad enough, with extra taxes for the western forts and more again to pay for our Commissioners in England. Then last year’s storm and the cattle disease. Two raids by the Dutch . On top of this, Berkeley’s favorites are stealing what little that we have managed to hold on to. Those friends of his he names over us who lie and cheat to take our little, when they have so much! I’m telling you, the people have had too much." John Williams was calm. He knew it was hard times, and he’d heard many stories of doings by the Governor’s favorites. John was saddened that some of those appointed by Governor Berkeley whom everyone had loved and admired for so many years were blemishing his name. Mister Williams didn’t doubt that some of these stories were true. "What are the facts with John Biggs?" Uncle John went to a safer subject. "Mister Biggs was witness to the last will and testament of Francis Porter down in Lower Norfolk County. But when Mister Porter died and it came time to prove the will in court and swear to it, the . Well, the will was drawn up in ’66, before Father Biggs "saw the light," as the Quakers say, and the County Court says he must swear to his signature. There’s no problem with the will, and the Court says he must swear or go to jail or to the stocks. He’s appealed to the General Court. I’m here to testify, or to post bond should the priests, indeed, win out." "My prayers will be with him." But then, John wondered, how could he pray for a Quaker in a fight with His Majesty’s Court? "But all is not ill, Uncle. I’m here, as well, to add to my holdings. Deep Creek land will only support one year’s crop of tobacco, and I’ve cleared and used all that’s high enough. But the supply of pelts from our great swamp is unending. And there’s tar and shingles! I’ve traded for the servants and their headrights that will bring me another four hundred acres."
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Becoming Americans "That set you back a pretty penny, I would reckon." Uncle John was surprised after all this talk of "hard times." "Frugal living. What can I say?" modestly.
Richard turned up his hands and shrugged
John Williams beamed. "I’m proud of you, Nephew. Despite your faults, no one ever said you were afraid of work. And you’ve saved for the right thing. Land is the only way to reputation. Have enough to live free of the world, but don’t have so much or desire so much that you take on responsibilities and obligations that might turn on you. Your factor, even if a relative, will capture you with debt and you’ll be enslaved like before, but this time for life. Finding the balance is the secret. Pelts and furs are just a means to that end, and the present furor over trading rights is most distasteful, to my mind. I’m proud of you. And it does me good to be saying that, it does. Let me drink to you." John raised his tankard and was joined by his nephews. The three of them were silent for a time, warmed by the moment of reunion. Three generations, recording in their memory the smell of burning hickory and tobacco, of spiced rum and ale. "Papa, is Uncle John from England, too?" Joseph was becoming curious about the man with whom his father shared a history and to whom he showed such respect. "Indeed I am, my boy. From Bristol, the great and growing shipping town. Your great-grandfather moved there in the time of the old Queen." "The old Queen?" Joseph didn’t know the King had had another wife. "Good Queen Bess. Queen Elizabeth. The Virgin Queen. The queen our country was named for." "Virginia?" "Yes, Boy. A glorious time for our nation." Uncle John looked away to his youth. "My father often told us of the time he saw Queen Bess. He’d gone to London to visit with his father and there she was, one day, he said. Riding by in state, attended by Sir Walter Raleigh and the Earl of Leicester." "Who was he, Uncle?"
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Becoming Americans "Who was the Earl of Leicester? What are children being taught, these days! It’s just as well, I suppose. They have no need for old gossip." "I saw the first King Charles myself, I did," said Richard to his son. "I was just a very little boy and standing on the roof of the old Guild Hall in Bristol when he rode by. Resplendent, he was, riding with his sons, the present King and the Duke of York." "The King, it was? When you told that story to me nearly twenty years ago, it was Prince Rupert that you saw when you were two years old!" John laughed and slapped his nephew on the shoulder. "My hindsight has improved," Richard said, a little sheepishly. "Well, I did see King James, in truth. And since I was born whilst they worked on his new Bible, there seems some justice in that I did." "Is Bristol as large as James Town, Pa?" "Joseph, Son. There is no way to tell you. Bristol has as many houses in the one town as exists in the whole of Virginia. Am I lying, Uncle?" "If you are, then not by much. A goal for you, my boy, would be to reach a sufficiency that would let you visit our old home. Every Englishman should see his home." Uncle John’s eyes clouded over. "A toast to the protector of our liberties and fortunes, our most honorable Governor, William Berkeley!" The man with shorn hair was standing on a table with his tankard raised. "To Berkeley!" echoed a man whose wig was so ornately long and curled that he could only carry his tall, feathered hat beneath an arm. "Hear, hear," was heard around the room as most of the men raised their mugs to drink. Uncle John stood in salute. "You refuse my toast?" The shorn man spoke to Richard and the carpenter, neither one of who had drunk. "Something caught in my throat," answered the carpenter with heavy sarcasm.
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Becoming Americans Richard knocked his tankard over, spilling most of the contents on the dirt floor. "And I am out of drink," he said. The freed servant glared at Richard. The carpenter stepped up. "But I can drink to His Gracious Majesty, King Charles and to His Majesty’s colony of Virginia," he said. "Hear, hear," the crowd joined in. "I’ve enough left for that," Richard said, and pointedly hoisted his tankard and drained the remaining drops. The man with short hair slipped from his perch and fell against their table. Joseph’s bowl was knocked into his lap. "A little too much for your good, I think," Richard said as he rose and threw what remained in the bowl at the drunken man’s crotch. "Looks like you can’t hold your ale," he said, indicating the wet splotch. The roomful of customers laughed at the man who stood there, trying to balance on his feet, wondering if he should retaliate. He stumbled out the door. "Was that necessary, I wonder?" asked Uncle John. He was suddenly tired and very sad. "A man must learn his limit of strong drink, said Richard. "A most informed admonition, coming from one who ." himself.
Uncle John stopped
"Well, the boy must be fatigued, and Mistress Henderson will be waiting for us. Maybe we should ." "If you would take Joseph along, Uncle. I’ll stay with the boat tonight. I would search out the captain of the Europe for goods I requested in the fall." "We’ll take our leave, then. You’ll join us in the morning to break fast?"
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Becoming Americans "I’ll see you in the morning. And Uncle John. It’s good tosee you. And it’s glad, I am, that my Joseph has this chance to spend some hours alone with you." "Till morning, then." John saw through the flattery, but was warmed by the crude charm. "But, Pa, I want to stay with you and George!" "Get along, Boy. It’s your Uncle John you’re going with. I’ll see you in the morning." The old man threw his scarlet cloak about his shoulders and wrapped it around the child. "We’ll be fine," he said. "It’s but a short walk to Goodwife Henderson’s." Richard walked out with them, then turned back towards the river and his boat. The dock was crowded with the shallops and sloops of planters and traders who’d come to market or to court. Several small fires lined the riverbank and were surrounded by tight clusters of men who talked, drinking wine and smoking from their long clay pipes. Boys about the age of Joseph were among some groups, and Richard wondered for a moment if he should have brought his son back to mingle with his own kind, but thought again that he was glad for the boy to know his kin. Uncle John had grown more quarrelsome in his dotage, but he was a good man. At least, he made an effort to be good. That was more than Richard could say for himself. A dim light flickered from within the tent that was set onboard his boat. Richard stepped into the shallop and the rocking brought forth a yelp from inside the tent. "Who goes there?" "George, it’s me!" "What are you doing back here?" George Dawes stuck his head out of the tent. His days of indentured servitude had ended a year ago, and he now worked with Richard Williams for wages. But years of working hard together with like temperaments and close ages, living on the edge of the dark wilderness that was the great swamp, had made them friends. "I came to check on you. And glad of it, I am. If you burn them pelts with that bayberry candle, you’ll be working many a day for me for nothing."
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Becoming Americans "I’m no fool, Richard Williams. And don’t be speaking to me like your slave. I don’t have to work for you no more. I’m in here looking for my rattle to show these men." "You brought that snakeskin to James Town?" "Just the rattle. For good luck." George said. "Well, hurry up, then get out. I’ve got to change my clothes. I look like some beggar. Joseph was ashamed of his old man." "And well he might be, if he knew you as I do," George muttered. "I found it! Good luck!" He pulled the rattle from a pelican maw that he used for a tobacco pouch and shook it. He clambered off the boat and Richard could hear him bragging to the men about the huge rattlesnakes in Lower Norfolk County. Richard pulled apart the stack of mink and beaver pelts and dragged out a small chest. He opened it and took out a suit of clothes. He lifted out the breeches and held them up. The fashion persisted. These Rhinegrave breeches were so wide and full that they deserved the name of petticoat breeches that most people called them. The dark green wool was of the finest quality, and dozens of black silk ribbon-loops trimmed the waist and hung by the side. It must have cost someone a fortune, Richard thought. When he emerged from the tent he felt like a lord, and so he must have appeared, for George greeted him with a low bow and, "Good evening, My Lord." "You don’t think it’s too much, do you?" Richard asked. There was no point in angering Uncle John tomorrow. "Of course it is, but if everybody in the country was arrested for breaking the laws about dressing above their station, there wouldn’t be enough tobacco to build the jails." It was a scandal that still greatly annoyed the gentlemen of Virginia, but they didn’t force the issue as was done in New England. "You had a lucky find, that ship," Dawes said. "Luck, George? Uncle John might say God sent me to that ship. Or that God sent the storm to drive the ship ashore where I would find it," said Richard.
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Becoming Americans "Then we should thank Him for that, and for giving you time to relieve the hold of those two heavy chests before the crew returned with help." "You’re right. I’ll say a prayer in church tomorrow for the New England captain and his men. We’ll need them, come this fall, to smuggle our tobacco!" Richard adjusted the ribbon roses that adorned his shoes. "The shirt’s not good, he said, puffing up the front. "It’s old and water-stained. And the stockings are tailored cotton. They’re my best, but this suit wants silk hose." "Beggars can’t be choosers," George said. "Who’s going to notice?" "No one will tonight, but they will tomorrow in court, when it’s light." "It’s not your day in court, it’s your father-in-law’s." George had no concern about what people thought. "They’ll know it’s not you’s the Quaker." Richard headed back towards the old part of town, looking at the men he met to see if their clothes were as mis-matched as his were. Many of them were, and when he reached the Blue Ball and went inside, he noticed the variety of styles the men were wearing. Some of them wore the new, long coats that hung to the knees and had pockets near the hem with rows of buttons to match those running down the front. Some men were wearing the old-style doublets with a high, short-waist and the long narrow breeches that went nearly to the ankles. Every man wore his hair long and curled, some with a lovelock hanging down one side. A few of the more fashionable had elaborate wigs. The room was more crowded now than earlier. Four men at a table were singing loudly and were banging their tankards in a rhythm. Three different arguments were taking place, and in a rear corner two men were throwing dice against a wall. Suddenly the man with the longest wig and most beribboned suit collapsed to the floor while those who saw him shouted laughter. The innkeeper dragged him out to the fresh air. He returned and greeted Richard, making necessary inquiries. "God damn me if I’m lying, it’s Richard Williams! They haven’t hung you yet?" Richard turned his head and saw Edward Harper. "For which crime?" Richard asked. "For being the worst manservant I ever had," Edward said. "Your father knew better than to have me ever wait on you!" BOSON BOOKS
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Richard was delighted and threw his arms around his friend. "What brings you to a place like this?" "As Father told us once, ’Birds of a feather flock together,’" Edward replied. "He did say that. He did," Richard remembered. "It was the day we stole the jug of wine he was saving to celebrate the new house!" "Too bad we can’t get a little tippled with no more wine than that now," Edward said. "And how goes it with your father and your new brothers?" Richard asked. "They all are well now that he’s married anew. When Drusilla died, he fell apart as bad as when my mother drowned. The man must have a woman. I don’t see him often. He’s still angry that I set out on my own. I wanted hills and valleys that I wouldn’t have to share with new brothers." "What brings you down from the mountains, Edward? The last I heard you had a bold plantation up near the falls of the Rappahannock." Edward suddenly grew serious. "Things are not well up the Rappahannock, Richard. The news must have reached your swamp by now. I’ve come to make it plain to the Governor and the Council how desperate our situation is." "The Indians." Richard guessed it. He’d heard tales. The air was full of rumors about the Indians for the last months. "Sit down. I’ll tell you what’s been happening," Edward said. "Sit down? Where?" Richard looked about, grinning. Edward pulled a chair from beneath a drunk whose head lay on his table. A neighbor stood to defend his friend but fell against the wall. The third man at the table rose and moved across the room. Richard and Edward took the seats. "Rum!" Edward shouted across the din. He leaned across the table and Richard leaned towards him. "It’s time for action," Edward said.
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Becoming Americans The trouble had started last summer when Edward’s neighbor, Thomas Mathew, had crossed over the nearby Potomac River into Maryland to trade with some of the Doeg Indians. The Indians claimed that Mathew didn’t pay for what he took, and some days later they crossed over into Virginia to steal some of his hogs in payment. Mathew’s men caught them sneaking off. They pursued the raiding party and, in recovering the hogs, killed some of the Indians. The Doeg who escaped returned to their leaders across the river and reported the rout. A war party of revenge was organized that went back and killed a herdsman of Mathew’s, named Hen. This raised the stakes. Three hundred militia were raised and led by Captain George Brent and Captain George Mason over into Maryland again, looking for the hostile tribe. Soon after the militia had divided up at a fork in the road, the part commanded by Captain Brent found a cabin crowded with Indians and killed twenty Doeg. Captain Mason had found another cabin full of Indians and, when they heard the shots and shouts form Captain Brent’s nearby raid, the frightened Indians in the cabin found by Mason ran outside. In the panic that ensued, fourteen of these Indians were killed before one of them was heard yelling, "Susquehanaugh friends!" "They weren’t Doeg," Edward said. "That group really was from our allied Susquehanaugh tribe. But I’m not sure they were so innocent. These Indians have their own network and secret planning. We can’t ever forget the infernal, secret scheming that made for the massacre of ’22. We’re not going to let that happen to us up in the new frontier areas." Richard had heard the story often since he arrived as a boy eighteen years earlier. Old Ned had frightened them with the tale first, but when Richard and Edward had arrived, in 1658, there were still a few of the "ancient planters," as they were called, who had survived the "starving time" of 1610, the massacre of 1622, and the massacre of 1644. The "ancient planters" were living legends then, and Richard with Edward had been lucky enough to hear the stories first-hand. He thought of Old Ned his was the scariest version but his hatred for the big-mouthed, tale-spinner was long gone. "And then the popish Marylanders had to make the matter worse," Edward said. His attitude about Virginia’s neighbors to the north was shared by most Virginians. Most recently the Marylanders were despised because they had turned back on their agreement years in the making to cooperate with Virginia when even Carolina was being intelligent in plans to limit the amount of tobacco grown. The market remained flooded, keeping prices down so low that the only recourse for the planters was to clear more land, to grow more tobacco in spiraling attempts to make up in volume what they couldn’t get in price-per-pound. "The Marylanders protested about our going into their territory and killing ’innocents.’" Edward forced the word. "So then the politicians had to get involved." BOSON BOOKS
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At the end of last August, Governor Berkeley ordered an investigation. But the men he appointed to the task John Allerton and John Washington ignored his orders until they could be joined by a group of Maryland officials and troops. By then, Virginians on the frontier were getting impatient. In mid-September, Nathaniel Bacon, a recent arrival in Virginia, grabbed some friendly Indians who were accused of stealing his neighbor’s corn. Bacon was young and rash, but well-connected. A year earlier, in March of 1675, he had been appointed to the Council, joining the most elevated of the colonists. His fellow planters and traders in the upper reaches of the James River were urging him to more action. People were ready to take matters into their own hands. Finally, at the end of September, the WashingtonAllerton-Maryland group met with the five chiefs of the Susquehanough. In a great uproar, the chiefs were accused of treachery. Despite their denials, in the end, they were murdered by the accusers. Governor Berkeley was outraged, for he’d hoped to settle the affair peaceably. He’d been here in 1644 and, despite the assassination of the captured chief, Opechencanough brother of Powhattan, and uncle of Pocahontas he’d managed to establish a peace with the Indians that, for the most part, had held until the present. Until now, most people had wanted peace. But the frontiersmen didn’t want a peaceful settlement, this time. Neither did many of the Indians. The remaining Susquehanough were besieged in their fort, but somehow managed to escape with all their families. They killed ten sleeping soldiers as they left. Then, in January, just two months ago, they made a raid and killed thirty-six settlers. It was known that they intended to kill ten Englishmen for every one of their chiefs the white men had killed to them, a just ratio. In Virginia, word had come of the heathen uprising in New England King Phillip’s War, named for the Indian leader. Another 1622 could happen here. This time, for sure, some of the slaves and discontented servants would join. "The people have had enough," Edward said. "We’ll not wait around for the savages to wipe us out! Something must be done." Richard’s eyes had wandered, and his mind. Since he came into the city today he’d been hearing bits and pieces of such talk. Evidently things were worse than he’d thought. Governor Berkeley was making enemies out of everyone, including the old friends with whom he’d once shared a passion for westward expansion. The Indians and the Governor’s idea of justice and honor stood in the way.
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Becoming Americans "Justice and honor? Your uncle and his friends are naive!" Edward sneered. "Berkeley just last week revoked all licenses to trade with the Indians. Took them back from men who knew the business and had contacts. Claimed they were selling arms and ammunition to the savages. A few bad apples. Thought he’d convince the people he was doing something to help the cause. But he turned around and issued new licenses to his own friends!" Richard had one eye on the two men throwing dice. "Uncle John said the Assembly was in session. Maybe they’ll do something," he said. "The Long Assembly? Now there’s another example of the Governor’s ideas. The same assembly that was elected in wasn’t it fifteen years ago? Who’d have thought that Sir William Berkeley, loving defender of the murdered King Charles, would adopt the tactics of the killers, Cromwell and the rest? It’s way past time for a new election. They’re doing too little, too late. Declared war on the known killers and helpers. And they’re raising five hundred men from the least threatened counties like yours to send on patrols between those useless forts we’re still paying for. Of course, they’ll order more taxes to pay for those troops." "More taxes! I can’t pay more taxes!" Richard’s attention snapped back. "Who’s winning?" Edward asked, indicating the gamblers on the floor. "The one without the nose," Richard said. He didn’t know his wandering attention had been noticed. "I was listening to you!" "A shilling says he loses on his next toss," Edward said. They’d known each other for a long time. I have no coins! Richard said. "What have you got?" Edward was ready. "I’ve got pelts. And a few pounds of tobacco." "I want your suit." "My suit. I won’t wager for the suit. This is the first time I’ve had it on!" "I want the clothes. What have I that you covet?" Edward’s eyes narrowed. This was an old game between them. BOSON BOOKS
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"Stand up," Richard said and examined his friend’s clothes and purse. "The boots," he said. "I’ll have the boots to wear with my suit, tomorrow." They both looked to Edward’s feet. He wore bucket boots, a type that was popular and easily as expensive as Richard’s suit. The boots were funnel shaped and shorter than the thigh-length boot that folded down and over with ornate cuffs. The tops of these did fold down the resulting shape was why they were called bucket boots but they were made of firm leather and were lined with a white fabric. "You’re on," Edward said, and they both looked quickly to the men behind them on the floor. The man whose nose was missing the result of some fight he d doubtless lost was holding the two cubes in his hand and murmuring over them. They flew against the wall and settled to the dirt, one of them showing a single spot, the other bearing two. "I will wear my new suit tomorrow," Edward said. "I’ll sit by you in court so that my glory might reflect on you." He grinned, pleased with himself to be on top again, in this old competition. "You idiot!" Richard yelled at the man without a nose. The disfigured man stood and leaned into Richard’s face. "Guard your tongue, Pretty Man, or you’ll soon be looking like my twin," he said. "You smell of rot," Richard said. The man reared back his head, and slammed it into Richard’s face. As Richard swung his fist up blindly, stunned by the blow, Edward was up and over, knocking the table and Richard to the floor as he grabbed the man by the throat, then with one hard blow, knocked the man unconscious to the ground. Edward Harper spoke to the senseless loser. "Thanks for the suit." The tavern owner rushed over and set the table on its feet. "Is this one causing trouble, again?" he asked with concern, looking from the noseless gambler to the fancy gentleman. "I’d tell him to carry his business elsewhere, but you gentlemen know how it is, hard times and all." He lifted the man’s head and poured the mug of beer across it. He dragged the body towards the door. "It’s why I have a bad back, it is." BOSON BOOKS
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Richard and Edward sat down and resumed their conversation. Edward went on talking about the situation up-country, but Richard could only think of his suit. He’d never had such finery. Although the suit that his uncle had sent him over with was good, it didn’t near the costliness of this. Anne had altered the old one over the years, and patched with care the place he’d torn in a fight at James Thornton’s funeral,but he’d never be able to have another suit like this. He rejected that thought. Of course, he would. Easy come, easy go. "Enough of that," Richard said. "Tell me of your family. You married?" "Yes. I was, Edward said. But not for long. My wife bore me three sons. All dead before a year. She, with the last." Richard winced. His wife and children were his life. They were why he lived. His work and schemes were for them. Without them . "I’m sorry." "I’ll remarry, soon enough," Edward said. "I’m like my father. I need a woman, too, but it’s not easy to find good women in this country. I’ve an Indian servant girl to keep me warm at night, and I have variety from a wench I bought from Bridewell Hospital two years ago. And there’s my new African girl who still refuses to speak. Still, I need a wife and children. There’s too much work and servants and slaves to manage for a man alone." "You remember Anne," Richard began. "I’ll not soon forget your wedding!" "Nor will the county," Richard said abashedly. "We have four sons who live the second boy, Joseph, came with me. One daughter. We’ve only lost two, so far. One of each." It pained him still to remember the babies who had died, but he and Anne were lucky to have lost so few. He knew that, and he silently swallowed those sad memories in the face of his friend’s more common fate. Edward counted on his fingers. "So, you let her rest for two years?" He laughed.
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Becoming Americans "I discovered peach brandy and honeyed water in ’68. I had a hangover in ’69." Richard loved to repeat this explanation for why Anne carried no children those two years of their married life. "I believe you, you old sot!" Edward laughed again and downed his rum punch. "Well, it’s the truth," Richard said, open-eyed with innocence. "And I’ll happily give you a demonstration of how I’ve developed my talent for drink! But not tonight. I’ve a day ahead of me tomorrow." "This day’s not over for you, yet," said Edward. "Oh? Yes, I must be going ." "The suit. Shall I take it now, then?" "Edward, my friend, you wouldn’t ." But Richard knew he would. "I’ll accompany you to where you sleep tonight. I’ll want the suit for wearing in the morning." Edward was grinning again. They stepped out into the clean air. The night was cold and cloudless. No chance for rain. That was getting troublesome. There’d been no rain for weeks and Richard was concerned about this year’s crop already. "The house of William Drummond." Edward was pointing to a house on the Back Street that was visible through the budding orchard behind the State House. "Drummond?" Richard looked to see the house, to see if anyone was moving. Drummond had been Governor of Carolina. "They’ve named the great lake on our border after him. Lake Drummond, in the midst of the great swamp." "I know that," Edward said. "That’s why I pointed out the house." He spoke into his cloak, preserving warmth. "You should see that water, Edward. Dark black, almost. Stained by the trees that surround it and grow in it. But sweet, the water is. Used as a physick by our doctors and the Indians. Stays fresh for a year when I cask it. The perfect thing for a rum punch."
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Becoming Americans "Black water with your rum? It’s a wonder that you just missed two years breeding if it’s anything like the Black Drink Opeechcot gave us," Edward said. "I wonder what happened to him," the men said in unison. They stopped, gripped the other’s little finger with their own, said, "bow" and "arrow," then walked on in silence, remembering their youth. The evening’s drink had taken its toll, and the two men were stumbling against each other and drifting to the side before they reached the boat. "It was kind of you to see me home," Richard said. He bowed low to his friend, then stepped aboard the shallop. "I’ll wait," Edward said. "My father wouldn’t like it if you came aboard," Richard minced. He found himself amusing when he was a little tippled. "The suit," Edward said. "Bastard." Richard grumbled and climbed into the tent. He emerged with a mink pelt thrown over each shoulder for warmth, holding the new suit in his hands. He threw the suit to Edward. "I hope the rightful owner sees you in it," Richard said, and went back into the tent. "You’ll see it worn with style tomorrow," Edward turned back towards the town. Richard burrowed into the bed of pelts. George stirred and sat up. "Who is it!" "Go back to sleep, George. I don’t want to talk." Richard settled in amongst the furs. He was glad Uncle John never saw the suit. He’d never know Richard lost it in a wager. Rash. Uncle John would call him rash. He had before. Anne’s father had called him rash. So had Edward’s father, Francis Harper, called him rash. But he wasn’t rash, that was stupid. The rash died quickly in Virginia. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, simply, was the way that Richard saw it. He lived his life that way, and it had worked, so far. Coming to Virginia. Plotting for a young, seasoned, wealthy bride. Seating on unwanted land. Taking risks paid off for him, usually. Except for the suit. BOSON BOOKS
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It must have been the misstep with his left foot this afternoon when he first saw Uncle John! Ripples from the current rocked this shallop. Richard thought of Joseph lying in a soft bed. He remembered Anne and their children at home, as he rocked with the boat. He re-arranged the pelts beneath his head and wondered why he’d forgotten to speak of his daughters to Uncle John. Maybe, because this was a man’s rough country, and Richard was proud of his healthy sons. Sons who would prove themselves, and would build on the wealth and reputation he intended to bequeath. Maybe, it was because his daughters were too special to him: touched him in a tender place he hadn’t known existed until they came. The death of Mary, last year, had been a blow that still opened up a hole when he lingered on the thought. The boy they lost had been born dead bless its tortured soul. At the time, Richard was determined to find the witch who’d cursed his seed. But Anne had calmed him and denied the existence of a curse. It was the stars, she revealed, because the child had been conceived on a night the northeast sky was bombarded with stars that raced through the heavens. She’d heard of many strange results of the stars that night. Anne had always been like the older, wiser one in their marriage. Uncle John was only partly right about Anne, though. She’d mended his clothes, but she’d not mended his ways. Uncle John thought that men’s ways could be changed. Richard had seen no evidence of it in his life. Uncle John was impressed with Richard’s new life as Richard had described it. What would he ask young Joseph? What would Joseph innocently give away? The boy couldn’t speak directly of the early years. Of when a hundred people or more had crowded into John Biggs’s house on his daughter’s wedding day. Richard could remember his, otherwise, modest father-in-law retelling the story to visitors over the years. His father-in-law displayed a merciful nature in not recalling the ending of that day’s celebrations. Pigs, chicken, geese, and even a steer had been slaughtered for the wedding feast. Tables were scattered abut the near garden and down between two fingers of the clear, dark-amber creek. Grandfather Ware had sent his cook to help the new Sarah Biggs prepare the meal. Sarah Hodges, when widowed, was almost immediately wed to Anne’s father. Grandmother Ware’s receipt was used for the punch: BOSON BOOKS
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"Three jugs of beer. "Three jugs of brandy. "Three pounds of sugar. "Some nutmegs and cinnamon. "Mix well together and when the sugar is melted, drink." But, Edward and the Birkenhead boy who gave Anne and Richard a handsome pewter charger doubled the brandy portion in the second batch of punch, resulting in near-riotous imbibers. Richard didn’t remember the incident, but he was reported to have given very harsh words to Mister Ware for that man’s own consumption, and for transmission to Richard’s Uncle John. The Birkenhead girl fell into the creek. Mister Ware turned an ankle. Edward would always bear the scar he earned in a knife fight with a local youth, that night. Anne had been so beautiful that the memory of her made Richard sit up amidst the furs, and squeeze his eyes to hold onto the vision before he lay back and nestled underneath the pelts.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Eight
Anne was awakened by the emptiness in her bed, but then remembered Richard had taken Joseph and gone off to James Town with the pelts. She turned to reach for the baby stirring with his pre-dawn hunger but she rose, instead, to place dry wood on the embers, then returned to bed to hold the baby, Richard, to her breast. Anne embraced these early hours with a nursing child. These minutes were to warm her heart and plan her day. Today was soap-day, but she’d planned for that way earlier in the week. She knew she’d need busy-work for today that would be successful and rewarding. She knew she’d be lonely for her husband and for Joseph, and she knew that she’d be worrying about her father. Loneliness was part of woman’s work; men were bound to tend their traps or hunt, or to go for militia drills, or to just get drunk. But no more would she worry about the loose women of James Town. Richard had sworn to her "never again" and anyway, Joseph was with his father. She lay the sleeping child on the bed beside her and peered through the morning glow to her other sleeping children. John, the oldest, was snoring in the loft he shared this night with her third son, Edward. Edward had insisted on taking the absent Joseph’s place. Edy, her cherished daughter, lay by the bed, clutching at the corn-husk doll she’d not let go of since babysister Mary died the year before. A knot tightened in Anne’s stomach as she recalled the tortuous and prolonged death of her daughter, named by her for the mother she’d never known. The knot rose to her throat when she thought of the possibilities the Court might present to her father on this day in James Town. John Biggs lost some friends, and some doors of influence had been closed to him on the day he entered Norfolk Courthouse and failed to remove his hat. It was open declaration of his total conversion. A Quaker doffed his hat to no one but God; considered all his equal men and women whom general society ranked above or below themselves according to birth, of course, or to wealth. Anne had heard that there were Quakers who refused to own slaves! She found that thought troublesome and tiresome. Why would her father and these Dissenters go to such lengths and efforts to be controversial and extreme! They were most ostentatious in their dress. Both their men and women were creating a separate fashion of plainness. Their clothes were of the same cut as others, following the general lines of King Charles’s thigh-length coats and broadbrimmed hats, but they were devoid of color, ribbons, feathers or unnecessary buttons. The dull grays and browns stood out in any crowd. The Friends insistence on returning BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans to the "thee"s and "thou"s of her grandparent’s childhood was, again, almost insulting. The increased courtliness and manners of recent decades including the general usage of the plural "you" were some of the few improvements introduced by those of her father’s age. Most of that generation was a wild lot, though, and Grandfather Ware still complained that they didn’t seem to get much better as they aged. She wasn’t one of them. She never had been. Richard was. All of his friends were. She wasn’t, and her children weren’t. Already she could sense an attitude in her older boys that was more like her own. They were serious children who looked forward to and expected a future of hard work that would be fulfilling and rewarding. They were level-headed. John could cipher and was helping her to teach the younger ones. He and Joseph made their own traps, and had nine pelts of their own in the pile that would be sold today. Today was the General Court. The living legend, Old Governor Berkeley, and his Council would decide her father’s fate. When King Charles II had come to the throne sixteen years earlier, he’d started off by freeing seven hundred Quakers, but his Parliament wouldn’t allow such tolerance, and passed the Conventicle Act in 1664, making it illegal for five or more persons to gather for worship in any form other than that of the Church of England. Virginia’s Assembly had made its own laws for suppressing Quakers. Any ship captain caught transporting them was fined one hundred pounds. Richard told Anne that Captain Ingolbreitsen had forfeited his three years income from a ship to maintain his reputation. In addition, fines were levied for non-attendance at church, for unlawful assemblies and a reward of one-half the two-thousand pound fine for non-baptismal of children was given to the informant. Only six months earlier, the General Court had fined her father for that offense to the Crown. Most likely, the Court would fine her father again, and possibly, confine him for a few hours in the stocks an uncomfortable and humiliating position for such a respected man as her father. But that would be better than the cruel treatment in jail that had cost the lives of other Friends. Anne’s emotions returned to anger at her stepmother Sarah. This woman had brought Quakers into her father’s house. Sarah Hodges Biggs had been converted by her first husband, and had risen to a position of some respect in her religious community. She hosted Quaker meetings in the home. George Fox, himself, their very founder, had spoken in the house when he passed through on the Carolina leg of his American trip in 1673. Anne blamed Sarah for that visit which had "revealed the light" to her father. Sarah was a frequent speaker at Friends meetings. The prominence of women in the sect was scandalous to most people, and the idea that her own step-mother .
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Becoming Americans Anne stopped herself in mid-thought. Stepmother Biggs had been more than kind to her. It was Sarah who had proclaimed Richard a hero when he arrived in Lower Norfolk County to claim Anne’s hand. Sarah Biggs talked to, and at, her husband until the man relented and announced the engagement of his daughter, Anne, to the new planter, Richard Williams. Young Richard had arrived to mixed reactions. Knowledge of his part in the smuggling of tobacco and Quakers was widespread. He was both scoundrel and hero. The people of Lower Norfolk and Nansemond Counties seldom spoke violently against their numerous Quaker neighbors. These two counties were the most heavily penetrated by the people who called themselves the Society of Friends. Many of these dissenters were wealthy, and their universal reputation for honest dealings made them reliable tools and allies, on occasion. No one dared speak too loudly of tobacco smuggling, either. Nearly all of the planters had made attempts to escape the tobacco tax. It was necessary, of course, to publicly condemn such things, but not so loudly as to draw attention. At a recent militia parade, Anne had sarcastically requested that her servant fetch the pot-pourri, when a leading planter declaimed on the "profane disrespect" to His Majesty by the smugglers. So, when Richard Williams at the tender age of twenty years arrived a free man, bearing his six servants and the resulting three hundred acres he was welcomed to the Southern Branch community. With Anne Biggs’s handsome dowry, Richard Williams was a potential force. Anne was proud of her new husband. Even now, she looked back on those first years with pride and flickering hope for more years like them. She stepped from the bed onto the dirt floor. Soon spring, then summer, would be here, and the damp floor would feel good to her feet.
Richard and George Dawes stood by the fire that dried a hollow in the fog that rose and drifted from the river. "Tomorrow, Tuesday, will be business; today, I deal with family affairs. Meantime, keep your ears open to the rumors goin’ ’round. I’ll want to know where we’ll get our best prices for them pelts, and you might listen for more about the stirrings against Governor Berkeley. From what I can recall of last night’s mood, there may be serious trouble ahead, and we’ll need to know if Lower Norfolk will be touched. Where
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Becoming Americans does Captain Carver stand?" He’d like to know where his powerful neighbor stood before he said too much himself. George grunted. "It’s the first day of General Court, and James Town is filled with planters and trappers from up the rivers. They, I think, are the most aggrieved by His Excellency’s inaction with regards the Indians." "They wouldn’t like another man any better, would they, now?" George Dawes said. "Not unless he’d lead them out against the savages and wipe them out. Any trouble they bring on won’t touch us, I think. It’s the greedy frontiersmen who want more land to lord over, isn’t it? Neither Lower Norfolk nor Nansemond have to fear the Indians." "No, but we’ve more taxes to fear if militias are called out to fight," Richard said as he walked off. "And don’t get too drunk to guard our pelts," he added. Richard walked beneath the budding mulberry trees, along the Great Road by the river, then turned right onto one of the short streets leading to the Back Street. This had been the "New Town" for nearly fifty years. It was here that most of the substantial, brick houses were being built at the insistence of Governor and King in hopes of creating a city, whereby trade and taxes might be better controlled. Most Virginians weren’t enthusiastic about the idea, and certainly, there were numerous places better suited for human habitation than this mosquito-infested, low-lying island with unhealthy wells. Lower Norfolk County had deeper rivers and sweet water. Mulberry trees lined this street, too. They were another example of the various and repeated attempts by the Governor at the prodding of King Charles to diversify the crops and industry of the colony. Governor Berkeley had planted these trees in his first term, before the Commonwealth time, when he’d begun pressing for silk production. But the planters clung to tobacco as their mainstay, and the life of Virginia was centered around a weed that King James had once tried to outlaw. Taxes and minister’s salaries were paid in tobacco. Wealth was tobacco. Power, success were tobacco. Richard wanted it. He wanted it, and he knew he couldn’t have it. His land was not tobacco land. With the new acreage he’d get on this trip, he could farm for, maybe, ten more years. Probably five. Five years to come up with the way to make his fortune and to provide for his Virginia children. Uncle John would be telling Joseph of the richness of plantation life. Plantation life in sweet-scented Gloucester County. The fire was roaring at Goodwife Henderson’s ordinary when Richard entered. Uncle John and Joseph were already quaffing their morning ale. BOSON BOOKS
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"Poppa!" Joseph called to him. The abandoned son of last evening was grinning ear to ear. "Poppa, Uncle John took me to the church this morning! It’s beautiful, and it looks so old. And then he took me by the State House where Grandfather’s trial will be and we went down to where they were building the fort, and he showed me the cemetery where all those first settlers are buried, and we ." "Wait!" Richard pleaded. "Might we start with, ’Good morning?’" "Good morning, Nephew. It pleases me greatly to see your boy take such interest in the early days of Virginia, and how we are building. He says he wants to build, too. Didn’t you, Boy?" "Yes, Poppa! Good morning, Poppa. Yes! I want Lower Norfolk to have fine buildings and streets. Uncle John said the future of Virginia is up to the children." "That it is, my son. And it’s a good thing it’s so," Richard said. "We adults have had little time to think of the future of Virginia, these last twenty-five or thirty years." "Nephew, I was expecting to see you in the church, this morning, praying for your father-in-law." "That might be a little odd, Uncle, praying with a priest for protection of a Quaker. I’d better place my words and money with Harry Edwards, the informer," Richard said. "The informer?" When his uncle asked the question, Richard knew he had over-spoken. But, so what? "Edwards informed on my father-in-law in last June’s session of the Court. Edwards was given half the hefty fine assessed Father Biggs for not having his youngest children baptized." "Poor little souls." Uncle John’s hand went to his chest. "Those noisy little souls are my in-laws, Uncle, and good playmates to my children." Richard spoke with a touch of anger.
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Becoming Americans "I’m sorry, Richard. I’ve no personal quarrel with these people. Indeed, they’re very few of them in my county. But I’ve lived to see how extremes of religious differences can sunder a community of brothers and neighbors. We are blessed, here in Virginia, with little of it, but our home in England has been torn apart repeatedly in my own lifetime in disputes with Catholics, Puritans, and all the little foppish sects that come and go. In truth, a man may risk his soul to damnation, for all I care, but why must they be so silly and persistent in their arrogance!" "I’m sure I don’t know, Uncle. " Richard looked for the servingwench to bring his tankard. "Poppa, some men were in here before you came. They were talking about a war against the Indians. Will we have a war, Poppa?" Joseph asked. "Will they slay us as they did in the old days?" "I don’t know, Son. What say you to that, Uncle?" He waved at the girl to bring him drink. "I pray not," his uncle said. "Your Uncle John prays not, Joseph. Our Lord Governor prays not. Still, many people, maybe most, are praying that there will be war. I think even the Indians are praying for that. We’ll soon see whose prayers will be answered. Anyway, there’s no reason for us to worry, down in Lower Norfolk." A silence fell over the table as the two men caught themselves falling into a path of conversation and passion that neither wanted to pursue. Talk returned to the wonders Joseph was experiencing, and his two family members watched parts of themselves and of their loved ones appearing in the child’s face and mannerisms. Then the Williamses walked from Goodwife Henderson’s up the Back Street, then over to the Great Road past the cemetery, to the State House. Richard could see why Joseph was impressed. The State House, and the four large, brick houses it adjoined, stretched on for well over two hundred feet, facing southward over respected ruins of the earliest settlement, then looked down to the river. The line of heavy brick walls rose for two full stories and was topped by a steep, gabled roof of slate. This southern face looked out with windows of diamond-paned glass that sparkled as the rising sun reflected from the James. Tall brick chimneys flanked a twostory north wing of the Courthouse, while tall, center chimneys punctuated the wider, adjacent houses. The State House and two of the residences had tower-like porches with upstairs rooms. To Joseph it was grand. To Richard and his uncle, the sight was a
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Becoming Americans reminder of sights they’d seen on many streets of Bristol. They saw their past. Joseph dreamed of the future. They went through the tower porch, and entered a wide hallway that ran through to tall, closed doors of the shallow north wing. While the men talked to a soldier standing guard by the door, Joseph looked through the open doors of the Council Chamber that took most of the detached end of this floor. A railing separated the large table and grand chairs from narrow benches, back near the doors. The fireplace roared with five-foot logs. As Joseph watched, elegant men and gentlemen in the richest of dress and wigs and sashes and swords and soft leather boots, gathered at their places to hold Court. The crowd had grown until Joseph was jostled and afraid of losing sight of his father. The hallway was full of people, and the yard was crowded. Eventually, Richard and Uncle John came from the soldier to tell Joseph that, at least, there would be only a short wait. John Biggs’s friends had demanded him an early trial. Uncle John pointed out the gentlemen who were assembling. Joseph stared in awe at the old man who first came to Virginia as Governor in 1642. The boy tried to cipher in his head how long ago that was, but gave up. The old man wore an enormous wig of curls, and his eyes flamed like those of Joseph’s mother when she was thwarted. The old Governor seemed not to be listening to the men speaking to him, concentrating instead on whatever it was that was upsetting him. Maybe he had a toothache, Joseph thought. Uncle John pointed out Colonel Nathaniel Bacon. He reminded Joseph that this man, though a relative of his younger namesake, was in no way sympathetic to the dangerous postings and threats of the young Nathaniel Bacon who seemed to be becoming the leader of this faction of troublemakers on the upper reaches of the rivers. The upstart Bacon, though a member of the Council, was not here. Mister Ralph Wormley, a neighbor and member of the vestry with Uncle John, was a member of the Council and waved to his friend when he saw the Williamses in the antechamber. Grandfather Biggs was led up the steps into the State House by two guards. He walked over to his son-in-law and grandson and reassured them. "Thee need not fear for me, my sons. These men know me; they wish me no ill. And they have larger problems at the moment than a poor Friend from the wilderness of the Southern Branch." "We can pay your fine, Father Biggs. I came prepared to help you pay a fine."
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Becoming Americans "I thank thee, Richard, but I think my old friend Governor Berkeley will find a way for me to be relieved. He, it was, who reduced my fine last June by half, to only one thousand pounds. Poor Edwards-the-informer almost did himself harm in his anger at the loss!" Father Biggs laughed. Richard wondered at the resilience and humor of these Quakers. They were punished and came back for more. Their community was tight and firm, forged in the heat of constant harassment by the Church and Government: beatings, fines, banishment, jail. Richard’s father-in-law was dressed in his finest. He even wore his black suit today, the quality of which would have pleased any intimate of Green Springs Governor Berkeley’s renowned manor but for its simplicity. The finest wool and tailoring that could be found went into the garment Quaker tailors were exacting in their standards but there was no ribbon, band, or feather in the broad-brimmed, lowcrowned hat. Hooks and eyes fastened the coat instead of buttons. The white, wool hose rose to meet his breeches and were not topped by ribbons, nor were his shoes, which were bound by dark strings. No lace at his cuffs nor at his neck. A square, white linen band draped his shoulders and top chest. He was emboldened to wear black, though. Was that his attempt at compromise? "I was not of the party that pressed to have harsh rule against you people," Uncle John interrupted. "John Williams, I have known thee as an honorable, truthful man for many years. Thee was much loved by my first wife, and are still held in high esteem by her family. It pleases me greatly that thee has opened up a place in thy heart for Richard and my grandson thy grandnephew. It pleases me that, if not a friend of Friends, thy art not my enemy. But, we believe that no man is." "Your grandson " Uncle John began. But the doors were swung open, and the name, "John Biggs," was hailed from the Courtroom.
"To have waited longer for the trial might have helped." Uncle John spoke first when the three strolled away, alone, from the State House.
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Becoming Americans "By the week’s end His Excellency might have felt less pressure to appear firm with ." Uncle John faltered with his own amazement at the Court’s decision. John Biggs was to be confined in the James Town jail for no less than two years, for failing to swear to the will of William Porter. "Swear not at all, but let your communication be yea, yea; Nay, nay." Richard quoted from the oft-repeated verse of Christ’s Sermon on the Mount. "Friends believe in those words. And no one not even a Quaker’s enemy doubts a Quaker’s word! So why are they doing this, Uncle John! Your friends, why are they doing this to a good man?" John said nothing to his nephew. "And don’t tell me, "The ways of the Lord are mysterious, or something will be hurt!" Richard warned in his anger. "I’ll speak to Mister Warmly, tonight, Nephew. He must know examples that the Governor might use to intimidate the complainers. But the Governor must show strength and resolve, now, Nephew, to keep the border-men at bay." John Williams could do no more for the Quaker, Biggs. He wondered, even now, how he’d be viewed by the regal Mister Warmly, when he approached asking favors for a Quaker. Richard left Joseph with his Uncle John while he went to speak again with Father Biggs and the jailers. They would meet again this afternoon, he said, for an ale, so he could becalm himself before appearing before the Clerk to register his headrights and to claim the acreage he had had surveyed four hundred acres on the opposing side of those three hundred he now owned on Deep Creek. Richard found his father-in-law after passing large notes of tobacco payment to the guards. That saw to it that Father Biggs would receive good food, would not be beaten, would have exercise and the treatment of respect due to a prominent planter of Lower Norfolk and the former son-in-law of Mister Cade Ware. Richard saw his father-in-law before he was seen. The man seemed to be taller, even, than when Richard had first stood against him on the riverbank. And his naturally gray hair was as elegant as a London wig. John Biggs smiled when he saw Richard enter. His first words were to calm Richard and to say that he looked upon his jailing as an opportunity.
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Becoming Americans "I may have the opportunity to speak with a visitor or a guard and have the words that help reveal, in them, the light and truth. I can live a simple life, thee knows, Richard. It was the simple life we had in the late years of the 60’s that prepared me to accept my own simplicity and divinity when I heard George Fox. I pray thee and thine will see that light and not forget the happiness of those simpler, hard years. "Thy wife is my first-born child, Richard. She came from the best of my life before God sent me my goodwife, Sarah. Now I am young again, with a brood of unbaptized souls crawling about the house." "Mother Biggs and the children will be seen to," Richard assured him. "They will do their duty to the God in them by continuing to live His Will." "You will be dearly missed by them all," Richard said. "I, and many friends of Friends, will be working to secure your release, Father Biggs." "If God moves thee to work in that direction, who am I to say thee nay," John Biggs said with good humor.
The Hawk and Dove was crowded again. The sun had broken through, and patrons’ spirits seemed high. Most of them. Edward Harper sat with Uncle John and Joseph. The green suit Edward wore was a garment envied by every man in the tavern. Richard joined the table, paying no attention to the suit. "Ah, Edward, I see you remembered my Uncle John. And you have met my son, Joseph?" "Correct on both, and I must say that I am shocked at the cruel treatment accorded your father-in-law. Justice might ought be more understanding to her own children than to the savage heathen who are pillaging and killing them." "Poppa, your friend said, ’No bullets can pierce beaver skins.’ What did that mean?" Joseph, nodding towards Edward Harper, asked his father. Richard smiled at his friend’s audacity in repeating that current rumor. No militia bullets would be piercing the beaver skins that were the new trade monopoly of Governor BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Berkeley and his personal appointees. Indian trade must continue. The Governor would see to it. Uncle John twisted uncomfortably in his seat. "My old friend is crazy, Son. Take care you avoid such men as speak in riddles, and who wear apparel above their life’s station." Richard spoke to his son, but looked to his friend and to his uncle. Both of them laughed, the older man thinking he shared an old joke with the other two, Edward, knowing that his friend could stick him through the gut for frustration. Uncle John would dine with Mister Wormley this evening, then ride out first thing in the morning on his return to Gloucester County. The family parting was heartfelt; Uncle John issued an invitation to young Joseph then left to finish with his business and visits. Richard remembered his visits as a boy and reached over and slapped his son on the back. "You’ve a treat in store," he told Joseph.
Richard Williams and George Dawes pushed off early in the morning. The sloop ran with the current and the breeze, leaving the men and Joseph to digest new memories. George had gambled at a cockfight and lost most of his portion from the sale. But, he’d spent the remainder on two night’s food and drink and women that would give him bragging rights till the next trip. Life was easy in Lower Norfolk. He had nothing to save for. Food and shelter and drink came with a job, and there was no want for employment in this still-new land. Certainly not for a free, able, and seasoned man. Maybe he’d work for someone other than Richard Williams one day, but there was no hurry. Joseph’s eyes traced the shoreline as he worried for his Grandfather Biggs. Joseph couldn’t understand exactly why Grandfather Biggs was in jail. Great-grandfather Ware, and many of the very old men who never thought that he was listening, were always talking of the "ungodly’ generation of Joseph’s father. Virginia was doomed becauseof his father and his father’s friends, but these men weren’t injail. Grandfather Biggs was in jail and being punished because of God. The Friends were honest and helpful neighbors, but their problems seemed to come from showing-off their religion. Joseph worried for his grandfather, but, about religion, he already agreed more with his mother than with his grandparents. His father went to church because the law required him to. His mother went to church because it was her duty. "Because that’s how you show solidarity with your King and your community," she’d taught him. Joseph wanted to help make Virginia BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans an important part of England. Uncle John, a respected vestryman, was the man Joseph wanted to become. How wonderful, that he had an Uncle John Williams and that it was his father’s uncle, too. Joseph loved his father more than anything. So did his brothers and sisters, even though they adored their mother and could even know what she was thinking, sometimes. Still, they loved their father more. He could make them any toy he surprised them with gifts all the time. He could make them laugh. He was brave. And he made you feel safe when things were bad. Uncle John could see Bristol in Virginia. If Joseph repeated that, his father would just laugh and shake his head at the future Uncle John had described for Virginia: castles and lords, cities and great shipping harbors; highways to the mountains, even. Peaceful treaties with the Indians, and the expulsion of French and the few remaining Dutch traders. Some way, Joseph wanted to help that happen when he grew up. Richard Williams sat aft and ached for the hurt he was to take his wife. Her sainted Governor Berkeley had imprisoned Father Biggs. But why did he feel guilty? He’d done all he could do. Father Biggs would be well-maintained, and Richard would get word to Captain Carver and, maybe, to Captain Ingolbrietsen. They might help. This time the pain would not be Richard’s fault. But most of the pain hadn’t been anyone’s fault, though he and Edward had admitted to each other yesterday that they both still wondered about the curse that Opeechcot had placed on them. Surely, the power of that old curse was gone. Surely. For, when Richard Williams arrived in Lower Norfolk County and wed the glorious Anne Biggs, life could have been no better. The three hundred acres Richard was patented in late 1665 were on the southern bank of Deep Creek, a western tributary of the Southern Branch of the Elizabeth River. Richard’s property went to just above the head of Deep Creek, and touched on the high, northwestern fringe of the mysterious great swamp. The heady days of his new life came back to him some times now, in the aroma of cedar and pine and cypress. Cedar and pine and cypress and holly and sweet-myrtle and live oak: a few of the evergreens that blessed this land and new marriage with life and color in that first winter seated on his own land. Richard’s father-in-law and his neighbors warned him against expectations of making a fortune here with tobacco, though his grant was large enough to reap some profit from the weed if he cleared fresh fields every year. The soil here was depleted in one year only, and even then the quality of a plant was poor. But Richard had been just twentyyears old when he arrived in Lower Norfolk, and his life to that date had been a BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans succession of disasters that became successes. Part of that was due to simply paying attention to experience to his own and to others . Richard wondered how many of his fellow passengers on the Deliverance were alive today. He’d paid attention to those who were successful, from Mister Ware to Sawyer to Captain Ingolbreitsen. John Biggs had been successful, now he was destroying himself. Uncle John was a success, but he had married into it Richard smiled at that family resemblance. Richard had few peers when he settled on Deep Creek. From servant to master, from cooper to planter, from orphan to parent, married to a seasoned heiress all this before his twenty-second birthday. In the first full year of their marriage 1666 the new couple’s energies went to directing and working with their servants to clear land, to build a wharf and, with the help of her father’s men and some occasional advice from the visiting Captain Ingolbrietsen, he and Anne built their first home. Though Anne cautioned against spending so much of his worth in a first house, Richard was pleased with himself and knew the importance of show in demanding one’s place in the community. He insisted on a costly foundation of bricks that were necessarily brought in from a distance. The house stood on a low bluff, fifty feet from the Creek, and faced it, eastward. Anne dug up her valued tulip bulbs and planted them in front of her new house. As an extravagant present for her birthday, glass panes were put into the front windows to that Anne might see the Spring sun rise on her blossoms. Pine floors and cedar siding and shingles mingled with her bayberry candles to give the house an air of cleanliness and good health. The year 1666 was a most glorious year in Virginia. The only sadness to touch the couple was news of the death of Anne’s two uncles in London, of that most horrible plague. But, in Virginia, there was sunshine until the wish for rain. The temperature, too, seemed to work with the will. Richard and his bride basked in that year and watched their neighbors’ flowers and fruit bear in abundance as did their tobacco fields. Thinking of it as the empty, high-riding sloop merged with the James River into Hampton Roads, Richard was back aboard the Deliverance hearing, "an overabundance of honey is as deadly as the lack, thereof." Were they still paying for that perfect year of 1666? Virginia had its largest crop of tobacco, ever, in 1666. There was such a harvest that, though one hundred ships sailed laden with hogsheads half the crop was left BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans behind in storage, enough for three year’s market. London merchants bought only the highest grades, and at the lowest price. For Richard and Anne, that was no disaster. His land was not yet cleared for planting and his skills at cooperage were in demand when he had the time and inclination to separate himself from the self-indulgence of wedded bliss and the demands of building his new manor house. There was additional pressure for space with the arrival of their first child, a son they easily agreed to name, John. Richard looked to his second son, Joseph, alert in the bow, and thought how different the times of the two boys’ births had been, even though they were just short of a year apart in age. John, now approaching ten, already carried himself like the heir apparent, the lord of the manor. Though cocky, like Richard himself, John eagerly assumed the responsibilities of eldest child, competing only with a new-born Biggs uncle for the family’s attention. It was a time of plenty. The very beginning of the new year, 1667, presaged the horrors that were to come. Word arrived from London of the fire that had swept through the center of that great city in September, leaving more than four hundred and fifty acres in ashes and ruins. Hundreds died in the flames that burned for seven full days. Grief throughout the colony for friends and relatives at home overshadowed, only briefly, the anger with Lord Baltimore in Maryland. In the previous, lustrous year, Commissioners of Carolina, Virginia and Maryland had finally agreed to limit the production of tobacco. That was an answered prayer. There was great rejoicing throughout, when all three Assemblies approved the plan. But then, Lord Baltimore vetoed the agreement, and the Virginians were again tending expanded fields and plantbeds when, in April, a hail storm hit. Stones as big as turkey eggs destroyed fruit trees and flattened the early wheat and oats. It knocked off shingles and killed hundreds of hogs and cattle. Anne’s glass windows were destroyed, though she comforted her husband with a hail of kisses for the sight of the last month’s view of the luscious petals. As a school of bluefish passed portside, Richard looked past them to Point Comfort. In 1667, the brilliant old Governor had, in frenzy, spent thousands of pounds to build a fort over there. The old fool. The range of any cannon would have been far too short but for a good laugh even had the fort been completed in time! The Dutch came the first of June, in 1667. Their actions made it a hard and disastrous week for some of Virginia. Much of Lower Norfolk grinned a quiet toast to the Dutch. A captured ketch from Virginia was used as a guide and a deceit for approaching the Elizabeth, a great English ship of war bearing forty-six guns. Her captain, though warned, had taken off with a wench he’d brought out from England, to a wedding party in Lower Norfolk. Friends of Richard’s were drinking with the captain as the Chesapeake’s BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans great floating weapon of protection was taken. Then, fifteen ships of high-grade tobacco were burned or seized as prizes by the Dutch. Stupidity, thought Richard. They paid for their stupidity. Anyway, the Dutch had always done right by him. The rains had come in June, too. Until the middle of July for fell to drown what remained of people’s grain.
forty days rain
When the rains did stop, in July, and neighbors finally dared to venture out for visits, Joseph Williams was born to the wary couple. The hope that comes with new life buoyed Richard and Anne for the next month. The hurricane was August. Anne lay at her father’s house, tended in a fever by Sarah Biggs, who also nursed new Joseph with her own son, Jabez. The wind came quickly, and Richard, working with his men, was trapped at Deep Creek. The steady, demon force blew a full twenty-four hours, all but the last few hours from the southeast direction. Deep Creek was sucked into the Southern Branch and up the Elizabeth River. As Richard lay with his men in the ditch they’d dug to drain the July rains, he traced in his mind the routes he’d taken, and he knew that the whole Chesapeake must be flowing up the rivers James and York and Piankatank . Other than his babies dying, that had been the worst day in Richard’s life. John Biggs’s house with few others had survived the storm, whole. The new manor of Richard Williams and his wife Anne had disappeared. The two iron pots left Anne by her mother and presented on her wedding day by Grandmother Ware were found protruding from the sand. Richard’s new cow, Polly, was found a week later, foraging in the swamp. Ware Manor was gone, as was that of Uncle John and fifteen thousand others in Virginia. The nightmarish year of 1667 was followed by nine years of cattle plague, drought, and more children. "Poppa," Joseph said from the bow. "Tell me, again, about the year I was born." Richard pointed across Hampton Roads to Point Comfort. "That was the year the Big Hurricane washed away the foundations of Berkeley’s would-be fort." He began the oft-told story.
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Anne added more wood to the fire under her big iron pot. Yesterday’s soap had been as usual a success. This morning the pot had been for laundry. Now, she was beginning a new pot of stew with the rabbits John had killed, and with the two old hens that had stopped laying. The new servants needed meat on their bones before the summer work began. Anne’s most valuable possession was her mother’s pot. Glass windows had been nice a glittering luxury but this pot was a focal point in her life. Solid, real things stood up to adversity: this pot, her love for Richard. How Richard had grieved for the lost house and windowpanes! She, though, had forgotten their loss in rejoicing the next spring when two of her tulips reappeared. She hummed a happy tune as she skinned the rabbit for the fresh pot of stew. Sally Pine, one of the new girls, was tending to the oven by the hearth, heating it for the dough that had twice risen and would be sealed inside for the night hot bread for the morning. Anne dropped the rabbit quarters into the pot and allowed herself a few moments of quiet. She sat on the three-legged stool near the bubbling pot and settled the stool firmly in the newly packed sand. She’d taken advantage of Richard and Joseph’s absence to replace the filthy floor around the hearth. One day she’d have a floor of wood planks, again. Certainly, her children would grow up to have such things. For now she was content with her "Virginia house." More sand was needed, she noticed, to build up the floor along that northeast corner. Shade and damp kept on rotting away at the wall. The post was looking seriously weak, too. She’d speak to Richard about it. But for what? As fine and busy a craftsman as he was with wood more than just a cooper it was always their house that was in need of repairs, when he could take off any time to run help someone else. Poppa’s -and a few of the other older manor houses that survived the hurricane of ’67 were about the only houses around here that had brick foundations and wooden floors; the usual way of building houses in England. Wood of any description was there for the taking. But the cost of hiring carpenters and if you were going to be fancy, a joiner were over three times what they were back in England, her father said. Men with the muscles to raise a wall or to secure rafters would come looking to help. Those BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans gatherings were some of the most fun! But the cost of a carpenter . Richard was training the boys in his skill, but they seemed to have no real knack for it. Baby Richard’s favorite plaything, though, was a toy hammer his father made for him. These "Virginia houses," as people had come to call them, were less costly and more quickly raised than the older style. "Post construction," the men said, and that pretty well told the story. Upright posts and studs of locust wood were planted three or four feet in the ground, then secured and connected at their tops by a squared-timber wall plate. The roof frame rested on these wall plates, and that was about it. The outside of the frame was covered with shingles or with four- or five-foot-long rived clapboards. Richard had covered their roof with cedar shingles, and the outside walls with red oak clapboards. Softer, white pine was easily planed, and he’d used long, wide boards of that to panel the inside walls of their twenty-foot square manor house. Some bricks had been salvaged from the wreckage of their first home, and they now lined the firebox of a lath and plaster chimney. A ladder led to the loft where John and Joseph slept on a pallet of bearskins. A long table of rived and planed planks was the largest piece of furniture. Split logs on peg legs served as benches. Two walnut chests Richard made held their clothes and linens. Two polished hogsheads stored their few linens and clothes. Anne’s three-legged stool stayed by the hearth within reach of the cherished pots and utensils hanging from the swinging iron crane that Grandfather Ware had given them as a present for the new manor house. He’d had to order many things from Bristol to replace his own losses from the hurricane. Richard would despair, occasionally when he’d been heavily into the rum that he’d brought her from a life of comfort to a life of drudgery and infrequent pleasures. Anne would caress the masses of his curls that she loved so, and reassure him that she would chose no other life than the one she had with him and their children. She’d speak of the future they were building. Their future and the future of their children as English in a growing empire. Anne stirred the stew and drifted to her dream. A horse approached on the southern road from the Great Bridge. She recognized the gait of Charles Shaw’s horse, Stead. Shaw still rode the old mare despite his neighbor’s ribbing about Shaw’s stingy nature. There was much about the old man’s personality that brought forth ribbing, but evidence of the suffering he’d undergone for his faith usually stifled people’s biting humor. Charles Shaw had arrived in Lower Norfolk from Barbados, eight years earlier. On that island he’d been among the first and, typically of him, the most vocal Quaker converts. The authorities had pierced his tongue with a hot poker so as to silence him. That hadn’t quieted the man, but rather, made his constant gibbering unintelligible. BOSON BOOKS
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Anne heard the old nag approaching and prayed with little hope for relief that Charles Shaw would be merely riding by on some urgent business elsewhere. "Greething my chid," he said. "Greeting, Friend Shaw," Anne replied respectfully. "Ty huthband, ith he redurned from Thames Thown?" the old man asked. "No, but we expect him back today, Friend Shaw. I’m sorry you missed him. The community of Friends will want to share the news he brings of my father." Anne had known the man for six years now and, with her son John, had very little trouble understanding when Shaw spoke. It was usually what he said that was irksome. "Thy father lies in the James Town jail, where George Wilson died for The Light," Shaw said. Anne held the stick of wood more tightly in her hand. Her great urge was to throw it at him. How dare he stand in the place of her husband to deliver such terrible and personal news! "How do you know this?" she calmly asked. "The Constable arrived this morning at the County Courthouse and posted a notice on the door," he sputtered. "God be praised that your father was not called upon to suffer the loss of an ear, or the affliction of a thick tongue." Anne suppressed a cruel laugh at the man’s speech and said instead, "Have a cool drink of water, Friend Shaw, and be about your business of spreading the bad news." She made no further efforts to understand Shaw’s thick monologue. She’d wait for the details from her husband. The full truth would not be this bad, she knew. She rushed through the necessary hospitality, urging Shaw to ride on, to ride on from her sight. Even in the best of times she strained to be pleasant to the man whom nearly she alone seemed to understand. Undoubtedly, that was why the old man seemed to follow her about when they were in proximity. "To suffer for the Light is a gift of God," Shaw said as he re-mounted the old mare.
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Becoming Americans Her father would have rebuked Anne for the insolent glare she tossed the visitor and for the words, "You Quaker fools," that she muttered as he finally rode away. She went back to the wild onions she was washing for the stew. Richard would be home soon and she’d wait until then to worry. Her father could not live in that prison for two years. Richard would find a way to get him out. Enough pounds, certainly, could buy her father’s freedom. John Biggs had readily rebuilt the fortune he’d lost in the hurricane of ’67 and the next year’s cattle plague. Richard had accumulated some wealth since then, too, with Anne insisting that he save everything for more servants and land instead of rebuilding her manor house with glass windows and a brick foundation. The three servants who’d lived out their indentures were free men and woman, now. Paying George Dawes a salary was money down a rat hole, Anne kept saying. New servants were essential if they were to improve their lot much more. They could sell the new land, if need be, to free her father, but not the servants, she prayed. They’d find a way to save her father. A saint, he was! If Sarah Hodges had married one of her own, instead of pestering her father into converting . The relationship between Anne and her father had become less tender and intimate than it used to be. Father Biggs had another family now, two boys and two daughters, all nearly the same, matching ages as Richard’s and hers. Anne and her family didn’t fit into the family of the Quakeress, Sarah Biggs. Often, Anne was embarrassed for her father when Sarah interrupted men’s conversations, or offered her radical opinions on important subjects. She’d been heard to speak against the new and valuable institution of permanent slave labor, and she’d bring up quotes from King James’s old pamphlet condemning tobacco as a pernicious evil! Anne would amuse herself at such times by imagining her step-mother going mad and running through local settlements, as some Quaker women were said to do. In imitation of Isaiah, they said! The sound of a gunshot echoed up Deep Creek, and Anne knew that her husband and son were back home. She threw the remaining vegetables into the rolling broth and ran out to the water barrel with a cloth to wipe the day’s smoke from her face, and to wash off the rank odor of onions from her hands. She crushed first-breath-of-spring blossoms in her hands and patted her face and arms. She strolled to the wharf as the ketch drifted up. The children came running too, and a cry came from Baby Richard, lying in the crib by the door.
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Becoming Americans "The lady of the manor awaits her lord in her leisure hours," Richard said to George Dawes, as the men secured the lines fore and aft that young John had thrown to them. "Tra-la-la," Anne sang, as though her time were spent in luxury and boredom. Joseph ran to hug his mother’s waist, telling her and John, already, about James Town. Richard walked to Anne and held her, kissed her lightly and then hard, before pulling away. He looked at her with a seriousness that confirmed Shaw’s prattle. Anne spoke first. "Ty faba lith in the Thames Thown dail," she quoted Shaw. "The wormy little bastard!" Richard yelled. "Your father will not stay in jail, Anne. My Uncle John was there. He wants to forgive me, and he’s willing to speak to the Council for Father Biggs. There was nothing we could do. The Governor and the Council are in an unforgiving mood because of other things I’ll tell you of. But Father Biggs will be well! I left more than enough with the guards to ensure his well-being and health. They’re fair men, the guards, if they’re wellpaid." Anne refused to yield to fear. She could see Richard’s aching concern for her in his eyes, and she’d not let him. "I know," she said. "When the wormy little man, as you called him, spat the bad news over me, I was afraid. But, not now. Father has powerful friends. As do you," she added "Joseph, Son," Anne said, "go change your shoes and help John clear the garden space." "No," Richard said. "Today the boys may go hunting for the rest of the daylight hours. One of the new men will do your chores for tonight." "Edy is with her Grandmother Biggs?" Richard asked, a twinkle in his eye. "She is," Anne said. Her eyes lidded over, and a smile crept across her face. "I think I’ll have the new girls finish in the house and go clear the garden," she mused. Richard brought in the heavy chest on his shoulder. Anne followed, watching when his neck muscles became thick ropes. He rearranged the contents until Joseph and
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Becoming Americans the girls left, leaving the door ajar. Richard leaned to pick up his namesake from the crib as Anne walked up and reached around her husband’s waist. "Your father is strong," Richard said. "He’ll survive whole and well, full of new tales of enlightenment to share at his Friends Meetings. We’ll get him out." Richard spoke gently. "I know," Anne said, as she ran her hands across the hard stomach. She held him tightly and moved her hands to tell him that this caress was an invitation to be returned. Richard turned to face her. She was radiant with the same inner strength that sparkled when he’d first seen her, turning that spit in her grandmother’s house. Richard placed the sleeping boy back in the crib, pushed the door firmly over the heaped sand and clasped it shut, then went to sit on the rope bed that they’d once broken in their frenzy. Anne stood before him, running her hands through the long, tangled curls of the hair that fell past his shoulders. How he longed to shave it and afford an elegant, curled wig. How she loved it. Richard’s hand moved from Anne’s waist, up the laced bodice, tothe open neck of her undershirt. He stroked her neck and shoulders with one hand, as he unlaced the bodice with his other. Her slim waist excited him. He was once afraid that her body would become square, like her Grandmother Ware’s. When the bodice laces were unstrung and Richard’s hand moved under and up the shirt to touch her breasts, Anne shuddered as she remembered doing years ago, when he first touched her, when they lay inches away from each other, buried in a corn crib. Above all, Anne loved giving Richard children. Her time was right today. She’d give him another.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Nine
Bacon’s Rebellion was like the hurricane of ’67. It came fast, stayed for what seemed a long time, then was gone, leaving things were all torn up. On a hot and dusty day in late May of 1676, Edward Harper noisily appeared on the north road astride a lathered horse. Anne, glowing in her pregnancy, charmed Edward from his horse into their cool cabin, where she fed her guest cake and honeyed ale as servants tended to the mare and ran to fetch their master. The news Edward brought was disturbing to Anne. The young Nathaniel Bacon had attracted followers who were urging him to further rebellion. Edward boasted that he, himself, was among those frontiersmen demanding war on the Indians, and that the number of Bacon’s supporters was growing and now came from every county of the colony. Edward was in Lower Norfolk, he said, to talk with local leaders, primarily with their near neighbor to the north, Captain William Carver. Captain Carver held more than a thousand acres just down-river from Richard’s Deep Creek plantation, and had been a justice of Lower Norfolk County, the local member of the House of Burgesses, and High Sheriff of the county. Richard wouldn’t presume to call the gentleman a "friend," but Captain Carver knew him by name. He was a respected gentleman; although, four years earlier, his position as a justice had been terminated after a scandalous and mysterious incident at a dinner party where Father Biggs had been in attendance. While dining with his friends, Captain Carver suddenly turned upon Thomas Gilbert, who was sitting next to him at the table, and stabbed him to death with a knife. At the trial he pleaded temporary insanity, saying that he remembered nothing of it, nor of any other of his actions that day, nor several days before or after. The jury declared him "not guilty," but Governor Berkeley reprimanded Carver and removed him from the bench. Carver, now, was an ardent convert to Bacon’s cause. Anne stirred the stew and tended to the men’s tankards as Edward brought Richard up to date with the growing strife. Earlier in the month, Governor Berkeley had ridden with three hundred distinguished and armed gentlemen to Henrico County to apprehend Mister Bacon. But Bacon and his followers had decamped further south and, at the Occaneechee island in the Roanoke River, had killed several Indians, many of them friendly to the English settlers. Bacon was declared a Rebel and Governor Berkeley, shaken by the loud reaction to that move, dissolved the Assembly, calling for a new election. Edward wanted to enlist Richard in the cause and to encourage his support for the election of Burgesses aligned with Bacon. BOSON BOOKS
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Anne remained calm, but her resolve hardened as she saw Richard’s face grow flush with the rum and saw his eyes widen and sparkle at the prospect of adventure. Richard echoed and encouraged Edward’s ravings against London and James Town. King and Governor held tight reins on frontier expansion and were constantly raising taxes to pursue follies such as Fort Point Comfort, and for the luxurious support of Commissioners now in London to maintain Virginia’s status as a royal colony and prevent her threatened transfer to cronies of King Charles, becoming a Proprietorship, like Carolina. No more headway had been made with Maryland to limit tobacco production. Tobacco prices kept falling as export fees rose. Competition from Carolina was a growing problem. Epidemics and floods and, this year, drought, had added to all this and made thousands of the colonists truly fearful for their lives and fortunes. Anne listened to the old colleagues loud voices and complaints, seeing in both the men and surmising from their excitement that her conclusion would apply to many of the now-rebels that just as important as their fear for the future of their land, was their greed to have more, and a willingness to take it from whomever now held what they wanted, whether it be the Indians or the supporters of their noble Governor. That night Edward slept in the loft with the boys, as Anne lay beside Richard, who alternately tossed and turned and snored three times waking Edy. She knew that in his fitful dreams he was doing battle fighting for his family as he rode and drank and wenched his way from the Chesapeake to the mountains. Her resolve hardened that he would not join with the rebels. "Pray, do pass a few days with us, Edward," Anne pleaded the next morning. She liked Edward, she always had, and in the past she’d felt he was a moderating influence on Richard, but this plea was not from her heart, and she relented with Edward’s first gentle rebuff. "Lovely Anne, there’s nothing I’d like more than to spend a fortnight with such a gracious hostess. With you both, dear friends. But time is pressing now, for all free men of Virginia to heed the call of destiny, and to overthrow the tyrant Berkeley. My task, now, is to spread the word and help make sure our new Assembly will be one that truly represents us all, and has the far-reaching vision for England that this land demands." Anne looked demurely down. She dast not respond to that. She’d either laugh in his face or call him traitor! The couple waved good-bye to Edward as he rode south towards the Great Bridge, dust and sand flying from beneath his horse’s hoofs to settle as another layer on the broad leaves of young and wilting tobacco. BOSON BOOKS
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Richard held his arm around her waist and squeezed lightly. She looked up to meet his eyes and read the message she knew they held: "I, too, will ride away and join the Rebels." "Boys," Anne said to her sons, "you go about our work, then bring me birds to roast tonight." John and Richard gladly ran to fetch their hoes for chopping weeds. In this weather there was only little work to do, and they could soon be free to head towards the cool swamp, where birds and game of all types were plentiful. Wild strawberries were ready now, and maybe they could find some early briarberries. "Richard, we must talk." He felt a sense of dread. She had something awful to tell him that she’d been withholding until their friend was gone. "Are you not well?" he asked her, and his thick brows came together. Anne took him by the hand and led him back into the house. Richard held her hand and stood by the low fire as she sat on her stool. "I am well, and the child I carry is well. She is well." "Then what " he began. "Husband, never since our marriage have I spoken against your wishes. I hold as contrary to God’s will those women like my now-mother, Sarah who contradict their husbands and voice opinions and demands of their own. But, maybe I have learned from her." Richard looked down, frowning now. "I listened closely last night as you and Edward spoke. Even a woman especially a woman with children she dreams and plans for everyday while she works even a woman knows of the hardness and unfairness of the times. Even a woman knows that things could be made better. But armed rebellion against the King’s representative in Virginia is as unforgivable as the rebellion against King Charles that killed your father and brought so many low and exiled to Virginia. I can make you do nothing, but know this: if you join with these traitorous men in rising against the Governor, you lose my respect and, though you’ll never lose my love, you may be certain that the child I now carry will be our last." BOSON BOOKS
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They were both silent. Anne looked up to see the uncomprehending and stunned look on her husband’s face. His mind reeled with her effrontery and rose to a rage that crashed upon itself. His face slowly relaxed into a dull, defeated look. He released her hand and stood a moment before he turned and strode towards the door, stopping to return for a cask of rum that he hoisted on his shoulder. When he returned three days later, he was sullen and silent. He seldom spoke to her and spent more time away, riding or sailing about the county to join at inns and ordinaries with other men whose crops were turning brown and had the time to gather for discussion of the troubles. Fights erupted among friends as people sided with the parties. Anne grew dependent on Sarah Biggs for the latest information. Sarah was in frequent communication with James Town and her husband. Anne dared not broach the subject with her own husband on the rare occasions he was pleasant. His sullen mood lifted somewhat after election of an Assembly where Bacon’s supporters were chosen, overwhelmingly, to the House of Burgesses. Nathaniel Bacon, himself, was elected from Henrico County, even though he was a member of the Governor’s Council! It was obvious to all that a great war a crusade would soon begin against the Indians, and, it seemed, against the Governor. As the new Burgesses arrived in James Town to convene the Assembly, word got back to the approaching Bacon that he was to be arrested. Bacon fled back up the James River to his large holdings near the falls of the James. He was followed, seized, and taken to James Town. His elderly relative, the loyal and stately Nathaniel Bacon, Senior, convinced him to apologize to the Governor on bended knee! "Governor Berkeley was overly quick and generous to restore Bacon to the Council, I thought at first," Sarah Biggs told Anne. "But at least he can keep an eye on the scoundrel." That Bacon would keep his seat in the House of Burgesses, too, would have been unthinkable. Anne was reassured upon hearing of the action. "Bacon’s Assembly," as it came to be called, immediately declared war on the Indians the platform of their election and declared Bacon the commander of the army. The Governor relented and agreed to issue the commission. Bacon became impatient with subsequent delays and left for his plantation. Within a week he returned to the State House with five hundred men. "God damn my blood, I came for a commission, and a commission I will have before I go!" Bacon had shouted.
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Becoming Americans That alone would have been enough to harden Sarah Biggs against him. Bacon was infamous for his swearing, inventing oaths to amuse himself and friends, and to cower enemies with his wrath. Governor Berkeley was equally dramatic, Sarah admitted, though he was not blasphemous. He had bared his chest and taunted Bacon, "Here! Shoot me, foregod, fair mark, shoot." He went on that way, challenging the younger man to a duel to decide the matter. Bacon would return to his favorite of "Damn my blood!" and finally, "Damn my blood, I’ll kill Governor, Council, and all!" The terrified Assembly implored the Governor to grant the commission. At last the staunch old Royalist issued a commission to Bacon as Commander of the Army. That was on Friday, the 23rd of May, and around Sunday noon, word arrived that Indians had murdered eight English in the center of the colony. Berkeley took this opportunity to demand of Bacon who now felt totally in control that he, and those other gentlemen who so desired, be freed to go to the protection of their families. The Rebel could hardly deny his own arguments. For about a month after the Assembly dissolved, Governor Berkeley did nothing to denounce or deny the legality of Bacon’s commission, nor of the radical Acts passed by that legislature Bacon had controlled. The old man was exhausted and confounded. Some said he was depressed and forlorn: a young man who d only been in Virginia for two years was ruling the colony. But Bacon hadn’t been still. The Governor received a petition from the good people of Gloucester. Their arms and ammunition had been confiscated by the now Colonel Bacon, leaving the people vulnerable to Indian attack. They pointedly asked the Governor if Bacon’s commission were good, and they begged for protection. The petition woke up the Governor, who now declared that Bacon was "like a thief who takes my purse then makes me say I gave it to him!" He immediately promised protection for Gloucester and went there, himself, to gather troops. He had no luck. The people were afraid to be used against Bacon instead of the Indians. The wilderness panic had spread. Even those who were against Bacon thought that he should be left alone, now that he was fighting Indians. Bacon got word of this attempt to raise an army against him, and turned his troops to march to Middle Plantation, nearer James Town. The Governor then fled to Accomack, the Eastern Shore. Bacon issued a Declaration of the People, claiming Berkeley had raised unjust taxes, that his justice was contemptible because of favorites, BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans that Berkeley conspired to maintain a monopoly on beaver trade, and worst of all was pro-Indian. His Lordship was given four days to surrender. His accomplices were guilty, too, and their goods and property were to be confiscated. He signed the Declaration, "General, by the consent of the People." Sarah and Anne were horrified. Bacon had rejected the authority of the King’s Governor, Sir William Berkeley, Days later, in early August, Bacon issued a Manifesto, declaring his intent to eliminate all Indians. He created a navy of confiscated ships and armed them with the ordinance from James Town Fort. Filled with power, he called a great convention at Captain Otho Thorpe’s house at Middle Plantation. People went with the threat of confiscation in the air to sign Bacon’s Oath. Those who signed or made their mark swore to aid Bacon against Berkeley; even agreeing to fight the King’s troops, if necessary. Most finally agreed even with the traitorous latter conceding that it was "as well to be hung for stealing sheep, as goats." In mid-August the army headed northwest, looking for Indians. They went to the falls of the James, then back east to the upper Pamunkey River. Bacon was joined by Colonel Brent and, together, they entered the Great Dragon Swamp, looking for the enemy. The Pamunkey and their Queen Anne, widow of Totopotomoi, had fled to the swamp from the crazed white men. They were terrified and hiding in hunger for seven months. Bacon let his most tired and hungry soldiers leave, but then stumbled on the queen’s encampment. The Indians tried to flee again, but eight were killed and forty-five were taken prisoner. The Pamunkey were friendly Indians; allies against the frontier raiders. Bacon’s second great victory. While Bacon was in the Dragon Swamp, confiscating property and killing friends, the Governor turned the tables on Lower Norfolk’s Captain Carver. The Captain had been sent to capture the Governor, but Carver, himself, was taken with his ship, and was hung as the traitor many said he was. Sir William sailed back to James Town, together with an army of three hundred men. He generously offered pardon to all rebels, even the officers except Bacon and two others. The people of James Town ran. Many of Bacon’s troops deserted. In return, Bacon promised freedom to servants and African slaves of the loyalists if they’d join him. The Governor built strong ramparts on the narrow isthmus through the marsh to the mainland. Bacon dug a ditch in front of the ramparts and paraded, there, the wives of loyalists and captured Indians to show proof of his success. But the Governor’s rabble troops insisted on retreat. The men he’d gathered about him were interested in loot, not fighting. They got back on their boats and returned to the Chesapeake. Nathaniel Bacon’s men entered James Town and burned it to the ground. BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans But not before an act that forever sealed Anne’s love and loyalty to the old Royalist. Berkeley freed many of the Loyalists whom he found in jail; among them was her father. Lower Norfolk was spared the massive bloodshed and loss of property that occurred in the path of Bacon’s forces. Gloucester and Middlesex counties were centers of action for the bloodletting of Indians who hid in the Pamunkey Swamp, and for the loyalists who lived in those counties and were martyred, making these two the most honorable and heroic counties of the colony, in Anne’s eyes. Grandfather Ware’s plantation was confiscated by Bacon and turned over to an ally. Uncle John’s plantation was taken, too, although the land brought to him through his wife’s inheritance remained, Aunt Mary’s nephew having beena friend of Bacon’s back in London. Richard never mentioned going north to join the Rebels. In the first weeks of the open conflict he was anxious and openly bitter towards his wife, and he never discussed, the Rebellion with her. Sarah made sure Anne knew that he’d been in several fights at Sayer’s Inn, and that her father had given Richard a severe tongue-lashing at the courthouse door in front of many people. Richard seethed with rage at his wife, his father-in-law, and with his many friends who sided with the Loyalists. He knew that Lower Norfolk was in no danger of Indian raids, and he was distressed at the calamity of Mister Ware and the losses to his uncle. And, despite the humiliation at the Courthouse, he was glad Father Biggs had been released. But he was here in boring safety, while Edward was on adventures with a leader they could recognize and follow as their own, a man of spirit and daring. A man who would stand up to the elderly saints who called them all a devilous, evil generation and spoke of them, at best, with condescension. Richard and Edward had often conceded, in their cups, that the saints were right, but they might express those ideas more chivalrously! And then they d laugh uproariously. Richard’s youth was past he was now thirty-years old and the responsibilities of a plantation whose useful land kept narrowing, the responsibilities to the wife he loved despite the outrageous, unwomanly behavior she was picking up from the Quakeress, Sarah and to the children he displayed with pride. The responsibilities seemed to be choking him at times, and he could only stop it with rum and games and an occasional wench. He’d grown up basking in the glory of his father’s noble death. This Rebellion was his last chance to be the cavalier. In August, Captain Ingolbreitsen sailed his sloop, the Margaret, into and up Deep Creek. Richard boarded with a cask of peach brandy. His benefactor told him, as Richard poured a cup of the brandy, that Edward Harper had been killed.
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Becoming Americans "A pistol ball entered his left leg and a sword went through his heart," Ingolbreitsen said. "Accidentally killed by some Marylanders. On the very land of your Aunt Mary, in Dragon Swamp." The Captain spit out his tobacco as he added, "Fighting the ferocious Pamunkey." Richard downed his drink and sat down on the cask. He remembered the young boy, Edward, standing by his father in the Harper’s Bristol home. He saw Edward rolling down an old field hillside on the day they drank the dark brew with Opeechcot. It was near that place Edward died, and thoughts of the old savage’s apparent curse returned. Richard saw his friend in mortal combat, then dying in glory and honor. Alone. Richard should have been with him. Captain Ingolbreitsen said he was a fool for having such thoughts. His young friend could afford to play adventurer. He had no family to leave suffering, though Richard’s former master, Francis Harper, must now be in deep mourning for the loss of his entire first family. Two weeks later, another sloop arrived with the news that Colonel Nathaniel Bacon was dead! The bloody flux, it was, that killed him. His body had disappeared so that it wouldn’t be displayed for public humiliation. A mere disease had brought the adventure to a close. In only weeks, the Rebellion totally collapsed. Anne had no arguments with the severe punishment Berkeley meted out to the traitors. He hanged more than twenty of them. But before he could restore confiscated lands to their rightful owners, Commissioners arrived from London to inquire into the Rebellion and its causes. Sir William Berkeley, the premier gentleman of Virginia, returned to England in expectation of an honorable, grateful reception from King Charles, but instead was left to wait in humiliating indifference as plotters laid the blame for the uprising at his feet. The King as outrageous, in his way, as Bacon was heard to refer to Governor Berkeley as an "old fool," and to have accused him of hanging more men after the Rebellion than were killed in it! The Loyalists were left bitter and, in many instances, destitute. Grandfather Ware was landless and Uncle John left only the acreage of his wife. Within six months the gallant old Governor, Sir William Berkeley, was dead. Well before the word arrived of that tragedy, though, Grandfather and Grandmother Ware were dead within days of each other from the same, dreadful flux that killed Bacon. Anne was the last of her line. She mourned her losses and tried to hide her growing bitterness. turning to her husband for solace. BOSON BOOKS
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Richard had his losses, too. His oldest friend was dead. He was estranged, again, from his Uncle John. The gulf between him and his father-in-law had widened. The drought, this year, had killed his crop, and a tavern argument had killed his newly purchased servant, Fred. His isolation was relieved only in the presence of his adoring children. The only bright spot in the year of death for Anne and Richard was the birth of a daughter, whom Richard named Sarah Alice, in hopes of pleasing John Biggs. Increasingly, Richard turned to his oldest sons, John and Joseph. He still loved his wife, but after what he considered her betrayal of him during the Rebellion, coupled with the spurning of him by his uncle and his in-laws, he held firmly to the respect shown him by his boys. John was daring and aggressive. He reminded Richard of himself at that age. John was already keen on amassing his own fortune, and by the age of twelve was hunting wolves for the bounty on each head presented, and by continuing to set traps in the swamp for beaver, otter, and mink hides. He was useless with a hammer or a froe, so Richard let him contribute to the family coffers in the ways that suited him. Sometimes John was accompanied by his brother or by a servant boy, but that was usually at the insistence of his mother. Anne worried for the future of her children. The land was being rapidly depleted, and she feared that when their times came to inherit, the property would be valueless. She’d mentioned that to Richard and he’d agreed. He’d agreed, feeling her remark was meant to be an accusation against him, but that, somehow, she was right. As Richard hoed at the sandy soil, or planed an oak stave for a hogshead, or sat within a bush waiting for a deer, he’d think of how he’d fallen from the pinnacle he’d reached as a youngster of twenty-one. His marriage to the respectable Anne Biggs daughter of the saintly and renowned Mister John Biggs had changed him, he decided. He’d turned into a milk-sop who lacked the gumption of his own sons. Uncle John and all the respected gentry insisted that land be the only basis of wealth. For years, now, he’d accepted that as the goal: land, more land, to grow tobacco. He now had a plantation of seven hundred acres and he was dirt poor. Land poor! If land was the answer, this wasn’t the land. He’d been a fool. He’d find a scheme, whether smuggling, or forging headrights he had experience! He was willing to wager that old Sawyer, back in Gloucester County, hadn’t suffered from the years. These years of playing by other people’s rules hadn’t worked. BOSON BOOKS
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Chapter Ten
A cacophony of gobbles, flapping wings and children’s shrieks and cries rose from the cornfield. Down every row, a child was running, calling, or kicking. The obstinate and ravenous flock of turkeys escaped the rush of boys and girls, then settled back behind the onslaught to resume its devastation of the crop. John, the oldest boy, was thirteen now and clearly in command of his siblings. He commanded them in imitation of the militia captain he watched with admiration on training days. John directed three-year-old Sarah Alice to run back to the house for reinforcements from the servants. Edy was to wave her skirts frantically as he and Joseph waved their shirts. Edward and Richard would scream as if Indians were after them, and all together, as a team, they’d sweep the field of the marauding pestilence. Back and forth they ran until, exhausted, they fell to the ground, defeated. The turkeys had their fill of corn before George Dawes and servants arrived with guns to scatter the sated flock. The Williams family could, at least, supply their neighbors with big birds for a day’s meal. Sarah Alice still whimpered. She’d gotten lost in the tall corn and was frightened by the birds and all the yelling. Richard stood by the biggest turkey and examined the red folds of skin that hung from its head. Edward tugged at a tail-feather until it pulled free. Edy had already composed herself and was pulling one of the birds home behind her. Joseph was glum and John was angry. They didn’t like defeat. "I don’t know why we have to live here," John said. "Uncle John said there was no future here. He says that the swamp is the Devil’s territory and that our plantation is on the outskirts of hell. I believe him!" "Turkeys just like corn. You can’t blame that on the Devil," Joseph said. "And what about those Carolina parakeets that destroyed all our apples last year, just to get the seeds! Those birds aren’t supposed to come up this far. Tell me that wasn’t the Devil’s doing! Uncle John told me ." Joseph interrupted his brother. "Uncle John is not God. Uncle John isn’t a saint. Uncle John isn’t even rich anymore."
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Becoming Americans Joseph still hadn’t gotten over his brother John’s taking away his own invitation to visit the old man in what was now Middlesex County. Uncle John had asked him to visit when they met in James Town. But their father had said his oldest son should take the trip. John was his uncle’s namesake, after all. Suddenly, it was like Uncle John belonged to John! At least, Joseph had gotten to see James Town when it was still a town. John hadn’t. John always stepped in and claimed something if he wanted it. Was Uncle John just an old fool, Joseph wondered? Couldn’t he see through John? Their uncle had practically adopted him! Trying to trade in his own worthless son, their father’s Cousin Thomas, Jabez Biggs had said. The boys heard Edy calling as she ran by the edge of the field, looking down each row to find them. "Here we are," John shouted back, and waved his shirt above the dried tassels of the corn. Edy ran down their row, shielding her face and arms from the sharp leaves with her apron. "Riders coming hard from the Great Bridge road!" she cried. "Let the men collect the birds," John said. "Let’s go see who’s coming!" Edy led Sarah Alice by the hand as the boys rushed back to the house. Three men whose horses and boots were covered with dried mud reached the house at the same time as the boys. John, Joseph, and Augustus, the new African slave, held the reins as Anne stepped out of the house to greet the visitors. "Again I welcome you, gentlemen," she said. "I gather from the looks of you that you’re are on important business again." "Indeed, we are, Mistress Williams. Is your husband at home?" the short man asked. "I’ll send for him, so come inside and be refreshed. Augustus, go get Master," she said to the slave. Anne ushered the visitors into the old house. It embarrassed her to entertain gentlemen in this house. She’d insist, this year, that Richard build them a new and larger
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Becoming Americans manor house. If he could borrow to pay his gambling debts, he could borrow for what she and the children needed. The young black man ran towards the column of smoke rising upstream by the Creek. The pine knots had been fired this morning to start tar-making. "It’s your Carolina kinsman, Timothy Biggs," the short man said to Anne. "I figured as much," she said. "How many times is my husband supposed to save him? If your Lords Proprietor expect to keep Carolina as their own, they better take care of their governing. It hasn’t been theirs for very long. The King should take it back and quiet those rebels. Like we did here in Virginia." Anne bit her tongue and hoped she hadn’t offended the men enough to cause them to repeat the outburst to her husband. Still, the Albemarle County of Carolina unlike the more settled and prosperous area further south, around Charles Town was in constant upheaval. The original, resentful settlers of Albemarle sometimes seized control of the Proprietors’ weak government by throwing out their governors, or even by jailing them. They terrorized the Proprietors’ men who did managed to gain some control. And, most scandalously, the Quakers of Albemarle were not only allowed their religious freedom, they were the controlling political force. Timothy Biggs, her father’s cousin, was one of the vocal pro-Proprietor Quakers and was a frequent target of the rebellious faction. Cousin Timothy’s personality like that of Friend Charles Shaw created animosity. He angered everyone with his vindictiveness when he held any office of power, and with his petulant complaints to the Lords Proprietor whether he was in or out. As Deputy Customs Collector, Timothy Biggs had fueled hate by attempting to enforce the universally hated Navigation Acts. These insisted that some products notably tobacco be shipped only to England, and only in English ships. Making it worse for Albemarle, Virginia’s Burgesses passed a law prohibiting the export of Carolina tobacco from her ports, refusing to aid their competitors. New England traders entered Albemarle’s shallow waters in small sloops and ketches to trade directly with the planters. To stop that leakage, the English government passed the Plantation Duty Act, which allowed trade between the colonies, provided a duty be paid. Albemarle ignored the Act, except when Cousin Timothy and some others of the proprietary faction held the reins. "They finally brought Governor Thomas Miller from the jail to trial, and now they’ve released him to the custody of the County Marshall," the Welshman from Carolina said to Richard.
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Becoming Americans Richard and the men sat on benches beneath an arbor of roses. They all drank deeply from tankards of cider and brandy. The piercing odor of smoldering pine-knots was heavy in the humid August air. "The men of Albemarle have finally brought the drunken fool to trial, have they? I’m surprised they bothered. They still might be the first Englishmen to hang a governor!" Richard laughed loudly. "From the skillet to the fire," he laughed again. "Your Lords will soon be losing their charter, I warrant. They’re squandering the king’s great gift. Most of the men he gave Carolina to have sold their shares anyway, haven’t they?" The men from Albemarle found no humor in Richard’s teasing and they drank from their tankards in silence. Richard decided to change his tone. He wasn’t being hospitable to the visitors, and that was wrong. Even though he knew that they were here, again, to ask him for a favor. "Your wife’s kinsman has sent us to appeal to you. assistance, this time for Governor Miller."
Mister Biggs needs
Despite his good intentions, Richard was taken aback. "Gentlemen, I would, again, willingly help my wife’s uncle increase his reputation as a well-traveled man, but to help Miller escape to Virginia is another matter," he said. "I do business with all the factions of your county. I can’t afford to offend so many by helping Miller." Richard was thinking aloud. For the last three years he’d been doing some trade with those people. Captain Ingolbreitsen came up with the idea. Richard had sailed with the Captain on his sloop, the Clarendon, down the Elizabeth River, into Hampton Roads, past Cape Henry, and down the sandy Atlantic coast for the short distance to the shallow inlet into Albemarle. Richard saw how hungry those settlers were for goods that were so rarely available. Large ships couldn’t enter these waters and, although helpful, New England’s traders couldn’t fill the demand. Captain Ingolbreitsen reminded Richard that there was a trail from the nearby Great Bridge, only eight miles through the edges of the great swamp, connecting to a landing on the North West River. Flatboats could then move down the North West River into the Sound of Albemarle and then to other rivers that connected with most of the Albemarle settlers.
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Becoming Americans "Mister Biggs has thought of that. If Timothy Biggs remains in Carolina, no one would think there was a connection with you," the man said. He asks that you help Governor Miller, only. "Cousin Timothy, and his Quaker righteousness," Richard mumbled. "Mister Biggs is in no danger, anyway," the Carolina man said wryly. "He was a member of the Court that jailed Governor Miller." Timothy Biggs antagonized everybody. "Still, there is risk for me, gentlemen. I willingly endanger myself for relatives and family, of course, but for this man of yours, Miller . It would be irresponsible to my family to put myself ." Richard was interrupted. "Mister Miller will gladly satisfy your concerns about family financial responsibilities," the man added. He knew there was no time for quibbling. The mob in Albemarle hated Miller, a man who’d expanded a flimsy claim to the Governorship into a position of power that squeezed and arbitrarily threatened, fined and jailed opposition. Miller had to escape the mob in Albemarle, then hurry to London in order to defend his reported abuses before the anxious Proprietors. Richard had a momentary problem. The tar-making had already started. The new servants and the slaves had only done it a few times. George Dawes would have to stay and supervise. Richard would need help on the trip, though, and he didn’t trust his servants or slaves to go along. The Swamp was haven to renegade Indians and runaway servants and slaves. Richard’s young servants were too excitable to place in temptation’s way. Especially this week, when Richard had been forced to whip two of them for their surly laziness. His oldest boys would go with him. They were old enough to learn of trading, they’d enjoy the journey, and their presence would lend an air of innocence should they be stopped for questions. It would be a great adventure he’d be giving them. There’d be danger for him, possibly, but the boys would be held guiltless should they be caught in aiding the escape of a prisoner. A wealthy and well-connected prisoner.
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"Make it secure," Richard told his man, Harris, that afternoon. Harris had been a sailor at one time, he told Richard when Richard bought his contract. Richard, since, had figured out what flag the man had sailed under a skull and cross-bones but Harris could tie a knot, and would be a good man in a fight. "That hogshead must lie heavy and unmovable on the cart," Richard said. Two staves had been left loose, allowing the tobacco leaves he’d stuffed in to poke through down the length; rare sweet-scented leaves, that wouldn’t be seen as coals being taken to New Castle. The respected and coveted cargo was to be sold at Currituck for its value in whale oil. No suspicion would be aroused of the Virginia trader. Especially if the trader shared his personal pouch of the rolled leaf. The old tricks still came back to him, Richard was pleased to know. The boys were told that, finally, they were to be allowed to accompany their father on a quick trading trip to Carolina. They’d been begging him for a year to let them go, but he’d put them off. The road better called a soggy path was often dangerous. Traders were attacked by desperate swamp dwellers who fell upon them to take their wares and, sometimes, their lives. Richard was less vulnerable than many. He knew some of those swamp dwellers he traded with them, too and anyway, the road would be alive with the Albemarle Militia when it was known that Thomas Miller, their hated former Governor, had escaped the Marshal. The plan was simple and had already been worked out on the Carolina side. Timothy Biggs was a member of acting Governor Harvey’s court and he’d been instrumental in getting his old colleague, Thomas Miller, released into the custody of Marshal Thomas Lepper a fellow Quaker. Miller’s escape from Lepper would be delayed until the last moment, then, with the help of Biggs and other conspirators, he’d flee to Dean’s Landing near the mouth of the North West River to an empty hogshead and the bumpy ride to Virginia. Anne was silent as her husband prepared for the trip. She was terrified and angry that her husband was endangering himself and more importantly their children, on a scheme that was important only to the Quakers and to the residents of a colony of thieves, runaways and pirates. Most of Albemarle rightly belonged to Virginia anyway, according to its original charter. When, and if, the line between the colonies was surveyed, many of that rabble in Albemarle would be landless, as their patents weren’t from the Crown, but from the Proprietors. Sarah had told Anne that the fear of just such a happening was a big part of the problem in what was, really, Old Virginia. Anne would be glad to see the day, she’d told Sarah. Being the nearest neighbor to such rabble was bad for Lower Norfolk. Carolina’s problems were spilling over, and Lower Norfolk had enough problems of its own.
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Becoming Americans She held her tongue before Richard nowadays, so she tried to concentrate on packing the provisions and clothing for her husband and the boys. They would get wet, certainly, so they’d need dry things. Anne would never repeat the open defiance of her husband that she’d shown during Bacon’s Rebellion, as they were now calling the uprising. Her marriage was still weakened from the humiliation Richard had suffered. He’d held to her and to their marriage, but his pride still suffered from what he viewed as humiliation. Anne vowed to herself to never again step beyond a wife’s bounds, but she often struggled with her will to not repeat the sin. Anne had worked hard these last three years to repair the damage. She’d spoken to her father, and John Biggs had made great efforts to heal the family wounds. He’d written to Richard’s uncle, John Williams, to console him with shared opinions of Nathaniel Bacon’s treason and his sympathy for Mister Williams’ loss of his estate. He wrote again the next year to express his sympathy and offer his prayers for the latest tragedy of the old man. Thomas Williams, Richard’s cousin, had fallen in a horse race, resulting in paralysis from the waist down. It was said that the young man had been mightily drunk and had refused to become sober since that day. John Williams replied at great length to the kind expressions, and an invitation to young John had resulted from the on-going correspondence. Richard allowed that visit and had, himself, made some effort at reconciliation by sending, as a present, a barrel of his tar to Uncle John. The ox and the cart were loaded on Richard’s flat boat as the light began to fade. They’d pole the boat to the Great Bridge tonight and be ready for the trip to Dean’s Landing in the morning. It was a very long few miles from Great Bridge to Dean’s Landing. The moon was nearly full and a light breeze was blowing. The boys were skilled at poling the light boat, and they hugged the marshy shoreline of the Southern Branch as they flowed up-river with the rising tide. Long before midnight they reached the bridge and tied the boat to a tree on Tom Sayer’s southern side of the river, very narrow here, as it neared the source. After getting the ox and the cart on shore and tied up, they were all tired. "Get your sleep, boys. You’ve a busy day tomorrow," Richard told his sons. The three of them lay in the flatboat, open to the gentle breeze that fanned away the flies and mosquitoes that the ox helped attract. Richard listened to the easy, even breathing of his sons and knew they were asleep. He wondered if he’d done the right thing in bringing them along. He knew that Anne was opposed to it.
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Becoming Americans So, why didn’t her sainted father or his Quaker friends take care of Miller? Why didn’t John Biggs take his boys down to Albemarle and rescue their hero? Because such work was beneath him, that’s why, Richard thought. John Biggs had kept his wealth had increased it, even, after ’67 and ’76 and like so many of the settlers who had arrived before and during the time of Richard’s servitude, Biggs was beginning, somehow, to place himself above the rank of smaller planters. And it wasn’t just that this group had more money sometimes they didn’t they were acting more and more as if they really were gentlemen. Especially the landed children who were born in Virginia. He could see the envy of them in his son John’s eyes. In church, at court, on militia days even at the fairs and market days certain of these families seemed to be separating themselves from the rest. They were beginning to act like the nobility, Richard thought. John Biggs was a good man Richard could never repay the man’s several kindnesses to him, even by doing such special favors for him as this mission to Albemarle. Still, John Biggs was the Quaker, not he. The Carolina business was none of his, though this trip would be profitable. In fact, if he lived in Carolina and at times he’d even thought of selling his plantation and re-establishing on the rich land he’d seen in Albemarle if he lived in Carolina, he’d be opposing Miller and the Proprietary government. But he didn’t and he wasn’t, so he let those thoughts alone and went to sleep. He arose before the early dawn and shook the boys. They ate turkey legs and drank from a cask of ale, then lashed the ox to the cart and began their journey. This was familiar country to the boys. They’d rowed to the Great Bridge before. They’d ridden horses over it from down the old Indian path that had grown into a narrow road for carts and carriages. The road ran from Nansemond County above Deep Creek, skirting the heads of other creeks that entered from the western side of the river, before it reached the long, wooden bridge that spanned the marsh and islands at the narrow Southern Branch headwaters. But now, they were traveling slowly south, skirting the depths of the swamp that had always been off-limits to them. August had been dry this year, though the spring and early summer had been rainy. The path was mostly dry, though it was deeply rutted from the traffic of carts and horses and herds of swine that trafficked between the colonies. Huge cedars that were cut and dragged down the path by the many sawyers in the area had deepened the ruts. For the first hour of their journey the land was much as at Deep Creek, though open fields that had been cleared for farming were soon left behind. Ever present in the distance was a solid mass of vegetation that stood tall, some cypress trees reaching above the density to show their tops. Stretching from the distance to the path was a tangle of BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans briars and vines that was impassable except to the deer and bear and snakes and swarms of gnats, flies, fleas, and mosquitoes. By the time the sun was up at the Great Bridge, Richard and his boys were into the darkness of the Great Swamp. The road was more and more a mere path. Grass and briars grew solid in a line between the ruts of the wheels. Branches and vines draped from over-hanging trees and scratched their faces as they plodded along with the ox. Fallen trees littered the sides of the path, some rotting beneath their cover of mushrooms and vines, others newly down and pulled out of the way. Richard pointed out the fallen trees and told his sons of the hidden danger they bespoke. The land here was mostly water and an accumulation of dead vegetation. There was nothing solid for the roots of these giant trees to cling to, so in a heavy gale they toppled, piling on one another in a pattern that told the direction of past windstorms. As they settled into the bog, the trees added to the loose base for new vegetation. Richard stopped the cart as he explained this to the boys, and took his knife to clear a small area away from the path. He cut and pulled away enough of the overgrowth to make himself a path ten feet from their road. As he stood at the distance of his path, he pointed to where he’d trod. Each of his footprints had filled with water. He motioned the boys to him, and told them to pay attention. As they stepped from the firm cart path, they felt the earth give beneath their feet. "It’s like walking on a sponge, Pa," Joseph said. "It’s exactly like walking on a sponge, Son, except you don’t know when this sponge might break and you’ll sink in over your head. That’s what happened to Stephen Gibbs last year when we were hunting that wildcat that was eating everybody’s chickens. We almost didn’t get Gibbs out of there, so you boys be careful." They went on, slapping at the giant mosquitoes and studying their strange surroundings. The same, frightening wilderness lay only a few thousand feet behind their house, but it was a foreign to them as China. There was no need for God-fearing folk to venture into the Devil’s wilderness. This thread of a path through its edge was a necessary compromise with good sense. "It has a beauty, this Devil’s Swamp," Richard said, after half a mile of silence. John and Richard looked for examples. They hadn’t thought of it, but they could see what might make their father say such a thing. The swamp was colorful, with white and yellow honeysuckle vines growing thick and hanging from the trees. Scarlet trumpet vines were everywhere. Masses of white BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans flowers that looked like lace, golden stars of whorled loosestrife, blue bells, and countless other wildflowers lined the path and grew between the ruts. Blackberries grew thirty feet tall in an open area, and loaded grapevines dropped their ripe fruit at the boys’ feet. But, moss fell like hair from trees, and mushrooms that looked like brains and dead men’s fingers and other strange shapes, covered rotting stumps. The smell of rot was heavy; heavy and mixed with the strong perfumes of countless flowers and fruit. Strange sounds of movement came from the dense growth at times: a rustle of leaves, the cry of bobcats, the cracks and snaps of bushes being pushed aside by large animals. The thought of getting lost and spending a night in this place crossed the mind of Joseph, and he shuddered as he prayed that it would never happen. Folks said the swamp came to life at night. John aimed tobacco juice at a lizard resting in a spot of sun. He eyed the hogshead of "sweet-scented" on the cart and wished his father wasn’t going to trade it. They should keep it all, not just the few pounds his father had taken out and replaced with their own rough-tasting leaf. John hated that his father did shady tricks like that, although he was glad they had some of the good chew for later. John hated this uncomfortable drudging through the swamp to deal with a bunch of cutthroats and thieves. John hated that he wasn’t rich. When he visited his Uncle John, and met boys his age who were the sons of Uncle John’s friends, he told them of the seven-hundred-acre plantation of his father. The boys treated him as equal, thinking that such a plantation was a most respectable beginning on which to build a fortune. John didn’t tell them that the plantation was mostly marsh and useless swamp forest. Even the land they cleared and drained with ditches was only good for wheat and corn and vegetables. There’d never be a fortune made from that! So now his father was in trade; trading, now, tobacco for whale oil that he could trade for tobacco notes! It was discouraging to John, and he was determined that he’d find a better way when he grew up. John stopped in his tracks as he lagged a few paces behind his brother and father. A large, patterned snake rustled across the path. John spit at the reptile, then hurried on to catch up with the others. Progress was slower as the swamp moved closer in on them. The sky was darkened as the vegetation shrouded them, even growing in and over the ruts, apparently reclaiming cleared spots overnight. The path was hard to follow; discernible only by the long troughs of water made in filled ruts. Jabez Biggs had said that carriages were known to travel this Carolina Road; an obvious lie. Richard watched his boys all day, hoping that they’d find this type of journey as adventuresome as he did. It always brought back memories to him of that first long journey on foot he’d taken with Edward and Opeechcot. Those were grand days. The old BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans savage had taught the boys a lot on that trip. Richard often wondered what had happened to the red man. He must be dead for many years. Opeechcot had been old enough to witness the massacres of ’22 and ’44, though the Indian had told the boys that he knew nothing of those slaughters. That part of the old days was gone, Richard knew, and he was glad that his children were growing up secure from fear of the savages. They’d never felt that threat in Lower Norfolk; even during the Indian wars of Bacon. The killing had been out west or up north, further up the rivers that flowed from the fabled mountains. There’d been trouble in Albemarle a few years earlier, but that, too, had been to the west, in the Chowan River valley on the other side of the swamp. There were very few of the savages left in these parts. In fact, Richard figured there must be more Africans here now, than Indians. Richard searched the faces of his boys, hoping to find the glitter in their eyes that would give him pleasure, but John’s transparent face showed no expression. There wasn’t much John did like that wasn’t costly. Joseph’s face was transparent, too, but it was often grim or sullen or, like today, just determined. Richard wished his boys would laugh more often. All of his older children were too serious. "Pa, I smell bacon," Joseph said. Richard sniffed the air. Someone was cooking at the landing. The sound of a loud splash was followed by the sounds of struggle in deep water. The three of them pushed through the brambles to the open space of the North West River. "Look, boys!" Richard said, and pointed to the bear that was fishing in the river. "That’s where it’s comingfrom," Joseph said, and pointed to the smoke that rose from a cabin across the narrow river. He wasn’t interested in a bear; he was hungry. "Ferryman!" Richard yelled across the river, then told John to go and fetch the ox and cart. A bearded man came from the house. His age was hard to judge from the distance, but his general appearance was a little frightening to the boys. His hair was matted and wild, as was his beard. He wore no shirt, and his chest and face and arms were dark with filth and bear’s grease, to keep away the mosquitoes in the manner of the Indians. "The boat be coming," the man yelled back, in an accent the boys didn’t recognize. The ferryman hauled on a rope that was attached to a rig pulling the flat ferry across to the three of them. Richard secured the ferry when it arrived and, with much yelling and
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Becoming Americans coaxing, he and the boys forced the ox onto the boat, which they rode across to the other bank of the amber-colored river. "Richard Williams, you be trading boys now, are you?" the stranger asked. "Not yet, Maddog," Richard said. "These are my sons, John and Joseph. Boys, this here’s Maddog. That’s the only name he’s got. That’s all he’s going to tell you, so don’t rile him by starting with your questions." "Fair warning," the wild man said, and sent shivers down the boys’ spines with the look that came with the words. "I’m heading down to Dean’s Landing to get me somewhale oil, Maddog," Richard said. "I know what you’re doing, Williams," the man said. "I’m cooking your supperfor you. Come in the house." The house was made of logs, cut and piled atop one another. Some of the mud caulking remained, but the boys could see through between most of them. The dirt floor was packed and greasy. Bearskins lay piled in two corners of the room, a chest leaned in one corner, and a table with split-log benches sank into the middle of the fifteen-foot square hovel. John was disgusted that someone would live in such a place, and Joseph was worried that they might be staying here the night. "Supper smells good," Richard said. "Then we’re going on down the river. I’m hoping to make Dean’s Landing before night." "Why you think I cook the supper so early for?" Maddog said. "Dean’s ain’t but four mile down the river. I’ll have you something cooked tomorrow." John and Joseph looked to their father. They’d be in Albemarle for a few days. Richard saw their questions. "No, Maddog, we’ll be down in Carolina for a couple of days," he said. "I know all about it" Maddog said, and stabbed the thick slices of sizzling bacon and put them on a wooden trencher. "I get you drink." The boys sat on a bench beside their father and ate the hot bacon with pieces of bread they’d left over from home.
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Becoming Americans "I be getting the boat ready," Maddog said, and left the dark cabin, leaving the door open for light to enter the windowless hut. "Isn’t he about the strangest man you’ve ever seen?"Richard asked the boys as he chewed the tough pork skin. "Carolina’s full of ’em." They were reassured that their father felt the same way they did; yet he didn’t seem surprised or frightened. "I’ve spent many a night in this infested hovel," he said, "and I never walked out without scratching myself bloody afterwards. Careful you don’t get near that bedding." As the boys finished chewing on the last two pieces of bacon, their father rose from the bench, gulping down the last of his beer. "Let’s finish this up, boys, before it gets dark," he said. Maddog had loaded the ox and cart onto a narrow flatboat that Richard rented with a good-sized chunk of "sweet-scented" rope. He and his sons jumped aboard, found their spots, and grabbed their poles. They gently pushed off from the riverbank and entered the barely moving flow of the narrow river. Progress was slow as they dodged cypress knees rising in the river, or ducked down to avoid low-hanging branches. The ox nearly overturned them once when it saw a large snake drooping from a nearby branch. The ox calmed when Richard removed his shirt and threw it over the beast’s eyes. There was barely an hour of light left when they emerged from the swamp canopy and entered a broad, grassy marsh. The river widened, and soon there was flat farmland, drained by ditches such as they had at home. In the twilight, they drifted to a landing where two men were waiting to help them all ashore. "Maddog sent word you’d be on time," the older man said. John and Joseph looked to each other, asking with their eyes how that could be? "You know my boy, Francis," the man said to Richard. "I suppose these lads be your sons." "My oldest boys, John and Joseph, Mister Dean. Boys, this here’s Mister Dean and his son, Francis."
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Becoming Americans Everybody said hello, and touched their hats. Francis Dean looked suspiciously at the boys. They, in turn, felt awkward in front of men who knew about them, but of whom they’d never heard. "We’ve other visitors to the house, Richard. They be searching for an escaped prisoner of the Marshal’s. There’s a hue-and-cry been issued," Dean said. A hue-and-cry! The boys’ eyes widened. A felon was afoot, and everyone was obligated to stop what he or she was doing and to pursue the criminal. John was bursting to ask who the man was and what he’d done, but he felt the stares of the two Dean men searching Joseph and himself. "What about the ox and cart, Pa?" John asked instead. "Want me to stay with the tobacco?" "I’ll take care of all that," Francis said, and moved to guide the animal from the boat. John watched the young man lead their slow-moving ox to an old outbuilding that was leaning precariously towards a corner that had rotted away. "Now, let us visit for a while. My goodwife has prepared a cake and punch that’s well known hereabouts. You’ll like it, I wager." The Dean house was no larger than their own, but it was crowded with chests and two beds and a table with a chair and benches. A shelf beside the fireplace held pewter mugs and a large pewter trencher to hold big chunks of meat. A bowl, made from a huge gourd, sat on the table, full of the punch Dean had spoken of. Mistress Dean and a girl were dragging a covered iron pot with legs from the edge of the fire. The woman lifted the lid, and the sweet smell of cake reached the boys before she turned around. "Mother, Richard and his boys are here," Dean said to his wife. For the first time Richard and his sons saw two men step from the shadows with swords drawn. "Stop, you fools!" Dean said to the men. "This here’s Richard Williams, the trader, with his two sons. Has Miller got you so spooked you’d run through an honest man and his children?" The two men sheathed their swords and removed their hats, bowing to Richard in apology. "Our apologies, Mister and Mistress Dean, for baring our blades in your home, and trader Williams, we beg your understanding of the urgency of our concern. The BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans scoundrel, Thomas Miller, has escaped the Marshal and we’re fair certain that he’s headed to Virginia." "Then you’re to be encouraged in your vigilance," Richard said. "We have no use for such as Thomas Miller in Virginia. I pray you capture him and run him through before he reaches friends. Though, I think he has none." "None but those who be as guilty as he in misadventure and thieving governance," one of the men said. The men continued to talk of the rascal, Miller, but young John was no longer hearing. His eyes and his mind were captured by the yellow hair that fell down from beneath its intended hiding place, the white skullcap worn by all girls and women. Wisps of curls fell from behind and beside one ear, capturing light of the fire she leaned over. Her apron clasped a tiny waist, and her bodice flared up, out, and full. John watched her as she shoveled hot coals into the oven by the hearth, preparing for the night’s baking. Joseph punched him in the side, and John saw the chunk of steaming cake that Mistress Dean was holding out to him on a trencher. "Thank you, ma’am," he said, and Joseph, who was staring at their piece of cake, led him to a bench. The two armed men drank from their tankards as Mistress Dean dipped into the bowl for Richard. "Your daughter has your grace and comeliness, Mistress Dean," Richard said. "She’ll have your husband’s height, I think, but she’ll owe, to you, her beauty." Dean beamed with pride, and his wife flushed with the compliment. The girl looked down and slightly curtsied in response. "May I present my sons to the child?" Richard asked her father. "Forgive my manners, Richard, please. In this heated confusion over Miller . I forget, at times, my child is nearing womanhood. Catherine, these young men are sons of Richard Williams. John and Joseph, I believe it is?" Joseph nodded to the pretty girl, and John removed his hat and bowed low. "I am John Williams, Miss Catherine, and am honored by your family’s hospitality." He wanted to tell her that he’d never seen anyone or anything to compare with her, but her father would have knocked him to the ground for the boldness, and he’d never have a chance for her. BOSON BOOKS
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"My family always anticipates a visit from your father, and I’m sure you and your brother will be equally welcome, John Williams," Catherine said, and demurely bobbed another curtsey. She returned to working with the oven. "Don’t the children talk pretty, nowadays, Richard," Dean said, and re-filled his tankard with the punch. "Civilization is coming to the wilderness," Richard said. For the first time in his life, his son John had amazed him. The boy was taken absolutely by the girl. He’d have her in time, too, if Richard knew his son at all. Not a bad match, he thought, as he noticed the pewter pieces. "So, you think Miller will try to flee north through the swamp?" Richard asked casually of the two armed men. "He escaped from Lepper on the Pasquotank River, so we don’t know, for sure, his route," one of them said. "On the Pasquotank? Why, then, are you here by the North West River and the Currituck Sound?" Richard asked. "The man’s a fool, no doubt, but not such a fool as to detour eastward through the Devil’s swamp to Gibbs Landing. But, now, if he’s planning to escape direct to England through the Currituck Inlet, that would make sense." Richard pretended to ponder this possibility. "No, that way’s blocked by our ships. He’s headed to Virginia, no doubt," the man said. "Then let’s all be glad that he’s the fool we know him to be, for he’ll surely be drowned or eaten alive if he tries to get here from the Pasquotank!" Richard laughed and raised his tankard. Dean and his son laughed too, and the two armed men looked a little sheepish before they raised their tankards and joined in the derision of Thomas Miller. The damp August night was clinging to their clothes, and soon the men had emptied the bowl of punch. Mistress Dean had prepared another batch and re-filled the gourd bowl. The young people sat outside and talked. John and Catherine talked. Joseph spoke occasionally, but it was as if he weren’t there. His brother didn’t hear him, and the girl wasn t allowed time to pay him any mind. Joseph recognized his brother’s move to claim something he wanted, but he was puzzled that what his brother wanted was the full attention of this girl. He soon grew bored with them both and wandered to the shed to sit by Hal, the ox. BOSON BOOKS
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As it grew late, and the men’s talk moved from politics to sport, Francis Dean said that he was leaving for a great cockfight that was being held this night at a nearby Old Field. "Whose birds are fighting?" Richard asked, and when told, replied, "God’s blood, I’d love to see it! I’ve seen that bird of Nansemond and I’d love to wager on him. If I didn’t have to meet with James Powell before tomorrow noon, I’d be off with you, Francis." "James Powell?" one of the armed men asked. "James Powell of Dawes Island?" "The same," Richard said. "I’m to trade some of the sweet-scented you’re chewing for some of his whale oil." "Then you’ve not heard," the man said, "that poor James was stricken by illness that left him dead and swollen on the beach. He was found that way. Some say it was a snake-bite done it." "Powell’s dead?" Richard said, and looked to the fire in silence. "Another one," he said. "Death comes so fast. And most viciously, it seems to me, as I get older." All the men were silent but for their own quick version of, "God rest his soul." "You don’t expect a man like Powell to fall dead. He’s too quick to let something easy, like a snake, to get at him," Richard said. "His funeral’s tomorrow. Should be a big one, I hear tell. Will you be going to it, then?" Dean asked. "Well, I I don’t think so, Dean. I’ve other business pressing me in Norfolk. M y men are making tar and I’ve got orders for a dozen hogsheads. I’llbe going back first thing in the morning." "Then you can go with me to the cockfight!" Francis Dean said. Richard hesitated a moment. "I’d hate to impose on the hospitality of your father and mother by leaving my boys here ." "Don’t you worry, Williams. We are most happy to have them, and Catherine seldom meets new friends her age," Mistress Dean said. BOSON BOOKS
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"Go along, and wager a few pounds for me, you know the Nansemond bird so well," her husband said. "Then, gracious hosts, I’ll do it," Richard said. "I’ll tell my boys and be off. If you’re ready, Francis?" The two armed men sulked and drank deeply. They’d miss the company of Williams he seemed like one of them and they’d miss a good cockfight. Because of that damned Miller! Richard and Francis Dean walked briskly down the moonlit road towards the Cherry’s plantation, five miles away. When they were out of sight, they left the road and turned westward, towards the swamp and the Pasquotank River. Francis knew this countryside and followed the high ground and the paths that neighbors had created in this more populated area of Albemarle. After a two-hour walk, they reached a field of ripe tobacco and saw firelight coming through the open door of a log house. Richard sat among the hills of tobacco as Francis crept toward the house and made the distinctive sound of a Carolina parakeet. Immediately, an elegantly dressed man came to the door, withdrew his sword and placed it on the ground. That was the signal for Francis to approach the cabin. Soon he came out with a man dressed in leather breeches with a buff coat and Monmouth cap. He staggered as Francis hurried him towards the tobacco field and Richard. When they got to him, Richard could tell that the man was drunk. That was Miller’s reputation, though Richard had thought the man would have some control as he fled for his life. "Governor Miller, Richard," Francis said. "My thanks, Sir, and please know that you’ll be fully recompensed for your time and efforts on my behalf. The Lords Proprietors will be " Miller began. "I don’t give a damn for your thanks, nor for your Lords. I’m doing this for my wife’s uncle and for the recompense you wisely mention," Richard said. "Let’s see it. Now. First, before we begin." The drunken ex-governor pulled a pouch from inside his breeches and showed Richard coins that glowed in the moonlight and made Richard’s heart leap. "Let’s go," he said to Francis.
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Becoming Americans They retraced their path, moving less swiftly, now, with the stumbling Miller. As they passed through a field of corn that skirted the edge of the swamp, a dog ran up to them and stopped. "Horace." Francis called softly to the dog. "Good dog. Come here, Horace." The dog barked once and Francis tried to calm him, reminding the dog of who he was. But the dog smelled strangers, and Miller’s odor of fear provoked the dog further. Horace barked again, and then again, growing louder. The men began to run, with the dog chasing and barking. The noise awoke a sleeping pen of hogs whose odor clogged the nostrils of the men and soon there were shouts of men coming from across the field. A hue-and-cry had been issued, and the countryside was alert to catch the rascal. Richard, Francis, and Thomas Miller turned into the swamp, holding their arms before their faces to deflect the briars and branches. As they ran, they could hear the sounds of other animals fleeing from them. The swamp truly was alive at night, with wildcats and bears and foxes and thousands of other living creatures searching prey. The barking of Horace was joined behind the men with the barking of other dogs and the calls of men following them. Francis Dean knew the country, and the dappled moonlight let him lead the others through the mass of growth on narrow paths of deer and bear. Miller stumbled on a cypress knee, and his splash into the water brought gunfire from behind. Soon they were trudging to their knees in the morass, praying to themselves that they’d not be swallowed by the mire that made smacking sounds as they withdrew each step. The sound of barking dogs grew distant, and there was no more gunfire. Francis led them from the mire to higher ground and the tangle of more briars. Richard noticed for the first time that the aroma of night flowers over-powered the scent of rot, and he was glad to have his head cleared of the putrid stench of pigs. Miller had sobered, and he quietly and quickly followed his rescuers. When they emerged from the swamp, they were on the path back near the Dean plantation. The moon was gone, but the eastern sky was hazy with the threat of morning. They had to hurry. Francis led them around the back of his home to the shed that had the ox and cart. Richard jumped onto the cart and, after the tap of his knife’s handle in three places, the hogshead opened into a chest lying on its side.
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Becoming Americans "Your cozy home until we reach Virginia, Governor," he said, and pointed to the inside of the opened hogshead. "Pa!" Joseph lay on the straw beside his ox, Hal. "Joseph!" Richard barked in a whisper. questions and say nothing to your brother!"
"Be quiet and don’t move. Ask no
"But, Pa, you’re all so dirty and bloody!" Joseph’s urgency strained his whisper. "Who’s that man?" Richard looked at the others and himself for the first time. He and Francis were in no condition to be seen by the armed men asleep but soon to wake inside the house. "Come," Francis said, and he led Richard and Miller away from the house, upriver. "We’ll bathe here and then go home," he said. "No," said Richard. "First we take care of His Excellency." "Take off them clothes and clean yourself in the river. Quietly. yourself," he told Miller.
And hurry
Thomas Miller stripped naked and stepped into the water. He washed the filth and caked blood from his body and crawled back ashore. "He’s as hairy as a bear, your ex-governor is," Richard said. "Some say that’s a devil sign." "My hogshead wouldn’t pass as sweet-scented with you and your wet deer-skins inside, so Governor, try not to get no splinters in your arse," Richard said, and tossed Miller’s wet breeches into the brush. The man stood shivering, naked but for the heavy pouch of coins hanging from the cord tied about his waist. They led him back to the shed and closed him in the hogshead. Joseph stood against the wall, his eyes and mouth open wide in shock and fear and confusion. He dast not say a word. Richard and Francis quietly approached the house and loudly jumped into the river to begin washing off the mud and blood, laughing loudly as the sun came up.
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Becoming Americans The armed men rushed out of the house fully dressed, as Dean stumbled through the door, pulling on his boots. Mistress Dean stood in the doorway, pushing her hair back beneath her cap. Three servants came running from their huts with guns in hand. "Francis, you are drunk!" his mother said, and she rushed towards the riverbank. "The boy is scratched and bleeding, Mother," her husband pointed out. "We’re fine, Father," Francis said. "You won some money, Dean," Richard said, and tossed three coins at the man’s feet. "Coins!" Dean said, and ignored the scene before him to stoop and claim his prize. "Why are you both so scratched up?" Mistress Dean asked. "Half a score of sore losers got into a brawl and broke the cages of five cocks. The birds flew in our faces and we were lucky to escape them with our eyes!" Richard said. He and Francis cheered and splashed each other with water. "Both of you get out of there and dried off," Mistress Dean commanded. "I’ll fetch balm for those scratches." "Blast that Miller!" one of the men said. "I’d have paid a ransom to see that fight! And did you win? Come on out of there and tell us all about it." Richard and Francis stepped out of the river, cleaned from the evidence of the swamp. For the next half-hour, Richard and Francis competed with each other in recounting stories of the grand cockfights, of the brawl, and of their winnings. The rare appearance of coins was explained as the losings of a New England trader, and of a recently arrived gentleman from London. John was temporarily distracted from his fascination with Catherine by the exciting stories and by the sight and feel of the Spanish and Dutch coins his father let him hold. Joseph was silent as he drank his breakfast ale and ate the hot bread. As soon as they had eaten and Richard had expressed his gratitude to the Dean family for their hospitality, he and the boys left to the flatboat which was already loaded and waiting with the ox, the cart, and the hogshead of sweet-scented.
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Becoming Americans They pushed off from Dean’s landing and, following the pace set by Richard, the boys poled quickly and steadily back up the river into Virginia. John Biggs and other Friends at the Great Bridge met Thomas Miller, dressed in the vermin-infested rags that he d paid dearly for, from Maddog. Joseph was still shaken by the adventure and looked at his father with increased awe and affection. Joseph knew that he would never be adventurous like his father, but the story of escaping through the swamp, and the manner in which his father talked to a former governor and Customs Collector even making the man strip naked and squat in a hogshead for hours it made his father like one of the heroes in the old stories his mother told him when he was a child. John Williams saw his father in a different light, now, too. But John’s new vision of his father was a complicated one of appreciation for the money they’d brought back, and the shame he felt to be involved in aiding the escape of a felon even if the felon were just a renegade from Albemarle. John was angry, too, that his brother, Joseph, had known about it all before he did, John only discovering the existence of their passenger when the boat reached Maddog’s rotting cabin at North West Landing. To John’s amazement, his father had climbed onto the cart and split apart the hogshead of tobacco, freeing a haggard-looking, naked man! That was the first moment his thoughts had strayed from Catherine Dean. Anne was awakened by her husband when he crawled into the bed. She opened her eyes to see a face etched with scratches, but wearing a big grin. He silently moved a sweaty hand to her breast as the boys climbed to their sleeping places in the loft. She moved his hand and turned over on her side. "Go to sleep," she whispered fiercely. She was in no mood for such antics. An eagle had carried off her-best laying hen that afternoon, and a whole litter of pigs had been killed by wolves last night. The house was crowded and in need of repair. He might better attend to business at home before he went off on rescue adventures for thieves and heretics. Sarah Alice stirred and whimpered in her sleep. Anne removed Richard’s arm from around her waist and got out of the bed to soothe the child. She wondered how and when her love for Richard had gone. No, not gone, but changed, she thought. It was, more and more, becoming like the love she had for her children.
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Chapter Eleven
On a sunny morning in May 1682, Anne was still pondering that question. Richard wasn’t growing up; he was just an older child. His drinking and his gambling and his wenching were just games for an older child. Sixteen years earlier, when she was a mere girl herself, coming and going in consciousness during the labor of her first-born, hearing prayers around her bedside, and boisterous drinking in the hall-room, she’d decided that life should be more than the religious ardor of her father and her grandparents, and much more than the life of irresponsibility and revelry she already saw as her new husband’s future. Since then, her children had been loved and protected, but she d increased her expectations and demands for them and for herself. She made certain that her children learned what others had done before them in Virginia. It was still new country, but not so new as when she’d been born, among the first of the New World’s English children. Norfolk Town was being built just downriver, at the mouth of the Eastern Branch. Roads were connecting counties, and there was talk of Lower Norfolk being divided, like Lancaster and other counties up the Bay had been. There would come a time when the English in Virginia would make real contributions to the empire, and her children would be among those Englishmen. Tomorrow, John would take his place among the men when, for the first time, he participated in the yearly General Muster. John had gone with his father to last year’s General Muster, and had watched the men at most of the monthly drills, but tomorrow he officially became a man; declared a tax-paying tithable, and man enough to be part of the militia. Anne was already proud of John. She was proud of all her children, of course, but John her first-born had shown his promise from the beginning. Even the year of his birth, 1666, had been among the most bounteous years of the colony. His life like her own and those of all the children had never known a day of hunger or fear for life. She was never hesitant to remind her children of that fact, and of the duties they owed to their ancestors and descendants. At times, Anne worried for England. After the maligned Governor Berkeley left Virginia following the troubles with Bacon, the King was often mis-advised, and he appointed governors who appointed Councils that acted, seemingly, more in their own behalves than in that of King and country. Grandfather Ware’s confiscated lands were never returned to his estate, nor those of many whom were loyal to the King’s governor. BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Attempts to control tobacco production were, seemingly, abandoned, and this year’s crop was reported to be by far the largest ever. Prices would fall to nothing and the planters would fall deeper and deeper into debt to their London and Bristol factors. Anne missed the musky aroma of dried, casked tobacco that mingled with the scents of summer and fall flowers. That smell was gone from their Deep Creek plantation. Even Richard’s newest land was sapped of its strength for growing tobacco. Anne, with Lucy, the one, surly female servant still indentured, and with Edy, and little Richard and Edward, grew vegetables for the family. Richard and John and Joseph supplied the game and brought in the loose-ranging cattle and pigs from the edges of the swamp for slaughter. They could eat well from their land, but there was no fortune to be made growing corn or squash or peas. Richard’s skill as a cooper had kept them going. He sold some tar and shingles to Captain Ingolbreitsen for Barbados trade, but his hogsheads and pipes were sold as fast as he could craft them. John and Joseph sometimes let-show their disdain of the work, and John was even more disdainful of his father’s trading. John would be a planter, he insisted, though he knew full well that he couldn’t do it on Deep Creek. Joseph loved to travel with his father, though, listening to him barter with the people who so badly needed what he purchased from ships that anchored in their Southern Branch. But Richard wasn’t trading this year. Again prodded by his mentor, Captain Ingolbreitsen, Richard had seized upon the idea of getting something in the easiest way. The water that slowly drained from the Dismal Swamp to their Deep Creek was extraordinary in its ability to stay fresh for long periods of time, perfect for those long trans-Atlantic crossings when even beer and ale were bad if any remained by the end of the trip. The wood for staves was free, the dark water was free, and Richard knew the craft and had the tools for making pipes. This year’s tobacco convoy would be enormous. The need for fresh water would be enormous. The convoy, next year, would be as large. Much of this year’s crop would have to be warehoused until then. That gave Richard plenty of time to amass sufficient pipes to fill as they were needed. But even easier, was just selling the pipe staves to the sugar and molasses planters in Barbados in exchange for goods that he could trade in Carolina! All he had to do was make the staves from free wood! Anne was quick to grasp the potential of the enterprise as she listened to the Captain talk with Richard. If only the baby Richard, were older. Just seven years old, he was already a useful apprentice to his father. Anne wasn’t worried about that child’s future. The older boys worked with George Dawes and the slave, Augustus, making staves and tar and, sometimes, shingles. Richard fretted that they weren’t working fast BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans enough; weren’t making enough staves and tar to keep up with his production. He turned to men in the swamp for cheap labor. Escaped servants and slaves, criminals and madmen found their ways into the swamp and survived on nature’s bounty. Their want for cloth, or gunpowder and guns, or for rum, or sugar moved them into contact with settlers like Richard Williams, who lived between the wilderness and civilization. Planters could direct the Constable to their lairs, or they could exploit the needs of these wilderness men. Richard wanted cheap, plentiful pipe staves. He traded his potent and delicious apple brandy to the swamp-men, and watched his stack of staves grow tall. As Anne poured the last of her myrtle-wax into the candle mold, she realized that shadow had passed the noon-mark on the door’s threshold. She told Sarah Alice to put away her mending and to fetch the men and boys. Work was over for the today. They had preparations to make for tomorrow’s General Muster, and there would be time for celebration of John’s new status. John and Joseph had already stopped working. They were kneeling by a hill of ants vermin in which they shared a great interest. "They must have a tongue that we can’t hear," Joseph said. "They do that, for sure," John agreed. "You see how one tells another something, and then that one runs back home to tell the others? And then they all come to aid the group. It’s a model God gave for us to follow. Do your job and work together for the good of all. That’s the way the militia works. Should work. Every soldier is an ant, working in a group as if the whole were just one person. Every soldier turning at the same time; loading, and firing his gun in the one retort; the cannoniers cleaning, loading, and firing so rapidly and so nicely that they might be just one engine." "Like the way Pa and George make the hogsheads, and pipes, and tar, and shingles!" Joseph said. "What? If anyone is not an ant, it’s Father. You see Pa and his friends in the militia. Tripping over each other, drunk. Can you think of any of them running to do someone else’s bidding? Of them doing anything that they’re not to get some gain from?" John loved his father, but he’d heard his mother and many of the young men he knew say that the future of Virginia would blossom when the people of the colony worked together for their common good. John’s father and the other old men were concerned only with how they could better their own positions, no matter what the penalty to others. He’d seen his father deal with thieves and cutthroats, he’d heard stories
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Becoming Americans from his father that made him even doubt his father’s loyalty to the King’s Government in Virginia. Sarah Alice spoke face-to-face to her kneeling brothers. "Come to the house, Ma says. It’s time to eat and she’s made you a pudding, John." That was supposed to be a surprise, but Sarah Alice couldn’t hold it in. "We’re coming," Joseph said, and John and he gathered their tools and carried them back to their storage place in the shed with the staves and tar. Anne and Lucy placed a bird on Richard’s trencher for him to have alone, John and Joseph shared one, Edy and Sarah Alice shared another, and little Richard and Edward had one to fight over. Edward usually ended up with what his younger, but stronger, brother didn’t want. Anne intervened between the two youngest boys when Richard was too rough for the more delicate Edward, but she couldn’t always be there, and in this world a man had to learn as a child how to get and keep his own. Keep his own. She slammed the trencher on the table in front of her husband. He looked up and raised an eyebrow at her little outburst. Juice from the bird had splashed onto his shirt. "Your mother seems to have strained herself in preparation of your birthday feast, Son," he said to John. Anne was silent. She hesitated to defend herself before the children, as Richard always took that as cause to preach of thankless women, the cause of man’s fall from God’s grace. "I never tire of working for my children," she said, demurely. "No matter what earthly goods and possessions we might lose, there is the infinitely more precious blessing of our offspring." Three hundred acres of land, he’d lost to Matthew Caswell! On one horse race! The proceeds from selling those three hundred acres could have bought them more servants, or a strong slave. Augustus was the only slave they’d kept alive when the flux had swept through last year. Richard could have added onto the house that was so crowded and dilapidated. Anne was ashamed to entertain in this falling-down house. How would they afford a wedding and dowry for Edy? Her precious and beautiful daughter had only weeks ago started her life as a woman. Anne was as shocked as the child, but accepted now, that the child could be married within a year. Within a year, the child might be married! BOSON BOOKS
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But not in this hovel. "We had a lovely home when you were a baby, John." She stood behind his place at the table, one hand on his shoulder, the other caressing the long locks that were so like his father’s. "But God saw fit to take that from us, and replace it with another wonderful son." She reached one hand over to smooth the tangled mass of Joseph’s hair. Joseph winced. Somehow, he always felt guilty when his mother said things like that, as if his birth had brought about the calamities of 1667. "And now my first baby’s a man. A tithable. A militiaman. In a few years, a parent, himself. And he’ll provide a fine home for his family. I’m sure of that." Anne turned and went to the bubbling pot to dip and strain her vegetables for the table. "You’ve been practicing, have you, John? And not wasting powder?" Richard had let his wife have her little run-on-at-the-mouth. "You know I don’t waste powder, Pa," John said, grinning. He was the best shot around; better than his father was, better than anyone he knew. He was anxious to get to General Muster tomorrow and show off his skill. Maybe the Boush boys would notice and demand that he be put in their company. "John hits it every time," Sarah Alice boasted of her brother. She worshipped her oldest brother. He never tired of her trailing him, and he would attack, with fury, any other of the brothers and sisters if they ever said a cross word to her. "Quiet, children, while your father gives thanks for our blessings," Anne said. Everyone was silent for Richard’s brief and perfunctory prayer, then tore at the juicy roasted birds on the wooden trenchers. When the meal was finished, Richard took his oldest son aside and, sharing a bowl of cider and brandy with him, spoke in broad terms of the boy’s new responsibilities. As a tithable, John would be expected to labor as hard, and to produce as much, as any servant or slave. Richard admitted to the boy that, in his case, the lesson was unnecessary; John had always been a hard-worker and had been earning for the family for years. Richard figured that the boy, most likely, had already secretly put-away enough to start his own life. But, it was Richard’s job as a father to tell the boy of his BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans responsibilities. They talked of marriage, and John said that he would wait for two more years before he’d wed Catherine Dean. They spoke of John’s future, and the boy assured his father that it would be as he’d always known it would be he’d be a tobacco planter. Richard shook his head, wondering how the boy would do it, but not doubting that he would. There was the same hard resolve in his boy that he’d had at that age. John wanted to talk of tomorrow’s General Muster. Richard laughed and promised John that he’d have the time of his life. But that wasn’t what concerned him, John said. He wanted to know the personalities and politics of the ranks, whom should he impress for the most rapid advancement. It was moments like that when Richard’s son actually bored him. He understood John’s ambition, his desire to become more comfortable in life, but John’s methods of advancement had always been those of accomplishment shoved in the face of a superior. "It’s the cavalry, what’s noticed, my boy," Richard said. "Your good shooting will be noted, but, more and more, it’s the man on horseback who gets the glory." "Then I must have a fine horse," John said. "You’ve not the wherewithal for a fine horse, and you’ve not the aptitude for a great horseman. You’re a good shot. Be proud of that and look elsewhere for your glory." Richard had lost patience. He stood and walked out into the afternoon sun. John sat by his musket and cartridge box. He would not cry. He picked up the dowel he used as his former, a triangular piece of paper, a musket ball, and began rolling another cartridge. He could roll a perfect cartridge; one that would fit into his musket and fall home with a mere tap of the stock. Not every man could do that! Richard sat in the warm May sunshine by the Creek. He stuffed his long clay pipe with cut tobacco and called to Edward who was pulling at the tail of his new puppy to leave the dog alone and to fetch him a coal from the fire. Edward was always thrilled to be singled out by his father, and gladly ran into the house to find the right, glowing ember. He ran back to his father with the tongs clenched in both hands and stood before the big man. Richard took the tongs and lit his pipe with the coal, then tossed the coal into the grass, where it sizzled and then died. He handed the tongs back to Edward and said, "Sit here with your Pa, Son." The child sat down with a silent glow of pleasure. They sat as Richard smoked, and the boy chewed on a tobacco stem.
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Becoming Americans "One day, when things calm down, down there, I’m gonna take you to Carolina, Son. I think that’s the place. The good land’s not all taken. A man could get a thousand acres and start a kingdom. Just need to get a start. John and your Ma, neither don’t like this life. Things aren’t like they used to be. A man, back then, could start off with a few hundred acres and have a fine plantation. If he got the right land." Richard didn’t go on. He wasn’t going to admit to this sickly boy who worshipped him that he’d been such a fool as to let his blind attraction for the child’s mother make him waste his headrights on useless swampland. And then to repeat the mistake by buying more of that same land. And then to lose that in a rigged horserace! But, that was over. He’d get his losses back with the sale of this piped swamp-water, and staves, and tar. Then he’d buy headrights and land in Albemarle. There was no better land in Virginia than what lay by the broad Chowan River in Albemarle. There he could be the planter he’d meant to be. There, John and his other sons could be proud leaders in a colony that would one day come of age, like Virginia. It couldn’t be, here in Deep Creek. Sons of a man who sold swamp-water, and smelled of tar and smoke would never be accepted by the Byrds and the Thorowgoods and the other families that were becoming Virginia’s aristocracy. Many of these very people had come to Virginia with no more than Richard had less even! and now their plantations once no larger than his own were growing to the size of English counties! Because they had tobacco! Richard would make his quick deals with the water, then trade it for a new beginning. Maybe then his wife would no, that would be asking too much. She was a good mother to his children. That was all the he would ask from her, now. "I’m gonna go play, Pa," Edward said, sated with the pleasure of these quiet minutes alone with his father. "Mind you don’t hurt that dog too much," Richard said. No need to hurt a thing more than you had to.
The distant, rolling sound of cannon-fire came up the Southern Branch and followed Deep Creek to the Williams plantation. John and Joseph and Edy were already dressed and ready, being quiet not to rouse the family until that sound began. The first echoes of that first shot gave John leave to wake them all. "They’ve started firing the cannon, Pa! It’s time to go!" "Hush, John. We hear it," his mother said, as another faint, but deep retort rolled past them. BOSON BOOKS
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"Get the little ones moving then, so the cow gets milked first thing," his father said. "Then feed and saddle your mother’s horse and mine." This year the General Muster would be closer to home than usual, on the site where Norfolk Town was planned to be. Richard and Anne would ride to the grounds, and John and Joseph would bring the children and the servants in the boat. "We already milked the cow and fed the horses, Pa," Joseph said, standing with his brother by their parents’ bed. "I took the bread out of the oven, Mama, and I wrapped it up and put it in the baskets," Edy said. She appeared to be as anxious as her older brothers. She was dressed to go. "It’s today!" young Richard cried, and kicked his brother Edward awake. Sarah Alice awoke crying and her mother went to the girl’s pallet in the corner to soothe her and to get her dressed. "Everybody go on outside and do your business and get ready. I want you safely off in the boat before your father and I ride out," Anne told them. The children stood on the short dock and waited for permission to leave. The cannon was still booming, and the sound of spaced musket-fire could be heard all alarms to rouse the settlers to attack. Today for the children the cannon announced one of the best days of the year. Everyone would be there! The long, drooping sleeves of Sarah Alice’s dress were adorable, Anne thought. She would be the beauty of the family. Richard Junior and Edward were wearing their best canvas breeches, and Anne had saved their buckles from shoes of John and Joseph’s. Edy was wearing Anne’s best dress the girl was outgrowing her awkwardness, now and was already tall enough to fit into the lovely, green frock. For herself, Anne had replaced the ribbon on an older dress, and some cordage around the brim of her hat. Richard wore his canvas breeches, too, and the buff coat he’d worn for two years. But he had a new belt, a new cartridge box of the same leather, and the fine musket he’d won at a cockfight last New Year’s Day. John was wearing a new sleeveless leather vest with a double row of buttons down the front. Flap-cover pockets were on either side of the short skirt. Anne had thickly padded the vest, just in case her son ever really had to face arrows or musket balls. His shirt was neat and clean, with a neck cloth, tied and stuffed beneath. He carried his musket, the cartridge box of neatly arranged cartridges and extra flints, and a haversack for personal effects. Joseph wore his only pair of shoes, with
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Becoming Americans good hose and new canvas pants. This wasn’t his day. It was John’s day. Next year would be his turn. Richard and Anne inspected the children and admonished them to safety, with John being singled out for responsibility. Richard Junior pushed the boat away and the boys took to their oars. The sun was barely up, and a lantern burned at the bow. Richard and Anne mounted their horses and rode north for the few miles to the old ferry. It carried people and goods across the Southern Branch to the western end of a flat neck of land where lots had been laid out by the County Surveyor, John Ferebee, for Norfolk Town. Anne’s father had witnessed the deed from Nicholas Wise, whose father had owned the land before him. The ferry ran from Craford’s Point what used to be Carver’s Point, when it belonged to the foolish traitor William Carver, the inept friend of Nathaniel Bacon over to Four Farthing Point, what they were now calling Town Point. There’d been a ferry running there from Craford’s Point for nearly fifty years. This year’s General Muster was called to be held by the new fort that had been built near the westernmost end of the neck of land; partly for convenience, and partly to encourage purchasers of lots in the new town. A crowd was waiting at Craford’s Point, even though the sun had been fully risen for little more than an hour. Already, the mood was festive, and the men and women had separated into little groups, catching up on old news and sharing plans for the day. Everyone was dressed in their finest or, at least, their second best. Jewelry caught and reflected the sunlight coming from the broad Elizabeth River. Swords and spurs clanked, as the horses, too, were frisky and showing-off. As the ferry neared the shore from its first return, people edged toward the ramp, lining up to get aboard. The old ferryman Anne had known since she was a little girl was grinning broadly. His young grandson stood by him to collect the tolls, the purse already bulging with notes and a few coins that the boy took delight in jingling. His two older brothers were watering a small herd of horses that was gathered by the make-shift water troughs. Many people had decided to leave their horses here. It cost less than for the ferry, and they wouldn’t have to worry about their animal. Everything would be in walking distance of Town Point Fort. A perfect location for the General Muster, they all agreed. The old ferryman spotted Anne before the boat was tied up, and waved her and Richard to the head of the line. There were some murmurs among those waiting since dark, but the ferryman’s rights were respected. Many of those waiting knew Anne, too. They knew that the old man’s third wife had been a childhood friend with Anne’s mother, back home in England. "Child, you go right ahead," an elegantly dressed, older woman told her. "It’s said you have children in the river you’re in a hurry to catch up with, and anyway, the party is BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans as much fun here as it will be over there!" The old man astride the magnificent horse beside hers was busy listening to the officer who held his horse, as the old man poured another drink of brandy from his flask. Anne had rarely seen the river so busy with traffic. She searched among the sloops and small boats for sign of hers, but she couldn’t see it. "They’ll not be this far downriver yet, my dear. Don’t fret," Richard said. When the ferry tied up at the new ramp at Town Point she was amazed at how the fifty acres or so of cleared land could seem so small. Hundreds of people and horses and coaches, even, lined the field. Tents were set up near the fort, out of the way, and clutches of friends positioned to catch the glorious May morning’s sun and afternoon shade. General Muster was as much a treat as Fair Day. Anne and some other mothers gathered by the Eastern Branch’s edge, waiting for their children at their predetermined meeting place at the foot of the fort. When she spotted their low-lying boat, she waved her green kerchief above her head. The sail was already lowered, and she saw John giving orders as the boat turned and drifted to where she stood. Joseph tossed a line ashore, which Anne caught and tied to a thin pine tree. She indicated to the children where their camp for the day would be and, after everyone had carried a load of provisions to the spot, she directed Lucy in setting-up. They spread the quilts and baskets beside those of her mother-in-law, Sarah Biggs. Her relationship with the woman had grown even colder over the years as Sarah seemed to pull Anne’s father away. Anne refused to be eliminated, though, and forced a cheerful greeting from herself to Sarah and to Sarah’s children her half-brothers and sisters. Anne couldn’t warm to these children, either, as they would inherit her father’s growing estate. Anne’s dowry, long gone, would be considered her portion. The constant drumming was so loud as to prevent conversation to relief so she sat and watched the huge assemblage.
Anne’s
Groups of men had begun to assemble into their trainbands, or companies. Captain Craford had not yet appeared no doubt talking in one of the tents with Colonel Lemuel Mason. Both men were great powers in this side of the county Elizabeth River Parish. Colonel Mason had been presiding justice of the County Court for over twenty years! Major Nichols and his rowdy men from the far reaches of the county weren’t here yet, but they’d make their presence known when they arrived. Most of those men were no better than the swamp rats her husband spent so much time with. Richard and the men he bantered with were in great spirits. It was a day away from work or thinking about work and after the drills and fake skirmishes, there’d be BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans time for games and races. He was refilling his tankard with cider when Thomas Nash, a neighbor, came rushing over to the group. Nash looked carefully at the men, seemingly sizing them up before he spoke. "There’s to be a cutting," he said, and looked back over his shoulder. "It’s damn nigh time, I say!" Bill Etheridge said. "Who told you that?" "I was trading powder from a man over by the Lynhaven Parish trainband, when I heard this old gentleman through the tent. He was talking to Colonel Thorowgood." "So, go on. Where’s it to be?" Etheridge asked him. "He didn’t say that. Not while I was listening. He was saying how this year’s crop was so large everybody would be ruined, and that the large planters in Middlesex and Gloucester were planning on a cutting. They’re going out soon, it seemed to me they’re going out and cutting down everybody’s tobacco. Even their own. He says, since the governors won’t get together and set some limits to the planting, it’s time the planters set the limits themselves." The men fell silent, looking about to judge each other’s reaction to the idea. "Wish they’d done that ten years ago, when I could grow a decent crop." Richard was the first to break the silence. "If it’s done early enough, I’ll not waste my land this year!" Etheridge had been worried about using his fresh land in this too-bountiful year. His tobacco wasn’t so high yet that it had used a full year’s nutrients from the poor soil. Suddenly, the drumming stopped and the officers emerged from their tents. Captain Craford signaled to his drummer, and the boy began a martial roll, calling the men to formation. It took some time for the large company to assemble over one hundred men in Captain Craford’s company of Elizabeth River parish men. There was much shuffling the talking and laughing hadn’t yet subsided, and Major Nichols was just arriving with his noisy company but Sergeant Hodges urged and prodded the men till they had straightened the lines. John Williams stood tall and proud beside his father, gripping his musket firmly. John Ferebee, the County Surveyor, served as the company clerk, and he began the roll-call. He wrote down the names of those absent those men would be fined but he crossed out names as latecomers arrived and stepped into line. He reported the roll to Captain Craford, and then they both went down the lines, inspecting every musket and every cartridge box. All defects were duly noted by Mister Ferebee. John was rigid when BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans they reached him, but slowly breathed out when a grunt of approval came from the Captain, and John Ferebee smiled at the new militiaman. Richard fared not so well. "Williams, you’ve only nineteen cartridges in your box!" Captain Craford was a good neighbor, but he took his militia position very seriously. He could well-remember when the Dutch had raided this county. The French had made forays, they might again. "Clerk, make note of that, and fine Williams accordingly." Richard gave no reaction but John, beside him, could feel the blood drain from his own face in shame for his father. Anne and Sarah stood by their pallets, chatting politely as their children played. Sarah’s oldest son, Jabez, was in the militia, too, for the first time this year, though his father had reached his sixtieth birthday and was released from military obligation. That was a great relief to John Biggs and to his wife. For years they’d been afraid that a military situation would arise in the colony that would force John to make another decision of conscience. He could not kill a man. Anne watched Sarah looking at Jabez with dismay, and smiled. Jabez stood as tall and proud as her son, John. Obviously, Jabez feared no moral dilemma. Joseph, and the four other boys of fifteen, stood as close as they could, paying special attention to the inspection. This was the time for everyone to maintain some respectful air of silence. The commanders voices needed to be heard by the men. The old men stood nearby, too, in quiet expectation of blunders and follies and confusion. Their hoots of scorn and ridicule were part of the day. "They’ve earned the right," Anne said to Sarah when gales of laughter erupted at the sight of Jabez’s dog, running out onto the field to happily greet its master. Captain Craford’s voice was heard across the field as he dismissed the company into small groups for training. Then the noise rose to a din as groups were formed to practice tight marching drills that brought about much confusion and more laughter when two militiamen knocked their neighbors senseless with shouldered muskets. The new men were taken aside and taught the rudiments: stand with your feet about ten inches apart, toes slightly turned out; left arm hanging straight by the side, the musket grounded outside the right foot. They were told to stand with straight back, looking only at their officer and, to prevent accidents like the two that still had people laughing around the field, to carry their fire locks firmly on their shoulder muzzle held
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Becoming Americans high! so, when they were told to "face to the right about," they wouldn’t hit somebody and break a nose! Pivot on the ball of the left foot; step with the right . The yelled instructions and marching orders and drills went on all over the field. Cannoniers repeating the loading, firing, cleaning routine to reach a maximum number of firings. John and his fellow-musketeers repeating a rhythm that excited him in its precision. He was part of one machine of many parts. He’d memorized the drill in advance. "Musketeers, have a care to the exercise, and carry your arms well!" would begin the sequence of commands. "Lay your right hands on your muskets! "Poise your muskets! "Rest your muskets! "Cock your muskets! "Guard your muskets! "Present! "Fire! "Recover your arms! "Half-bend your muskets! "Clean your pans! "Handle your primers! "Prime! "Shut your pans! "Blow off your loose corns!" Now John blew hard, in one strong blast, bringing the pan up close to his mouth. "Cast about the charge! "Handle your chargers! BOSON BOOKS
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"Open them with your teeth!" John even liked this part, the acrid taste of the powder, as he bit open the end of the cartridge and covered it with his thumb. "Charge with powder! "Draw forth your scourers! "Shorten them to an inch! "Charge with bullet!" He spit the bullet into the barrel on top of the rammed-in empty cartridge paper, then, "Ram down powder and ball! "Withdraw your scorers! "Shorten them to a handful! "Return your scourer! "Poise your musket!" Here the well-rehearsed exercise neared its climax. "Shoulder your muskets! "Poise your muskets! "Order your muskets!" And they were all set down to the ground at a time, so that it was but one thump. The highlight of the day began when the entire company was brought back into formation. The men were drawn up in precisely-spaced ranks and files; the ensign carried the colors; the drummer in line with the front rank. Then, to the steady beat, the company marched up and down the field, reacting to commands called to them, split and returned and marched on to the admiration and applause of the crowd. Even the old men joined in the praise for a sometimes-awkward production. BOSON BOOKS
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The climax came when the Captain turned the drill to volley fire. This maneuver, to turn his ninety musketeers into one firing machine, was complicated and dangerous. It called for every other man to step forward before the man in front of him. Then those behind moved up another half-step, and an exact sequence of foot and musket placement was yelled until the call, "Fire!" The resulting volley of exploding power was awesome, and the crowd was always silent for the moment before, then they exploded into yells and shouts and screams of delight. John felt humbled, being part of it. The men were dismissed for an hour. Jackets and vests lay scattered around the field where they’d been tossed, as the sun grew higher and hotter. There was a rush now to the cool cider and beer that waited in the shade. Richard and John rejoined the family Richard heading to the cider pipe but John was delayed by Sarah Alice and Joseph lavishing praise on him. "But this afternoon will be the best part," Joseph promised him.
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They ate together as a family, with Richard grateful for the time to sit down. He’d never before been so winded from these exercises. It occurred to him, as he looked about, that he was among the older men there. He’d reached the age of thirty-seven. His youth was gone. He saw old Sam Hodges, confined to a sedan chair, and had a moment of fear. Sam Hodges was only ten years older than he was! Bill Etheridge walked over as Richard finished a last chunk of bread. Richard offered his friend a mug of beer or cider and Bill consented to have his tankard filled. He then asked Richard to walk off a ways with him. The cutting would be two nights hence. There would be no moon that night, so small bands of men throughout the colony would go secretly about the destruction of the whole tobacco crop. If the king’s men wouldn’t take control of the overproduction, the planters would do it themselves. Adam Thorowgood had received the news by a visitor from Middlesex. The cutting would be everywhere, and as much a surprise to the authorities as the Indian massacre of ’22. Many of the planters large and small were in on the plan, but some were not. John Wilson was not. Mister Boush wasn’t. Captain Craford wasn’t. John Biggs wasn’t. There’d be no meetings. Each man was to destroy his own fields and those of his neighbor. Etheridge would send a man, and Hodges would send two, to help Richard and George Dawes cut down the growing stalks in Captain Craford’s fields. Richard eagerly agreed. No one had told him who was to cut the Biggs’s tobacco. He returned alone to Anne. Joseph and Edy ran to their father, out of breath and confusing their story by interrupting each other. John came behind. His nose was bleeding, Joseph’s face was scratched, and Edy’s dress was torn. "Those Thorowgoods are horrid," she said." I wouldn’t marry one of them if they owned all of Lynhaven Parish!" "They didn’t get away with it!" Joseph said. "Stop!" Anne demanded. "Edy, what have you done to my dress? I though you were a young lady, now! Did anybody see you?"
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Becoming Americans "It’s those high-nosed Thorowgoods, Mama. They called us names." Edy replied. "Tell me." Richard’s voice was firm and demanding. babbling.
The children stopped
"John!" Richard commanded. "We saw Uncle John talking to Mister Thorowgood, and we were going over to say hello," John began. "Uncle John is here? From Middlesex?" Richard wondered. Could it possibly have been his Uncle John who brought the word to Thorowgood? "Yes, sir, and when we started over there one of those boys said, ’Here come those swamp rats from Albemarle.’ Pa, we couldn’ttake an insult like that, so I hit the big one and Joseph got the brother, then their dog jumped on Edy and we got into it good. I made his nose bleed, too, Pa, and I hit him so hard in the stomach he got sick on his fancy clothes!" "And I almost bit the ear off the other boy," Joseph said. "But Uncle John and Mister Thorowgood came out of the tent and stopped it," Edy said. "He’s coming over here to see you. I told him where we were. Is that what you’re going to look like when you get old, Pa?" "I’m not a swamp-rat!" John said. "Nobody’s gonna get away with calling me from Carolina!" The elder John Williams moved smoothly through a gaggle of young girls who were shrieking in delight over some shared secret. His was an effortless and erect presence. Richard felt a calming reassurance. The men in his family if they weren’t killed lived to a ripe old age like Uncle John. The old man looked little different than he had six years earlier, when they met in James Town. Richard went to meet him. "Uncle John, what a blessing to see you!" The two men grasped hands warmly, then threw their arms about each other for a moment. "It’s my last time out of Middlesex, I think, Nephew. Until I’m gone for good," the old man said with a sad smile. "Nonsense, Uncle, you’re as fit as I," Richard said. BOSON BOOKS
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"I don’t think so, Boy, but your time will come. I see gray hair that’s not powdered." Richard felt obliged to laugh, but was not amused. He hadn’t looked into a glass for some time. Joseph and the other children stood by, staring at the ancient figure, and waiting to be noticed. Uncle John said, yes, he was staying with Captain Thorowgood and had seen the children’s fight. The old man turned to them. "Young John, you’ve made me proud this day. I’ll not forget it. I’m speaking of your being in the militia, now, not of your fighting with gentlemen’s children. And Joseph, how often I’ve remembered our time together in James Town when there was some town there and lovely Anne " he turned to Anne. "You, among us all, are the only one who’s not grown older. Yet you’ve given the Williams name to four sons and who’s this?" He noticed Sarah Alice. The old man slowly knelt before the startled child and reached to stroke her hair with his wrinkled and blue-veined hands. He reverently stroked her hair. Everyone could see the old man’s eyes well-up with tears. "That’s our youngest, Uncle John. Sarah Alice, this is your Great-uncle John. The little girl gave her practiced curtsy. "There are angels among us, God be praised," the old man said and rose, never taking his eyes or his hands from the child. "Your Sarah Alice is the twin of my own dear sister," Uncle John said. "Your sister? I never knew there were girls among my father and uncles," Richard said. "No, you wouldn’t. She was taken by God before your own father was born God rest his sweet soul. She was a precious, precious child, our Betty was. And then your father came, to take away some of the pain." Uncle John seemed fixed on Sarah Alice. "And I’ve lived long enough to see her again. Dear child." Uncle John finally turned to Richard and broke the silence. BOSON BOOKS
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"A wonderful family you have, Richard. You’ve done well." "And how fares Aunt Mary and Cousin Thomas?" Richard asked. "Your Aunt Mary will live for many years, I think. She’ll make a commanding Widow Williams, I warrant," the old man half-joked. He didn’t mention Thomas. "And Cousin Thomas?" young John asked. Uncle John turned to the young man and spoke deliberately. "Not so well as you, Nephew. Not so well." The old man looked back to Sarah Alice and spoke quietly. "Let us walk alone, Richard." The two of them left the family group and walked to the edge of the Eastern Branch. Richard tossed a stick and watched the widening circles in the water. "There’ll be a city here, Richard. One day not large as Bristol."
in our lifetimes but
one day, as
Richard laughed. The idea was beyond imagination. His uncle stopped and faced him. "This colony will be the greatest jewel in the Empire one day, Nephew. Almost as great as fair England, herself." Richard wouldn’t argue with his uncle, even with such folly as this. "But much is to be done, that’s sure," the old man said as they resumed walking. "And the young ones like your John and Joseph will be building on the base we’ve secured for them." "They are bright, hard-working boys, Uncle. I’ve no complaints about them." "We’ve developed some affection for my namesake, Richard, as you must know. You’ve been good enough to let him visit with us often." "Uncle, I was honored you allowed the visits. I’m glad you’re here now. The other children can see that they have family other than those Quaker Biggses."
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Becoming Americans "Times have changed quickly, Richard. Since since the departure of Governor Berkeley, Virginia has been visited by governors and laws and restrictions that punish loyal Englishmen and cutthroat alike. The King’s friends remain, astonishingly, without their rightful lands. The price of tobacco has begun to fall rapidly and drastically and will continue to do so. I am a King’s man you know that Richard, you’re father died for the King but the time has come . The King has bad advisers." John Williams stopped walking and looked around. "You know of the cutting?" he asked Richard. Richard nodded. "You have no great stake in this, you aren’t seated on tobacco land, but the prosperity of all depends on our success. Will you be helping?" "Yes, Uncle. I am a neighbor of Captain Craford’s." The old man pondered and frowned. "Be careful," he appealed to his younger kinsman. "It’s good to be on the same side, Uncle," Richard said. The patriarch changed the subject. "Your son, John, asked of his Cousin Thomas. He knows of our concern for Thomas. That’s what keeps me living, hoping that Thomas will rise, like Lazarus, and resume his life. He has not risen from his bed but to sit and drink. Servants carry him about, but he has no interest in the plantation. He is never sober. I wait, daily, hoping he will change, but I am losing hope. Your Aunt Mary will be left alone with her plantation and no man to manage for her when I’m gone. I cannot I will not leave her fortune in the hands of . She has promised me to leave her estate in the hands of your John, with him promising to care for Thomas the rest of my son’s melancholy days." Richard was overwhelmed. His son would be a planter on the scale the boy had dreamed of. And in "sweet-scented" country! It was unbelievable. "Are things so hopeless for Thomas, Uncle? He was a fine lad. I remember well ." Richard wanted to be sure.
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Becoming Americans "I would not have made these arrangements if I thought there was hope. He is my only son. Mary’s only son. There are provisions in the will, should a miracle happen, but it is empty gesture, made for appearances." John Williams’s words were spoken from a shattered heart. "Should I pass before John comes of age, Mary will continue as executrix of my small part until John’s majority. Should God act as he did with Lazarus, Thomas would assume the position his mother and I have prayed for. My life has not been without sin, Nephew. I’m afraid God has placed this melancholy on my Thomas as some punishment to me." "You’re a vestryman in a sweet-scented parish! You’re no sinner!" "I think, as added pain, I may outlive my son. He fares badly. In which case ." "You’ll outlive us all! Please live long, so I can have the helpful hands of my boy for many years to come." It came to Richard that he couldn’t tell the boy of this prospect for the future. To live as a planter in Middlesex was his son’s dream. He’d develop airs. There’d be resentment from the other children. Richard needed full attention and work from the boy for making pipe staves and tar. "I’d rather we not tell the boy of your plans, Uncle. He’s too young to have his head filled with such notions. Notions that may not develop, anyway. Lazarus did arise, Uncle." Drum rolls brought the men back into formation. There was some business to be taken care of. Fines were to be paid, a benefactor to give a new set of colors was solicited Mister Boush, Senior, offered his backing the services of retiring militiamen were commended, new men welcomed and training resumed. Captain Craford led the men to the eastern end of the neck of land, so that the sun was to their back and the marsh and expanse of the creeks and headwaters of the Eastern Branch were before them. The families trailed behind, some still eating fruit or fried pies. At the far edge of the neck, just feet from the creek and marsh, a wooden target crudely shaped to represent the figure of a man stood in wait about fifty paces away. The soldiers were to try their skill at shooting the moment that John had been waiting for. Joseph nudged his way to the front of the massed spectators. Volley fire was a potent force and awesome in its destruction when directed at a formation of European forces, but Captain Craford and the other officers with experience BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans knew that a more immediate threat than foreign invaders was the prospect of Indian raids again, or worse of servant and slave revolts. Such battles wouldn’t call for massive volley fire, but on individual marksmanship. The individual musketeer must hit his individual mark. For nearly two hours the men, firing singly, tested their aim at the wooden target. Occasional misfires brought laughter from the crowds and from the soldiers too, except for the unlucky and surprised musketeer. The greatest crowd response came when an unlucky duck fled from its hiding place in the marsh. Thomas Nash was aiming for his third target-shot but, when the bird rose before him, instinct made Thomas raise his aim to fire and down the bird. Even Captain Craford joined in the laughter and round of applause. John’s three shots all three hit the target, his final shot shattering the head of the target, to whoops of applause from the spectators. He searched the faces of the Boush and Thorowgood boys, but they were unfazed by the "swamp-boy’s" accomplishment. The troops were reassembled and dismissed. Much of the crowd quickly dispersed, except for those who had arrived by ferry and now waited in gaggles for their turn aboard. Richard, Thomas Nash, George Dawes and many other men stayed on the field for games. Tongue-tied Charles Shaw offered to accompany Anne back to Deep Creek. Matthew Caswell, who had won Richard’s land, stepped into the boat with John Biggs and Sarah. Caswell seemed to be particularly attentive to their older daughter, Margaret. That shook Richard. Margaret was younger than his Edy. He’d be needing to think about a dowry for his daughter before long. He waved to his family and turned back to the field. Now the fun could begin. Uncle John had gushed in his praise of John and was moving in his kind words to Richard and Anne, but left to return with Captain Thorowgood to that plantation, though Thorowgood’s oldest son remained with the tent as a site for four tables of cards. A square had been drawn up in the dusty and deserted practice ground. The knife fights would be there. These were popular, but everyone suspected they were rigged in advance. Screeches of caged cocks rent the air as birds roused themselves to fighting spirit, knowing that their time was coming. Bulls for baiting, and dogs that were to fight, filled the air with roars and growls and yaps. The excitement rose as more pipes of wine and cider were opened and drained and the men relived the day. Richard wore a broad smile, basking in the camaraderie of men before they are completely drunk. Life was good. Though troubled, he’d never had brighter prospects. His life was far from over. A bright future beckoned. Earlier, old mistakes were turning out to be blessings even his wretched land would be useful. His estrangement from BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Uncle John was worked out. He’d never felt so confident. He’d never felt so lucky. The old rabbit’s foot was nearly worn of any hair, but Richard touched it now and gave it thanks for his luck, so far. He looked for a game. Richard’s winning bets on the knife fights and the first five cockfights were a sure streak. A sign. But then his luck slipped away, and he desperately grasped at it with larger bets to recoup his losses. By dawn, Captain Ingolbreitsen was trying to stop him. But the wide-eyed Richard wasn’t hearing. He grew calmer and more sober as the sun brightened the glow inside the tent filled him with a desperate drive. By the time the sun was reaching noon that day, Richard looked as white as though the light had never touched his face. His losses had been staggering. He was saved, temporarily, by Captain Ingolbreitsen, who paid off the losses in tobacco notes in a separate deal with Richard. He now owed a debt to his savior, Captain Ingolbreitsen, of four thousand pipe staves and twelve barrels of tar; profitable goods for the Captain’s runs to Barbados and the Indies, where pipes for molasses were in great demand. That number was more than Richard had, or could expect to make in a year. Four thousand pipe staves would make about one hundred pipes, so all the pipes he’d made, and all the staves he’d paid to have made were still far from what he’d need to pay the debt. It was as large a debt as that which lost him three hundred acres of land to Matthew Caswell. All of Anne’s hopes would be destroyed. The children would go another year without their needs met, and Edy . She’d be an old maid before he could afford a dowry. He wouldn’t tell Anne. It was not a woman’s place to concern herself with the husband’s estate. It was her place to bolster him in hard times. The losses had been paid on the spot. His debt and gratitude were owed only to Captain Ingolbreitsen an old and patient friend.
Anne was taking in the laundry that was dry, scattered over myrtle bushes and across clean limbs of trees, when Captain Ingolbreitsen’s ketch lowered sail and drifted to her dock. She called to Edy to leave the wet things in the pot, to come and take the linens from her arms. BOSON BOOKS
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It must be Richard with the captain. Richard had bet and lost his horse! That’s why ! She calmed herself. There’d be a new horse to look for. Things were going to work out. Yesterday had convinced her. Life was going to get better for everyone. The new Norfolk Town, Richard’s new emphasis on cooperage and stave-making. Maybe they would be able to send one of the younger boys to school back in England. As her father had done for her half-brother, John. Edward should go to school. Maybe he could become a priest. Richard, Junior would do well enough on his own. She reached out to Captain Ingolbreitsen to welcome him. She noticed how pale her husband was. "Captain, welcome. I see you’ve brought back the prodigal son. And we’re to be getting a new horse, soon, I gather?" She embarrassed the silent captain. "Well, Richard, dear, it’s more than the loss of that nag that has you so ashen. Might there have been bad cider at your revelries?" Her tone of voice was more teasing than chiding. They’d gone through worse than the loss of a horse. "The prodigal son? Was he ever anybody’s little boy, your Richard?" The captain teased with Anne, and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you, Captain," Richard interrupted. "We will see you again, soon." "Yes, Richard. I must hurry back to the ship. We leave on the next tide for Barbados. We’ll talk when I return." "But, Captain ." Anne insisted on offering hospitality. "I must go. I look forward to our next visit, when I’ll eat twice as much," he said. Richard had little to say, and only ate a piece of bread before he fell asleep. Anne removed his filthy shoes and breeches and told all of the children to stay out of the house. The next afternoon, George trimmed the rived planks before he handed them to Richard. "It’s back to the swamp, Dickie-boy. You’re going to have toget some fast, cheap workers to pay that off. The swamp men can cut logs to measure and then cut out the middles. They can do that, at least. We can do the planing. Do you know how long it’ll take us to make four thousand staves?" BOSON BOOKS
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Richard didn’t like George calling him "Dickie-boy." No one else had ever called him anything but "Richard." He knew it was George’s way of equalizing their status, making up for the fact that George had been his servant and still worked for him. "I’ll worry about that tomorrow," Richard said. "Today, I’m worrying about tonight s cutting." "I’ve been thinking," he went on. "This will be no surprise to Captain Craford. He s got men everywhere. Not just his servants and slaves, but he’s got the whole Elizabeth River parish under him. There’ll be somebody who’ll talk. There’s always somebody got it in for somebody else. Craford’s men will be all over his fields." "You can’t think like that, Richard," George said. "If Craford knows, the whole country knows, and we’d know that. Now, wouldn’t we? One of our friends would warn us." "Maybe," Richard said, "but we’re going to take precautions. We’ll do our cutting a little differently, so it won’t be noticed." "Who’s not going to notice a field of tobacco falling on its side?" George asked. Richard pulled his knife from his belt and stuck it into the ground, just beneath a rising stalk of Anne’s hollyhocks. The plant shuddered slightly. "The ground is soft from last night’s rain. We’ll be cut-worms, slicing through the tap root. The plants will stand until the next day. Craford’s men will be in the fields and not suspect a thing. They’ll be carrying torches to keep the cutters away, and they’ll go to bed in the morning proud of their well-done job. They’ll be well-lit; we’ll be crawling amongst the rows, hidden in the dark." George pulled out his knife and went over to a stalk of Richard’s sickly-looking home-grown. He knelt and pushed his knife into the hilled dirt. He felt the knife-point hit the root and pass through. The stalk still stood. "Richard, you’re too smart for an honest man," George said as he wiped his knife clean and replaced it in his waistband. Richard went back to his draw-knife, shaving into the rived plank, shaping it into a concave stave. Anne had been gentle in her words, last night, about the horse. She wished that he’d not gamble, she said matter-of-factly, but it had been a fine day. She was proud of BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans him. She was proud of John. She looked forward to the promising business in staves. And there were shingles to be sold, too, she reminded him. Maybe they could build a mill, one day, on the creek for grinding corn and, later, for cutting lumber. They’d be needing lumber for the town. The tidal waters of Deep Creek were perfect for dammingup to a mill. She’d gone on, speaking of the glory days ahead even suggesting that young Edward might, one day, go to England for schooling. The boy could stay with his cousins in Bristol. Uncle John was flattered by John’s name. Now he loved the boy. Uncle Edward’s sons now Richard’s factors might take in his namesake. Richard had been silent. There would be no schooling for Edward, no mill on Deep Creek. There’d be no dowry for his loving daughter. Anne would never forgive him when he found the words to tell her. He tried to imagine the ways she’d find to punish him. At least, there was a future for his John. And, eventually, when he’d repaid Captain Ingolbreitsen, there’d be a future for them all. He’d find a way. He always had. Carolina was the future. He was sure he’d decided that. He needed tobacco land. Before the sun was down, Anne was already closing windows to keep out the mosquitoes. The cloudy sky had made the day end early, and the night would be black, inviting flying critters into the light-filled room. "I’m going to see a man about a horse," Richard said. He sat in the only chair, pulling on an old pair of leather breeches and a funny-looking pair of old boots. He’d won them off a Dutch carpenter when he was building the courthouse. Back before he was married and burdened with responsibilities. Anne laughed. That could really be the case tonight it had better be the case tonight! but, "I’m going to see a man about a horse," usually meant he was off to a cock fight, or to taste some neighbor’s newly-tapped pipe of wine, or Anne knew this, too sometimes he was off to see some wench. She looked at her husband’s sunken eyes and his rude clothes and relaxed from that thought. He wasn’t even recovered from the Grand Muster, yet. He’d be home before midnight. She’d bet on that! Richard met George and the other three men by his bridge over the stream that was Deep Creek’s headwaters. Richard told the men whom Etheridge and Hodges had sent of his plan. They divided into two groups one led by Richard and the other by George and followed deer paths that ran beside the road, north to Craford’s Point. At the place where the main road turned west, across the top of the Great Swamp into Nansemond County, and the local road went straight to the Point, the men came back together at the edge of the woods where Craford’s tobacco fields began.
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Becoming Americans Richard’s guess had been right. There were a dozen of Craford’s men scattered about the open fields and beneath the dead, girdled trees that weren’t yet felled. These stood out, ghostly, underlit by flaming torches of pine knots. The five men scattered, staying at least three rows from the torch bearers. They quietly crawled down the rows and around stumps, stabbing at the tap roots of the healthy plants on either side of them, then crawling to the next. They could hear the torch bearers calling to each other and laughing. The men crawling in the field could tell that the guards were taking turns returning to an ancient, dead oak, beneath which stood the night’s ration of beer a bonus for this night’s work from Captain Craford. When a guard went to fill his tankard, the man nearest that deserted row crawled across and severed the plants that had been guarded. Captain Craford’s other fields were separated by low, swampy areas, and areas of uncut woods. After two hours in the main field, the cutters had to separate and move to smaller fields on their own. As Richard finished the last corner of his portion, he heard a sharp grunt from the rows he knew George Dawes was cutting. He stopped. He heard one of the guards calling to another, "Did you hear that?" Richard could tell that George was running down his row, headed to the road. He lifted his head high enough to peek in George’s direction, then ran the same way, head down. At the edge of the road, George lay shivering, and he looked with panic into Richard’s face, as Richard knelt close, listening for his friend’s words. "I’ve been bit by a moccasin!" he whispered to Richard, and pointed to two small drops of blood that came from tiny punctures on his forearm. There was alarm and confusion in the field as the guards rushed to the place where they’d heard the noise. "Watch out, there’s a huge moccasin!" one of the men called to the others, and they circled the snake as the leader chopped at it with his sword. As they killed the flailing serpent, the guards bumped into tobacco plants that fell to the ground with the slightest touch. "There’s cutters been here!" one of them called. The men ran up and down their rows, knocking over plants in hopes of finding the vandals. The Etheridge man and the two Hodges men made it to the northern end of the field and fled towards Nansemond. Richard helped George up and told him to go as fast as possible to the house; there, Anne would doctor him with the snake root poultice and drink she always kept prepared. Richard would divert the guards while George got away.
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Becoming Americans He let George get onto the dark deer path as he sat in the damp sand, pulling off a boot. He scooped sand into the boot, filling it to mid-calf, then raised his head above the leaves to see what the guards were doing. Eight guards had come together as one of them shouted directions and ordered a slave boy to run to the manor house and alert Captain Craford. Richard stood in the dark and lifted the long boot above his head, held by the laces. He swung the boot around his head, as he would have his boyhood slingshot, then let the boot fly as if it were a pebble to skip across a pond. The twirling boot cut across and into row after row of tobacco plants tops before it fell. The men turned and saw row upon row of tobacco falling, seemingly, on their own. They ran in that direction with their torches as Richard ran to Deep Creek. He caught up with George by the bridge. He quietly helped the man into the house. Anne rose in the bed and Sarah Alice turned on her pallet. "Snake root!" Richard’s demanding whisper frightened Anne. Richard threw a skin before the fire and lay George in the light. Anne saw that the man’s arm had swollen twice its normal size. She reached into her bag of medicines and took out what she needed. She tied a red string around George’s arm to ease the pain, then mixed the powdered snake-root with wine for him to drink, and mixed more with spit and vinegar for a poultice. Richard filled a mug with his strongest brandy and poured it into George. The man’s face was swollen, now, his eyes forced shut, and he gasped and coughed as he drank. George lay by the fire, softly moaning as Richard and Anne watched him swell and strain to breathe. Anne prayed aloud, even as she prepared a fresh poultice. She stopped praying when she saw how dirty the fronts of both men were, and that Richard wore but one boot. She began again. "Quiet!" Richard said. "There’ll likely be men here soon. They must think that we’re asleep. We must move George." He looked about the room for a hiding place, then up to the loft opening. John and Joseph were peering down, awakened by the activity, but hesitant to let themselves be known. "Here, boys. Now! Help me move George up there."
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Becoming Americans The three Williams men struggled with the dead weight of the big man, and pulled him up the ladder to the loft. "Now, everyone, back to your sleeping places. We’ll soon have visitors at the door, I warrant," Richard said. "Why are you both so dirty, Richard. And you’ve only one boot!" whispered urgently.
Anne
"Silent, woman!" He’d never been more demanding. The house was silent but for the soft moans of George up in the loft. Sarah Alice had set up for a moment, then lay back down to sleep. Edy had never moved, nor the younger boys. Edward’s dog began to bark outside. Those awake inside waited for a knocking on the door. They waited, and still no knock. Edward’s dog kept barking, and soon was joined by the other dogs, as well as the loud and persistent neighing of Anne’s horse, and the deep voices of awakened cows. Finally, Richard put his feet to the cool floor and, after a moment’s hesitation, went to the door and pulled it open wide. On the top step was the dirt-filled boot he’d thrown across the field, and in the Creek was a bright orange reflection of fire. He reached down for his knife, then ran out and around the house to see his shed of tools and staves and tar ablaze. A shadow moved, and he ran to the torch-bearer. The man saw the glint from Richard’s knife and threw down the torch, reaching for his own knife. Richard rushed the man and swung up to stab at his gut, but the man side-stepped him and swung back with the same gesture. Richard was pushed by the blow of blade in fist, then fell back against the chest of the man. He looked into the surprised and horrified eyes of his old friend, Thomas Nash, one of Crawford s men. "Thomas?" he said, and fell to the ground. The shed of staves and tar was sending flames and black smoke high into the air. John was first around the house, and the first to see his father. "Mother!" he screamed. "Joseph!" The family came into the bright light and heat to see the horror. Anne rushed to her husband, who told her calmly to get him inside, but to have the children and the servants start a bucket brigade to keep the house from catching afire, too.
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Becoming Americans By dawn, the fire of tar and staves and shingles had burned itself out, though it was smoldering still, and giving off the stench of burned tar. Though gallons upon gallons of water had been poured onto the roof of the house, and thrown against the back wall, the inside was still hot from the night’s blaze. Neighbors had arrived throughout the night, awakened by the lighted sky, to help in carrying and throwing water. Joseph had fetched Old Nancy from her hut in the swamp to treat George’s snakebite. He slept fitfully, though Old Nancy was hopeful of his recovery. George had gone to the shed, Richard whispered to the Constable, where he was bitten by the snake and dropped his torch. Richard had seen the fire and, when running to put it out, had fallen on his own knife. Thomas Nash was the first to arrive and direct the fire-fighting, Richard said. Thomas seemed more upset than anyone. Only Anne and her two oldest sons knew more of the truth. But, they’d told the story so many times that it came out like a church litany or a childhood rhyme that was embedded in the mind. Edy could remember her father rushing out of the house. Edward could remember his dog barking. Sarah Alice just cried. Young Richard could only remember being pulled from his bed to be taken to the creekside to stand with Lucy and Edward, watching the fire and frantic neighbors. Sarah Biggs came to help nurse Richard’s wound, but there was little to be done. "But he’s been pale since the General Muster!" Anne had insisted, in denial. "He’ll come around!" By noon, she accepted that it was merely a matter of time. She acceded to Richard’s request that an official be summoned to write his will. William Porten, the County Clerk, was staying nearby with John Ferebee, the County Surveyor, it was said, so John rode Anne’s horse down to the Great Bridge and across, up to the manor house of Mister Ferebee to plead with the men to come. Mister Porten and Mister Ferebee were in serious discussions with other county officials about last night’s cutting and reports of rioting when John arrived. He insisted to the servants that he be admitted to the room. The men immediately ended their meeting, and William Porten gathered his quills and ink and paper into a small chest. The party then rode off to Deep Creek. As Anne sat with her husband, waiting for the men, she saw a look of pleading in his eyes. "Please tell me, beloved husband, what I can do for you," she said.
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Becoming Americans "Friend Charles Shaw is here, is he not?" Richard asked. Anne was surprised by the question, but told him, yes, the old man had been among the first to arrive, although he’d been of little help. "Bring him to me," Richard said. Anne hesitated, and her look of puzzlement and hurt were seen by her dying husband. "Dearest," Richard said. "Wait. I will tell you first, though it will cut me deeper than this dagger wound." "Then don’t!" she pleaded. He pulled at her hand, and she sat back on the bed. "My darling Anne, how poor a husband I have been," he began. "No," she said, and softly put her hand across his mouth. "I’ll hear no such lies as that." "I’ve lost it all," he said. "Near all, and maybe all, if we don’t get help." Anne stared into his pained eyes and could understand none of it. "At the Muster." He tried to begin. "The Captain saved me, but he only gave me time." Anne understood nothing. "I began by winning, but ." Slowly, Anne took hold of the concept. "Four thousand pipe staves. Twelve barrels of tar," he finished. A tear dropped from Anne’s face onto Richard’s hand. This was the last day of her life, she thought. Tomorrow she’d have no husband. Soon, there’d be no land or home. "If Shaw will do as Caswell did, you’ll still be left the manor house and one hundred acres," Richard said. BOSON BOOKS
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"Rest, husband. I’ll go find Friend Shaw," Anne said, and dried her tears. She must let go of her grief, for the moment, and do what she could to save the family. Charles Shaw was sitting on a stump by the Creek’s edge. He was trying to talk to Sarah Alice, but the child was frightened, and pulled away to cling to Lucy’s apron. Anne saw him and rushed over, shaken by her anger. How dare the disgusting old man be playing with her daughter when the child’s father lay near death? Why couldn’t it be Charles Shaw who was dying! Shaw saw her coming and stood up. The Quaker didn’t remove his hat, of course. Anne wanted to slap him. "Friend Shaw, my husband wishes to speak with you." "With me?" the man asked, in surprise. Anne wanted to laugh in his face to ridicule the lisp. She wanted to hurt him. To hurt somebody! She strained to be nice to him. It was an effort not to scream and lose her mind. "With you, Friend Shaw. Would you come?" She led him into the hot, dank house. Anne hadn’t realized how hot it was inside the house. She couldn’t open the windows, or leave the door ajar there’d be a draft but she stood over Richard, and gently waved the feathers of a turkey wing to stir the air. "Shaw." Richard’s voice was weak. "Yeth, Withamth," were the sounds Shaw made with his thick tongue. "I’m dying, Shaw. I must make arrangements for my widow and children." "God’s will be done," Shaw said. Anne’s grip tightened on the old turkey wing and snapped the dried bone inside. "I leave a debt that could make them homeless. You can prevent their ruin, Friend." "I’m not a rich man, Williams. defensively. BOSON BOOKS
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"But, in a year you could pay my widow’s debt and have my three hundred acres on this side of Deep Creek. " Shaw was land-hungry, and he’d approached Richard before about that land. He’d complained that Caswell, and not he, had gotten the other three hundred acres. "My widow will be alone and in need. She will be forever grateful, of that I’m sure, Richard said. Anne stopped fanning. Richard was offering her hand to the old man! Never! Never! But she must remain calm. Quickly, and with few words, the men agreed that, within a year of Richard’s death, Shaw would pay the four thousand pipe staves and twelve barrels of tar to his widow, in exchange for those three hundred acres. With the arrangements made, Anne ushered Shaw back outside. She returned to the bedside and sat, finally releasing her fear and anger in torrents of tears and sobs. Richard had no strength to comfort her, as he lay in silence and fading awareness. John arrived soon thereafter with William Porten and John Ferebee. Richard revived to tell of the sale terms with Shaw; they would be included in the will. He parceled out his land and his cows and pigs to his children, making Anne his executrix until the youngest child came of age, and giving her the use of the manor house until her death or re-marriage. Porten made notes as Richard rambled, then drew up the formal document. Richard made his mark, and his John Biggs, Thomas Nash, and Charles Shaw signed or made their marks as witnesses. Anne and Richard were left alone. She was past exhaustion, but sat on the bed, wiping his hot forehead with damp clothes, praying for him and for herself. The effort with the men had drained him; now, the pain had a pureness about it. He was beyond pain, and his mind was being led places. He was with Uncle Edward, back in Bristol, the night his uncle had talked of America. Fortunes made in the New World. Richard was to learn farming, to have acres of riches in the popular weed. Adventure! Opeechcot stood tall, grunting in satisfaction at the slow death of the last of those who’d stolen his land. "You cursed us," Richard said to the Indian. "From the beginning we were pursued by your spirits."
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Becoming Americans "The spirits curse you with tobacco," the savage said. "You stole our sacred plant and killed the trees to grow it. You kill the land for it. Now the land will feed on you." Uncle John embraced the boy, John, and Uncle Edward’s sons were holding Edward. There was no Joseph to look after his namesake. There’d be no Richard to look after his.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Thirteen
From the nights of late August through the middle of September 1682, a fierce omen lit the sky; a ball and streak of fire the length of which could not be hidden by a fist held at arm’s length. To the stricken Williams family, it was a mourner’s torch. The Year of the Comet was as terrible for the Williamses as was 1667, the Year of the Hurricane. It was hard to accept that, for others, 1682 was a good year. The "cutting" had been effective in bringing higher prices for what remained of the tobacco crop. The fact that their personal actions had effected circumstances was the subject of much talk and speculation. Richard Williams died in June. Word was hailed to Uncle John’s shallop as it carried him back to Middlesex from the Thorowgoods, and he headed back to Deep Creek and a three-day stay at the modest Williams manor. He revealed his plan for John to eventually become manager of Aunt Mary’s property during the incapacity of his own son, Thomas. The frail patriarch asked that Anne agree to let the boy visit often to begin the training. Anne was too numb to be pleased for her son. She only knew that, then, she desperately needed her oldest boy at home. Very little commerce passed in the days just after the tumultuous cuttings and riots of 1682. Black crepe was, necessarily, borrowed to drape around the manor and over the oxcart. Anne brought out the heavy black veil she’d worn during mourning for Grandmother and Grandfather Ware, but no mourning gloves were available to distribute to friends, and no mourning rings could be purchased. With Anne’s uncertainty as to her ability to survive Richard s debts, his funeral was on a smaller scale than Richard, probably and certainly, his son John or Uncle John would have liked. Anne cut long curls from Richard’s hair before the coffin lid was shut. These precious remnants would become cherished momentos. She gave a length of hair to Uncle John. The old man wept as he held the lockets of his long-dead brother’s fine, blonde, baby hair; of the nephew’s matching baby hair; and the dark, curly lock from the corpse. Barely three weeks later, the family in Deep Creek was delivered a packet and news from Middlesex County. Uncle John, himself, was dead. A lock of his white hair was wrapped in black crepe, a token from the widowed Mary Williams. One night in September after the fire in the sky had passed Anne gathered her children around the hearth. For months, she’d quietly plaited rings and bracelets from their father’s hair as gifts to friends and relatives; to Aunt Mary, she’d sent an intricate
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Becoming Americans bracelet of Richard’s black hair, interwoven with the white of Uncle John’s. That work of grief complete, the black veil was thrown back from her forehead. Would they have their mother sold to Charles Shaw, she asked? Her father still insisted that she marry Shaw, and neither he nor his wife had offered help to the recalcitrant daughter. Anne’s sons were hesitant. John spoke of the dignity of marriage to Shaw. "He’s not a bad man," John reminded her. "You’ll have great status in the community." Joseph spoke of fear for Edy and the younger children. "What future can they have, landless?" Edy said nothing, nor did Edward. Richard pleaded for his mother not to marry the old man. Anne always remembered that. She continued to say no.
"I will not marry him!" Anne insisted to Captain Ingolbreitsen when the Captain returned in 1683, having spent a year making deals in the luxury of rich Barbados. He sailed up Deep Creek seeking his friend Richard and the payment of four thousand pipe staves, twelve barrels of tar, and smaller, miscellaneous debts. The staves and tar were already promised in Barbados. Anne and John explained Richard’s plan to the Captain, and of Shaw’s original intention to purchase the land to provide the staves and tar. But Shaw backed out of the agreement when Anne persisted in refusing his proposal of marriage. Certainly, she would not pretend that she had "seen the Light" and become a Quaker. Shaw claimed that it had been his firm understanding that this necessary conversion for marriage was part of his arrangement with her dying husband. But, Captain Ingolbreitsen reluctantly persisted. He had pressures of his own, and some payment must be made. She might sell Augustus, he suggested. Strong, seasoned slaves demanded a great price. In addition, Ingolbreitsen urged Anne to redouble her efforts to sell the land for the contracted staves and tar. The surplus from the sale of Augustus would only get her through another year.
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Becoming Americans "The debt is owed, it will be paid," John assured the Captain. And, indeed, by the time of Captain Ingolbreitsen’s visit the next spring, Anne as executrix of Richard’s estate had sold those three hundred acres to the brash Major John Nichols, who had Ingolbreitsen’s pipe staves and tar waiting on the wharf by the Great Bridge. Richard’s debt was satisfied, and Anne was left with the one hundred acres of land at the head of Deep Creek where the manor house and out-buildings sat; land enough to keep them fed and clothed, but not land for a future.
Three hard years followed. In the spring of 1686 Anne gave-in to the pressures from her father and from Sarah, and to the subtle pressures from her oldest sons and a daughter who, at age sixteen, was needful of a dowry. Two years quitrents had gone unpaid; another year and the Crown would reclaim the land. There were no other options. Anne Williams sat in the long silence of the next Friend’s Meeting before she spoke, convincingly, of her conversion. She wed Charles Shaw and began to resent her family for the sacrifice. She cried at the wedding, but they were tears of frustration, resignation, and relief. John Biggs wept at the ceremony, too. His were tears of joy. Anne’s marriage to Shaw was a large Quaker affair. Even Uncle Timothy, who had recently wed the widow of Nansemond s County Clerk and moved or fled for a final time to Virginia, was there. His preoccupation, then, was in pursuing claims for inherited property of his wife’s that had been seized by Carolina s Governor Sothel. It was a new experience, ruling a man. Charles Shaw thrived when her initial coldness turned to contempt and rage. He did her bidding he was anxious for her bidding but she loathed him. She drank great amounts of her whorled loosestrife-andwine potion before the wedding night. The marriage had to be consummated, but she would have no knowledge or memory of the act. It would not happen again. Charles Shaw’s bride insisted immediately after the wedding that the house be enlarged. A daughter-in-law the former Catherine Dean had moved in when John, too, was wed in ’86 and, although that young couple would be moving to Middlesex County when John reached his majority, Joseph, also, was engaged to wed and would be bringing his bride home. Shaw agreed to build another room, but of simple, log construction. Still, after John and Catherine left for Middlesex, the house had two mistresses when Joseph brought his wife, Mary, there in 1687. A shed was added to the length of the house in the rear, giving some added space for the eight people.
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Becoming Americans Anne’s husband, although he was the brunt of private jokes, was regarded as a martyred hero by the Quaker community: spiritual nobility. Anne felt like a martyr in that marriage; but and surely, God works his wonders in mysterious ways, she knew within two years in 1688 the Quaker, Charles Shaw, was dead and underground. His death was soon followed by that of Anne’s troublesome Quaker uncle, Timothy, and that of her willful stepmother, Sarah. Sarah Biggs and her oldest, sweet, son Jabez, both died from a fever that swept the county, killing slaves, the old, and the weak. Sarah and Jabez came down with it while tending to their neighbors’ Negroes. The first thought in Anne’s head when she heard that awful news was, "just desserts," Sarah being openly and willfully opposed to the institution of slavery as she was. Sarah had even prevailed upon John Biggs to free his slave, Molly! Anne prayed forgiveness for the vengeful thought, but as to that point, God’s will was that these Africans be baptized and put to use! Increasing numbers of ships loaded with Africans were arriving in Virginia. Maybe God had finally taken payment for Sarah’s willfulness. The courts were persecuting willful women in New England! With Shaw gone, Anne was freed of the dull clothes and the showy "theeing and thouing." She was welcomed back by her Anglican friends, while her Father mourned and pleaded with her to come to meeting, or to let some Quaker women "sit with her" until the Light returned. The relationship with her father cooled again.
Anne cried at her third wedding, too, but the tears lit happy eyes. She felt like a fourteen-year-old bride, not a forty-year-old. James Fewox made her beautiful and free. But, when she wed Fewox, her father and the other Biggses stood in stony silence. John Biggs and his Quaker family held back, apart from Anne and her children, as though she weren’t his blood. He stood with his and Sarah’s children: John, Thomas, Katherine, Elizabeth, Phoebe, Dorothy, and Jean. The couple slowly paraded past the assemblage in their matching finery; finery that raised questions in many minds. Who was this James Fewox that had so suddenly appeared and wooed the new Widow Shaw, placing her back into colorful and vain clothes, even giving her a feathered fan with a looking-glass for a wedding present? James Fewox had given Anne the wedding dress, too. It had belonged to his late wife. The dress and his suit were first worn when that couple attended a ball given by Lord Culpeper when he returned to govern Virginia, late in the Year of the Comet. It was only worn once, for James’s wife, too, had died in 1682. To Anne, that was a sign, she said, and she loved him more. Six years later, the dress was still splendid. The first BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Mistress Fewox had been a larger woman than was Anne. That allowed for alterations to update it. The extra material was cut and sewn as fashionable ruffles at the top of her chemise, draping over the low-cut bodice. Ruffles of the same brocade were sewn to the hem of her lemon-colored petticoat. At the elbows, loose ruffles sewn to the bodice sleeve fell below her elbows, hiding the plain sleeves of the chemise. The long-waisted bodice was fastened down the length with lemon-colored ribbon-knots. Anne beamed, knowing that she was beautiful to James. She looked to her father as she and James paraded. Her Quaker father smiled love, and her eyes filled. She wished her father had shown his love when she needed it. John Biggs didn’t look at the groom, but James Fewox caught the women’s eyes and turned their heads. No one guessed his age within ten years. Fewox was still a determined cavalier. He’d borrowed a gentleman’s greatperiwig that towered on his head, parted in the middle, with clusters of powdered curls falling over the front of each shoulder. This new, grand periwig updated his dress to some degree, even though his coat and vest hung nearly straight to below the knees almost no shaping at the waist. From one of the low, flapped pockets there drooped a scarlet handkerchief, and from the other stuck a silver comb, which accompanied the borrowed wig. James held to the fashion of tying his cravat at the neck and fastening it with a ribbon bow. These clothes and the dress Anne wore were left from a more prosperous time. Still, they were among the best-dressed in the church. "Fewox’s suit dates back before the comet," John whispered in a sneer to Joseph, when the couple passed. John Williams knew the latest fashion; felt it to be part of his duty as manager of an estate and manor such as his Aunt Mary’s. John’s coat was fitted to the waist, skirts full and stiffened, but gathered into pleats in a fan-shaped form from buttons on the hips. Two slits in the skirt, one at each hip, flared the unbuttoned coat. The brocade vest beneath was buttoned from the neck to the waist and, thus revealed, fell nearly to the hem of the coat. John Biggs, his children, and their Quaker friends had stood about the yard in sadcolored clumps of russet, brown, or gray. The suits of the men remained in the style of the late King Charles II, their drab, cloth doublets shaped like the former king’s silken coat. Their low-crowned, broad-brimmed hats were neither trimmed nor cocked. The Quaker women were only slightly less restrained than their men, but it was a drabness and point of contention from which Anne was glad to be rid. The clothes she had remaining from her Quaker marriage were serviceable and well made though, as was the furniture. From the first, John and Joseph knew more about the man, Fewox, than anyone did, but they’d kept closed-mouthed outside the family. John had reported to Joseph and BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans his mother of the man’s reputation in Middlesex County, where Fewox had lived until six months before the wedding. Fewox was about the same age as their father would have been, maybe a little older. He’d come to Virginia in 1655 with two brothers, all unwilling to live in the zealous Commonwealth. The oldest Fewox brother had done well, and returned to England after the death of Charles II and the succession of the King’s brother, James II. The youngest Fewox brother had died of the flux, leaving substantial debts to his London factor, who after the elaborate funeral costs had been settled sold his plantation to the Randolph family. James Fewox had prospered, thanks to the dowry and inheritance of his first wife. This unfortunate woman had died delivering a stillborn girl, leaving their son Robert in the hands of James and a revolving set of servants which the father won and lost. In his first six months in Lower Norfolk, Robert Fewox and Anne Shaw’s son, Richard Williams, became fast friends. Robert was a short and wiry young man who’d become well known in Middlesex and Gloucester Counties for his racing skills. Many a slower horse had been prodded to be first across the winner’s line by Robert. But Robert’s occasional losses cost his rashgambling father dearly, and James Fewox was being sued for debts. More distastefully, word had spread in that county of the harsh, inhuman treatment to his horses. In a rage at loosing his last race in Rappahannock, he had so severely beaten the mare that she was instructed to be slaughtered by the Magistrate. Fewox’s acts of rage and others were revealed were viewed by his friends some of them gentlemen with such scorn that he was soon shunned, except by those demanding payment of their winnings. Visiting in Lower Norfolk with George Dawes, he’d met Anne Shaw. The courtship was so swift that the matter of Fewox’s moral character had not yet circulated around the Southern Branch and Deep Creek communities. John and Joseph told their mother about Fewox, but she was deaf to criticism of her new cavalier. Anne had fought with her two grown sons the night the bans were posted. The court James Fewox paid her after her years of loneliness and battles to survive and provide for her family the court the gentleman paid her was hers. She reminded them that they had families of their own to tend to or create, and that she needed a man to provide for her and to help her younger sons get a new start. She still had that responsibility.
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Becoming Americans The hard times were over by 1691, and Anne was looking for better days. Nine years after Richard Williams’s death, Anne was three years into her third marriage, and her oldest boy, John, was secure and comfortable in Middlesex. Edy was a heartbreak, but Sarah Alice was a valuable widow who could re-marry well and soon. Joseph, with his wife and young daughters, would remain at Deep Creek. The Fewoxes, with Richard, Edward, and Edy, were moving to Carolina. Anne’s dashing husband had convinced her that her prejudices against the southern colony were unfounded. The administration of the Albemarle section was separated from that of the area near Charles Town and was being called North Carolina, under its own Deputy Governor. Carolina’s last governor, Seth Sothel, had been arrested, tried, and banished from public office in the colony. Slowly, the rebellious settlers had calmed, seemingly satisfied with the distant and complaisant Proprietors. Making Fewox more determined to move, he admitted, was the fact that he’d won property there, and wasn’t content to live at the Williams’s anymore. All of Anne’s children were at the Fewox farewell from Deep Creek. They were happy for her despite the misgivings they had about her future. John was head of the Williams family. He’d turned twenty-one shortly after his mother’s marriage to Charles Shaw, coming into his birthright soon thereafter thanks to Shaw’s generosity in purchasing and returning, at his death, the land bought with the promised staves and tar. John’s feelings about his mother’s Fewox match weremixed. He despised the coarse and disreputable James Fewox but, from the first, John was relieved to be free of the bickering with his mother, and there’d been fewer calls for him to return to the embarrassing poverty of Lower Norfolk from his place and position in Middlesex County. So, at his mother’s last entertainment at Deep Creek, John stood elegantly with his brothers and sisters, even when giving a quick glance of loving chastisement to Sarah Alice, whose infant daughter briefly shattered the party with her screams. John’s wife, Catherine, stayed close by his side. Joseph Williams was twenty-four and apprehensive about being left alone in Deep Creek, managing his and John’s property and those acres waiting to be claimed by Richard and Edward at their majority. He had mixed feelings but, above all, he looked forward to the domestic tranquillity that would come in a less crowded house. Edy clung to those last hours with her brothers and her widowed baby-sister. As always, Edy stood with her head slightly tilted so that the hood draped over the side of her face, hiding the most unsightly marks she’d been left with when the pox subsided. Edy was eager to be gone from Deep Creek and the painful memories it held for her. Once, she had plans for a beautiful wedding like her mother’s. The scourge of 1686 had killed Edy’s fianc e though, and left her she thought disfigured. There was an
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Becoming Americans additional, lingering shame: providing a handsome dowry for her had been the deciding factor in her mother’s decision to relent and marry old Shaw. Eyes not focused on the party’s departing hostess were fixed on the young man standing next to Edy, Anne’s beloved and distant son, Edward. He was beautiful, with crisp features, and clear blue eyes that caught people off-guard in their intensity. At seventeen, he was lean, fair, and pale. His lifelong frailty often came upon the boy and left him bed-ridden for weeks at a time. Some in the parish looked upon the radiant and seldom-seen young man as a special evidence of God. The young man looked out about the guests. There was no one here whom he would miss in Albemarle except his brothers and Sarah Alice. Still, he wasn’t eager to leave home, although he made no argument with his mother. Richard was in no hurry, either, to move from land that would be his in six years, but he’d obey his mother until he was twenty-one. More than that, he worried for her safety with James Fewox. James’s son, Robert, had said there was reason to be afraid. Still, it was rumored that Robert’s own mother had been badly beaten by the father, and Richard was determined to look after his mother. Richard bore his father’s name. The saddest figure at the farewell party was Sarah Alice, a widowed mother at the age of fifteen. Less than a year earlier she’d stood in the church and taken holy vows. Sister Edy’s unspent dowry was used to seal the arranged union of Anne’s daughter to Walter Craford, son of their renowned neighbor. It was a glorious marriage for Anne s youngest child; Anne’s ambitions in Virginia were complete. But, two months later Sarah Alice’s husband was dead from the fever. Nine months after the girl’s enchantingwedding, pretty little Sarah Alice bore a child. Guests stared at Sarah Alice, standing alone at times, hiding in her mourning clothes, sobbing with her infant. It had only been a girl. Guests to the Fewox farewell flowed from the house filled with cut flowers and borrowed servants out into the garden that Anne had loved and cultivated for two decades. Her tulips had stopped blooming years ago she didn’t know why but roses and dahlias sent from England, along with magnolias and lilies and honeysuckle that grew wild, scented the garden to overpower the salty stench of low tide. A perfumed sister-inlaw of Sarah Alice fanned away flies. Sarah Alice dabbed at her eyes before she flicked the feathers of an elaborate fan, and complained of gnats and mosquitoes. She was learning to be grand. Although it was a happy occasion, Anne had to console the many of her old friends who cried. The idea of Anne moving to the rogue’s harbor of Albemarle was upsetting and strange to them, but most had been married and widowed two or three times, relocating with new husbands. They knew she had no choice, but they were surprised and almost insulted that Anne seemed eager! True, Governor Sothel was recently removed, but the proprietary colony remained an unstable home to renegades, BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans thieves, and the unbaptized. There was still no minister in the whole of Albemarle! Anne’s friends studied her face and detected a slight frown on the adoring face they’d seen when Anne first looked up at her new husband, three years earlier. There’d been words with the oldest sons before guests arrived for the farewell party. Both Richard and Edward were growing eager for Carolina, she suggested to John and Joseph. The younger boys had never gone there with their father. She wanted to be with Fewox, she told them, and she wanted to leave Lower Norfolk. Life was not pleasant here for her anymore. Things were changing too much, too fast. Lower Norfolk was being split into two counties, Norfolk and Princess Anne. And, since King James II had been replaced by the Protestants, King William III and his wife, Queen Mary eldest daughter of the deposed King James II Virginia was becoming very quickly taken over by a few of the largest planters: the Byrds, the Lees, the Randolphs, the Taneys, the Harrisons, and some others. Anyway, Deep Creek was not Fewox land. The future was in Carolina. "I’ve done my all for you," she’d said. They knew she was referring to her marriage to that awful Shaw, in saving their inheritances by agreeing to wed Shaw in return for his purchase of the acres she’d sold to meet Richard’s debts,and Shaw returning it to her sons as was intended by Richard’s will. She didn’t speak of Fewox’s growing disrepute in Lower Norfolk. She still would hear nothing against her husband, although she knew that guests coming to her party were life-long friends of hers, wanting to wish her well, but glad to say good-riddance to the husband. Everybody had liked her first husband.
On the Monday morning after the Fewox farewell party, John and his wife Catherine said their good-byes and returned to Middlesex. They stopped to lunch in Norfolk Town with Mistress Sayer, a sister of Catherine’s mother, Lucie Dean. Even though successive kings refused to recognize the official establishment of the town, the port continued to grow. The field where John had first trained for the militia was now surveyed lots and the site of some homes, warehouses, and taverns. A chapel of ease was very close-by, and a courthouse for the new County of Norfolk was under construction. The courthouse on Broad Creek that John’s father had helped build thirty years earlier had fallen into disrepair, and separate courthouses were needed for the now-separate BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans counties of Norfolk and Princess Anne. This exciting growth thrilled John, and he hoped that his home area might one day rise to the stature and prestige of Middlesex County, where he now lived. Maybe then his hundred acres and pathetic manor house would be worth something. To Catherine, raised in the isolated Currituck precinct of Albemarle in Carolina, the whole of Virginia was like what she imagined England to be: brick houses, fine clothes and fine houses, carriages and churches with ministers and ritual. She loved this life, and she tried hard to help John by being modest, yet as stylish as possible. She was pleased to have a relation in the Town her contribution to the family reputation. Catherine had loved young John Williams from the moment she saw him. He’d come first, years earlier, to her father’s plantation with his father and brother, scratched, dirty and talking non-stop. The next morning he was gone, but she’d known that he’d be back. John returned often with his father and, after his father died, John and Joseph came to Currituck as small traders of whale oil, or to transport Carolina tobacco to Virginia. Overland trading in tobacco was not against the laws of the Virginia Burgesses since so very little transport of it was possible on the cart path called the Carolina Road. John worked hard, he spoke with confidence of his future to Catherine’s father and, eventually when the Williams family situation was settled he asked for her hand and was gladly given it by the Dean family. Finally, Catherine’s life was beside him with the wealthy Widow Williams of Middlesex. When John had felt comfortable with leaving Deep Creek in the hands of Joseph and his mother, he and Catherine had moved to Aunt Mary’s, occupying a sleeping-room and private sitting-room that the Widow Williams had added for their comfort. Cousin Thomas was visited each day, but he seldom left his room or bed. On rare occasions Thomas had servants carry him to lie beneath the grape arbor, or to the blooming apple orchard in the spring. In the fall his men would carry him to the casking shed to inhale deeply of the aromatic tobacco. But most of Thomas’s life was lived in bed a fine, imported bed of feathered mattresses and pillows where he was fed and turned and tended as a baby. He’d never risen from the time he was thrown from the horse and as Uncle John had told John’s father he’d never been sober since then, either. Thomas would never have children. Catherine was confident that she and John would have sons one day. They’d tried, they’d prayed, but she’d not yet conceived. She would, though, and Aunt Mary surely! would will her estate to John her husband’s namesake. After all, it was John who had tripled the size of the estate with his wise management, and by advising Aunt Mary on the purchase of nearby estates. John had organized her plantation as strictly as the militia. Aunt Mary’s plantation was like the beehive or the ant colony the Williams boys had admired. Life was organized; everyone knew his or her place. John and Joseph and their mother had started that system during the hard years before Anne had married Shaw.
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Becoming Americans This was a different world from the sandy, barren outer-banks beaches of Currituck Precinct where she’d played as a girl. She lived a life that, as a child, she’d hardly dreamed of. Her husband was manager of nearly two thousand acres for his aunt. The original part of this plantation was from an inheritance the old woman had been left years ago. Uncle John’s confiscated land was never returned to him by any of the king’s governor’s, even though Uncle John had been openly and fiercely loyal to Sir William Berkeley during Bacon’s Rebellion. Aunt Mary bore a grudge for that, though she had benefited from the changes in the world that came with the establishment on the throne of King William and Queen Mary. The idea that the king’s rights and prerogatives derived directly from God was abolished. The people landed and wealthy people could limit those royal rights and prerogatives. They’d done so in overthrowing the Stuart, James II, when he’d perversely insisted on naming his Catholic son as heir to the throne. Protestant England would not have it. The landed gentry in America took note; the colonies would not have capricious rule, either. They demanded, and took, increasing power from the royal governor. After James Town burned again, there was determined talk of a new seat of government for the prosperous colony. A college and new State House and town would be built on land at Middle Plantation. These were heady years for the Empire, for Virginia, and for John and Catherine.
With the departure of the Fewoxes from Deep Creek, with Richard, Edward and Edy Williams off to Carolina, and with John and Catherine gone, the Williams manor on Deep Creek seemed quiet and empty. Only Joseph, his wife Mary, and two hired men were left to run the plantation, not that the three hundred acres were farmed, now. Increasingly, with the growth of Norfolk Town, demand heightened for staves and tar and shingles. Only food, flax, and tobacco for their own use were cultivated for harvest. To everyone’s benefit, Joseph’s in-laws, Danieland Mary Bourne, moved in with them after losing their small plantation in what they’d been led to believe was lower Nansemond County. More and more commonly, vying claimants fought in Virginia and Carolina Courts for land that was claimed by both colonies. Still, no dividing line had been drawn. Daniel and Mary Bourne had been children, stolen from the streets of London, who were transported to Virginia as servants. They met and become lovers while bonded to an Isle of Wight County planter in the 1660’s. Having been sold as children, they were bound to their master until the age of twenty-four. But, by the time Daniel and Mary were seventeen, they’d determined not to wait the additional seven years for freedom. They stole an Indian’s pirogue and escaped to the Swamp. In that misty haven they declared themselves man and wife and survived on nature’s bounty, secure from BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans constables and sheriffs and magistrates. The Bourne’s were introduced to Richard Williams at Maddog’s river landing. Joseph Williams met their daughter there, too his wild bride-to-be. Daniel Bourne provided a handsome dowry for his beautiful daughter: large bundles of valuable furs and tanned hides. It was a small treasure the swampdwellers offered to secure respectability for their daughter, Mary named for her mother. It came at a time when marriage to a daughter of Anne Shaw offered respectability, and Anne’s son badly needed the handsome dowry. From the beginning, Anne had ruled the girl. She reminded her daughter-in-law that the Williams manor even though Anne was married to Charles Shaw remained for Anne’s use by Richard’s will for the remainder of Anne’s life. Two mistresses could not run a household, so Mary was to remember her place as merely the wife of Anne’s second son, living in Anne’s home. Too, Anne’s heritage as the daughter of aWare mother and a Biggs father grew in importance to her as her living situation diminished. This girl of unwed and runaway parents was fortunate, indeed, to snare her son, Joseph. Even the girl’s gift to Anne of her first two grandchildren was given short shrift. When would the girl produce sons? Sons were what the family needed. Finally, with her mother-in-law gone, Mary was mistress of the Deep Creek plantation, and she determined it would be hers and her own family’s independent of brother-in-law John or the scheming shrew, Anne. The Bourne family had valuable connections. The outspoken young bride was quick to remind her husband of this when he dared speak in the condescending tones used by his mother. The population of Norfolk County was growing fast. The number of ships that docked at the port in Norfolk Town kept the many inns and ordinaries full of sailors who plied the Barbados-Virginia trade route. Runaway servants and slaves, and deserters from harsh ship captains still fled to the safety of the Great Swamp. These men and women formed small, hidden communities. They supplied traders like Joseph with furs to barter, and cheaper labor than could be rented or bonded. Joseph could thank Daniel Bourne for that connection. So, Joseph’s business grew, and after Captain Ingolbreitsen was lost at sea during a harsh storm in late 1693, Joseph merely acquired a new factor for the increasing shingle, stave, and tar trade with Barbados. Life went on, and grew better, at Deep Creek.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Fourteen
Carolina seemed familiar to Anne. Albemarle was made up of fingers or, necks of land divided by parallel rivers that flowed into a large body of water. The thin, first finger of Currituck came down as mostly marsh and dune from Princess Anne County in Virginia to the Currituck Inlet, bordered by the Atlantic Ocean and the Currituck Sound. Then, a long finger still Currituck Precinct bounded to the west by the North River, stuck into the Albemarle Sound; the next precinct Pasquotank was bordered by the broad Pasquotank River; then, Perquimans Precinct, bordered by the Little River and by the wide Perquimans River. The westernmost, wide, tooth-shaped peninsula was stopped at the imposing Chowan River. Unlike Virginia’s Necks, these waters flowed south; south from or around the Great Swamp. James Fewox’s land in Albemarle looked like a lovely bit of Grandfather Ware’s Virginia land, torn out roughly and dropped off the northern shore of the Albemarle Sound. Fewox’s twenty-five acres of this island were the majority and best acres; the remaining ten acres, or so, belonged to Benjamin Laker, a prestigious member of the colony. Batts Grave was the name of the island. Nathaniel Batts was the earliest or, at least, the most celebrated of the settlers of Old Virginia, as many people called Albemarle before Carolina became a proprietary colony in 1660. Batts had arrived years before that, joined soon by George Durant, John Harvey, and others of the colony’s longest-seated, most hard-headed, and independent planters of 1691. Nathaniel Batts had moved south into Old Virginia before it was renamed, and had purchased his lands directly from the Indians. He began a brisk trade with the Indians and had prospered. He established his base and home at the western end of the Sound, between the mouths of the Chowan and the Roanoke Rivers. Although Batts was sufficiently rough and daring to demand the respect of his fellow traders and settlers, he was remembered in the century’s last decade as a dashing, romantic cavalier. They called him, "Captain Nathaniel Batts, Governor of Roanoke." Batts Grave nestled in a bay that indented the northern shoreline of Perquimans Precinct, between the Perquimans and the Chowan Rivers. Two short waterways the Yaupim River and Yaupim Creek fed into the little bay. The island’s loamy soil was rich, and the island was situated in a perfect spot for a trading post and for watching traffic in the Sound. To the older inhabitants of North Carolina, the island of Batts Grave bore a sentimental importance second only to Roanoke Island, the place where ghosts were often BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans seen and where, on sunny winter days, families would sail to pick among the century-old ruins of Sir Walter Raleigh’s lost expedition of colonists. It was told that Batts, who was popular with the Chowanoke Indians, fell helplessly in love with Kickowanna, daughter of the Chowanoke chief, Kilcocanen. She returned Batts’s affections and jilted his rival, a chief of the Pamunkey. During the ensuing war, Batts was adopted by the Chowanoke for his bravery and loyalty. Kickowanna often visited Batts at his island post and retreat. On one such visit, a raging storm capsized her canoe and Kickowanna drowned. Batts vowed never to leave the island, and it ultimately became "Batts Grave." His actual grave and inscribed stone were placed near the southern shore of the island, but in the thirty-odd years since then, wind and waves had eroded that portion of the island. Only stumps and lonely cypress stood above the water that now covered the burial location, and continued to nibble at the low bluff. The old house was like the first one Richard Williams had built at Deep Creek. It settled towards the northwest corner, and there were no glass windows; but it was a tworoom house, with sleeping-space above, and it had wooden floors and a brick fireplace. The house caught the first rays of sunlight reflecting from the usually calm waters of the Sound. But, making it different and special, from the rear of the house Anne could watch the sun setting in the western water of the Sound. The gardens and orchards were old and well-tended. This was no frontier wilderness island. Englishmen had lived here even as Grandfather Ware settled in Lancaster County! Anne was familiar, too, with the people of Albemarle. She knew many of them. In Chowan Precinct, to the west, and in Currituck Precinct, to the east, the settlements had been established by exploring, seasoned planters and trappers from Nansemond or Lower Norfolk Counties. Chowan and Currituck Precincts had direct and easier contact with Virginia; Chowan, up through the Chowan River and its tributaries, Currituck, by a mere six-league sail from Currituck Sound to Cape Henry. The central Perquimans and Pasquotank Precincts were bordered in the north by the impenetrable swamp and were the center of Carolina’s powerful Quaker population. Implicit in Carolina’s Fundamental Constitutions were religious freedom and the ability of every freeholder of fifty acres to vote and to hold office. It was recognized as acceptable for a Quaker to "affirm" his loyalty, rather than to "swear" it. With this freedom, and with their own ambition and loyalty, a majority of the government was Quaker. Anne Fewox, the former Widow Shaw, daughter of John Biggs, niece of Timothy Biggs, arrived to friends she would not have chosen. She was adopted as a "cause" soon after arriving to Batts Grave in 1691, the Quaker women of the community passing her from one to the other, assuming from her pedigree and previous marriage that she had "seen the Light." BOSON BOOKS
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James made no immediate claim to the headrights to which he was entitled. He was in no rush to claim more land before considerable thought and exploration, he said. But Anne was anxious that he hurry and find rich land up the Chowan River to establish a plantation. The road to Carolina’s future growth wasn’t with the Quakers and the other, undefined, dissenters. Anne’s hopes were dashed very early, though, when James told her his reasoning, and reiterated his need for Carolina’s five-year stay of suits on all debts, or other causes of legal action. He still owed debts in Virginia. Could there be a better place for a tavern and ordinary than on Batts Grave, he asked? A well-located ordinary and inn would be the means of repaying his Virginia debts. Batts Grave was convenient to all, and by tying-up on the rear side of the island, prying eyes from boats passing in the Sound wouldn’t know who was there! The few acres on this lovely island were adequate for growing food, there were wild swine in the woods, and the existing, floating dock could provide profitable convenience for New England traders tying-up for business in this central location. With encouragement from the aging George Durant, word was spread of Fewox’s place on Batts Grave. Anne was interested in being befriended by the likes of George Durant and the Harvey families. These long-time powers in Albemarle were nearby neighbors, and they weren’t Quakers. So it was with pride, at first, that Anne received these better people when they befriended James. But it was Durant who pointed out to James the importance of ships flying a black or blood-red flag and loaded with ill-gotten goods that plied the local waters. They were abundant, had spendthrift crews, and were quietly welcomed in the Sound. More than welcomed, they were a mainstay of trade and commerce. Fewox must offer them hospitality, too. They had doubloons and pieces of eight! Soon, on more nights than not, the sounds of laughter, or shouts of anger and fighting drifted out from Batts Island, and Anne worried for her children. Her hopes in bringing the children along were that this new frontier would present opportunities for them that were closed in Virginia. Anne wanted respectability for her sons, but they were, sometimes, witnesses to debauchery. Richard was too much like his father. He looked like him and he acted like him, Anne told James. She realized that gambling and drink were the rights and expectations for a man, but she wanted more for Richard. There was more land south of the Sound that would soon be opening! She pleaded with James to let Richard, with Edward, when he was able, explore the land opposite them on the southern shore of the Sound; land along the Scuppernong River. But James needed the boys to help him, he said. Anne prayed forgiveness for her willfulness, then arranged for word to arrive from Joseph, begging for the temporary help of Richard. BOSON BOOKS
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"My boys stick together," Anne told James. "You know that."
Within three years of the Fewox arrival, "Going over to Batts Grave" became synonymous with going to visit the Devil, for the few pious souls of Albemarle. Anne never called herself pious, but she didn’t like to be ill-thought of by the few people other than the Quakers who made any pretensions to religion. Some people called themselves Presbyterians, but few Carolinians even bothered to do that. "Going to Batts Grave" meant going to the huts and to the shed Fewox and the boys had built for sheltering patrons and observers of cock fights, wrestling and gouging bouts, dog fights, bull baiting, and the occasional bear baiting. Quaker-dominated Assemblies made laws to stop these sports, but fortunes were still made and lost by the bettors of these events; lives were made and lives were ruined. Apprentice, servant, slave and master might rub shoulders at a match as spectators, but the participants in contests were generally separated by class and status. Anne would hear complaints about this democratic mixing from gentlemen patrons, just off a boat. She’d sympathized with their view and tell them that, in this backwater colony, even the leaders had started from the same stock and circumstance as many of the common people. There was no hierarchy, here, based on birth. It was the fault of being a mere proprietary colony, she felt. Usually a smirk of dismissal answered her unsolicited opinions. Anne Fewox the granddaughter of Mister Cade Ware, the daughter of the respected John Biggs turned forty-six years old in 1694, and condescending reminders of her present status stung deeply. Finally, she lost the constant battle with her better side and spoke out to insist that her husband record his headrights and claim his land acreage. It was land ownership, only, that brought respectability. The General Court session of February 1694 was remarkable, in some ways. It was at this Court that Anne was finally successful in getting James to register his headrights. As was often the case, Court was held in the home of Diana Foster, another tavern-keeper, but it was at this Court session that wills were proven of two giants of the times ferocious enemies for years George Durant and the still-hated Seth Sothel. Their closely-spaced deaths were the occasion for both grief and jubilation in Old Albemarle, and both sentiments brought profit to the Fewox business. Word had arrived that the Proprietors might send Archdale back one of their own, although a Quaker to be Governor, and that challenges would be issued to ancient land patents. Old Governor BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Berkeley must be turning in his grave, Anne thought, knowing that his widow had sold his Proprietary share in Carolina to a Quaker! As did everyone else, she wondered what land patents would be challenged. Fewox’s claim to Batts Grave was locally recognized as stretching back to Nathaniel Batts’s purchase from the Indians, but there was no paper. Should Fewox lose Batts Grave, where would they be? After the Court s approval they had headrights to 350 acres of unclaimed land which wouldn’t be challenged. Anne’s cause of concern for haste proved justified in August when the crop of corn that she, Edy, and Edward had so carefully tended was invaded by hogs belonging to Benjamin Laker, Esquire, a man related to the Deputy Governor. In drunken inspiration, some of the Harveys and the Durants goaded James, reassured him, then pressed him to sue their friend Laker only as a legal formality to establish his title once and for all. They, too, had similar, anciently-held lands. At the General Court session for September of 1694, James Fewox sued Benjamin Laker himself a member of the Council for trespassing. To assure a fair trial, his father-in-law, Deputy Governor Thomas Harvey, excused himself from the case. But then, to the amazement of the Fewoxes, gentlemen friends of Laker patrons of the tavern! swore that Laker had legal claim to the island, and that Fewox lacked a fence, anyway. James held no hope in fighting against both the intriguing old-timers and the pious Quaker powers in the precinct who’d have all amusements and recreations outlawed. Word had come that the Quaker Archdale was, indeed, now Governor and James lost his case. He was allowed two months to abandon the island but was immediately affirmed in his claim to the additional headrights of Richard who had returned at his mother’s summons and of John Haswell, won in a bet. Anne was not distressed, she was relieved. Soon they would have tobacco land. She held on to the hope of a better life for her grown children. She’d been especially worried about Edy. Edy Williams turned twenty-five in 1694. She’d developed dexterity with hoods and scarves and handkerchiefs and laden trays and bundles of laundry or just with her posed or fluttering hands to hide her face. Not only was she badly scarred from the pox, she’d been kicked by her cow, Lady, and had lost two of her front teeth. Edy seldom spoke, thinking that she sounded worse than had Old Shaw, and that this was God’s curse for having urged her mother to marry the old man. The last months on Batts Grave were revealing to Anne. She saw in her husband what he’d not let her see before. Once, he knocked a servant senseless, and twice he knocked her to the ground. James was humiliated by the betrayal from the wealthy patrons he’d considered friends. He was of better birth and background than these Carolina rogues! How dare BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans they set themselves above him? The self-inflicted sting, though, came from the knowledge that he had let himself serve as tool for the likes of the Durants and the Harveys, who were eager for their friend Laker to have Batts Grave and who were hoping to win approval of the new Governor. "The debauchery has become too public," they rebuffed James. "Perhaps you could be more profitable across the Sound?" James’s simmering resentment exploded on a snowy night in December. Chunks of dried mud had fallen from in-between most of the logs, and snow sifted through the cracks to make damp spots on the dirt floor. Edy and Robert were rolling a large piece of wood toward the daub and wattle fireplace, when an earthenware mug flew across the room and hit the crouching young woman in her head, knocking her unconscious. James ran to Edy and, when he was certain she was alive, rose to pounce upon the drunken patron whose mug it was: Thomas Philpott, a member of the Durant faction, and a friend of Benjamin Laker. James pushed through the smoky room of drunken men and knocked the pleading Philpott to the ground, wrapped the man’s long curls around his fist and began banging the man s head into the packed sand. Philpott struggled to throw off the older man, but James straddled him and, with his thumbs, tore into the corners of the man’s eyes, popping one of the spheres from its socket. Philpott screamed as his friends struggled to pull James away and to get help for Philpott. James went back to Edy, where Anne was now kneeling with a cloth, pressing it against the deep gash in her child’s forehead. Though breathing, the girl had not come around. They carried her limp body to the house as Philpott’s friends lifted him and dragged him to a boat. For a month, Edy lay on her straw pallet and recuperated, as the Fewoxes and Williamses prepared to abandon the island to Laker. They went back and forth across the Sound, acquainting themselves with the southern shore. It was a time in which James Fewox cemented ties to old patrons that he’d previously made some effort to be wary of before his betrayal by the "better sorts." The Albemarle Sound and, to the south, the even larger Pamticoe Sound, encompassed a fist-shaped, swampy peninsula. The area was home and open highway to scores of pirates. Their smaller boats could easily pass through and over shallow inlets to the sea, chase and capture bounty-laden cargo ships, relieve those of goods and treasure, then return to their havens in Carolina. The governments of Virginia and South Carolina were outraged and terrified by the blatant harboring of these pirates by the people and government of North Carolina. But the pirates were an important source of goods to the Albemarle colonists. Ships from England rarely bothered to tempt the shifting shoals, and BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans the New England traders who did come charged double prices for goods. The pirates though a class to be publicly condemned performed a valuable service by delivering much-needed supplies and much-coveted luxuries. Everyone profited from this silent cooperation, and many North Carolinians applauded the misery ladled out to their arrogant neighbors to the north and to the south. The Scuppernong River flowed from this fist into the south side of the Albemarle Sound, was almost directly across from Batts Grave and, like the island, was on the border of Perquimans and Chowan Precincts. The Scuppernong, like the Yeopim River and Yeopim Creek, emptied into a bay, although this broader bay held no large islands. The western headland cupped the bay, curved further back to the west, and rose above the marshland and swamp that fell behind it. The Scuppernong River, itself, was navigable for a short distance southward, then turned sharply to the south and east, fed by the low, swampy land that bounded it. James Fewox staked-out the high, western headland of the bay, and 350 acres of swamp and land between this headland and the northern shore of the western stretch of the Scuppernong. Anne chose the spot for the house, near the point of this western side. It would face the east, toward a sun rising over water. Richard and Edward wanted to make her feel a connection with home, too, so they named a small creek that drained into the bay behind the house, "Deep Creek." But the lodging that Fewox and the boys built was worse than the embarrassing hovel Anne had once occupied in Norfolk County. James lacked the skills, he admitted, and he lacked the resources to build better. This was a temporary shelter, he assured her, and things would get better. His first concern was with re-establishing the business he’d had across the Sound. Here, away from prying eyes of Quakers and authorities, he could easily provide his now-favored clientele with the services and goods they wanted. He began by buying cattle from William Powell, on the eastern side of the river, and driving them back to his land for slaughter, milk, and gaming. Bull baiting was a popular sport and, second to knife fights, the favorite of pirates. A roaring bull was tied to a stake inside an enclosure, and then six or eight dogs were let loose upon the animal to torment it, to bite and tear at it until the dogs were killed, or the larger animal subdued. Heavy and ferocious bulldogs were bred for the purpose, and dogs that survived several matches were valuable properties. Pups sired by those animals fetched a large sum. Fewox’s new establishment soon became known as the site for the most exciting, highest-wagered bull baitings. The meat from these exhausted bulls was tender and delicious, and the tallow saved from the fat had a value, too, for more than lighting or for making soap. Pirates paid well for the tallow when time came to careen their boats. Fewox allowed his new friends to sail into the Scuppernong, into and around the hidden turn to where the river narrowed and the sailors could beach the ships. Sometimes they used ropes and pulleys attached to nearby trees to lay the ship on a side for scraping away BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans worms and barnacles it had collected in tropical waters. They melted tallow to coat the hull. A busy ship might require this overhaul three times in a year. Most of a ship’s year of illegal enterprise was spent in the waters near New Providence, Bermuda, the home base for many pirates whose range of operations carried them from the busy Spanish Main to the equally prosperous and crowded trade routes of the Red Sea. The greatest delight of Anne’s Anglican patrons was the arrival of an occasional captured Turk, brought here from those distant raids. With them came exotic goods: silk, spices and scents. Anne had protested at first, then turned her head when James began trading with the pirates. Ale, spirits and trading goods were payment for home-cooked meals, sport, and salted pork and beef for the sailors to take with them on their longer raiding voyages. Their behavior seemed no ruder than most of the patrons . She remembered that her first husband’s friend the renowned Captain Bartholomew Ingolbreitsen was not a man of pure reputation and, at last, her daughter, Edy, was finding happiness with one of them. His name was Thomas Carman. Thomas Carman was an on-again, off-again pirate. He was loud, he was vulgar, and he was exceptionally offensive to behold. The pox had left him more scarred than Edy, and worse his last twenty-years diet of nothing but pork so typical in Carolina had given him the eating-away sickness of yaws, to the degree that most of his nose was gone. A patch, sometimes, covered the place where his right eye had been; a loss in battle, for which his captain and crew had paid him the traditional five hundred pieces-of-eight. Anne was talking with Carman when her daughter finally awakened from the month-long sleep and looked up, saw him first, and never looked her mother’s way. The possibility of her child having happiness made Anne think differently and less hastily. Anne had talked with Thomas Carman on the many occasions he’d drunk at Batts Grave tavern. He spent freely and he paid his bills frequently, in gold. Carman was from the town of Maidstone, in Kent, where Anne’s father was born. His was among the many peasant families who’d been evicted from their small land holdings when, during the last century, peasant families were being displaced by flocks of sheep to supply England’s booming textile industry. The starving Carman family sold Thomas to a ship’s captain to serve as cabin boy, but the boy was soon taken by Dutch privateers during the conflicts of the 1660’s. He was recaptured by an English privateer the next year and sold to a Virginia planter. But the boy craved the sea, by then, and after suffering in the tobacco fields of Lancaster County for the rest of his indenture, he signed on with an English merchant who had traded with his master. When this ship, too, was seized by pirates and the crew was offered an opportunity to join-up, Thomas Carman gladly swore his oath of loyalty to the new captain, crew, and to their black flag.
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Becoming Americans Anne hadn’t known that her daughter even knew the disfigured Carman, but it was obvious from the girl s demeanor and from the tenderness shown her by the man that they were already together. Anne thought of the dreams she’d once held for her older daughter. Those dreams of wealth and position had vanished years ago, though, gone with the pox and with the dowry spent on Sarah Alice. The mother’s wish, now, was for her tormented child to find comfort and some happiness. If this noseless pirate could provide that, Anne would not protest. So, in April 1695, Edy Williams sailed away with her declared husband, now a quartermaster for Captain Low’s ship, Revenge. For James Fewox, that was a happy union of business and pleasure. He’d become fond of the young woman, finding her appearance unremarkable among these frontier women. Plus, she was eager to please, and gave quick, efficient help in the tavern and in the garden. But, this union with a ship’s quartermaster made her a valuable business link. A quartermaster, like a captain himself, was elected by the crew. He held great authority by choosing what loot to keep, knowing how much could be stored on the small ships, and in knowing which goods could be easily sold. For this responsibility he was paid one and one-quarter share of the loot. Carman would be a good provider for Edy, and he’d bring business to his new family. "Be careful what you wish for," Anne warned her husband.
The November Court of 1695 declared that James Fewox had killed cattle illegally and ordered that he stop. The Quaker faction was determined; they would have no bull baiting. At that same court, James lost a suit he’d made against a patron and had to pay court costs. A distant bright spot ended the dark year when news arrived of the birth of a grandson in Middlesex. The decline continued, though, and for Anne, 1696 became a cursed year like ’67 or ’82. In February, Fewox was arrested in his place on a small island in the Scuppernong. He was charged with having "hides, with no ears, and barrels of meat, barrels of tallow." By the time of the July Court he was liable for his old debts again, was sued, lost, and promised to pay. The October Court of 1696 declared that "Fewox, being a person of Evil fame, ordered that he not be allowed to hunt cattle or any game." Fewox was out of business and deeply in debt. In November, James was sued for eight barrels of tar, but he d disappeared from home, that month, and he didn’t appear in Court. BOSON BOOKS
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In December, James Fewox and David King, a friend, were accused of counterfeiting coins! Witnesses even testified that the tools had come from Virginia. False Spanish doubloons were presented as evidence in court, and ordered to be broken and destroyed. James was ordered to pay the court an amount that required his selling all the chattel he owned. That chattel included the headrights of himself, Anne, Robert, and Edward. William Glover, Clerk of the Court and a rising power in the Anglican community, placed a bag of coins before the Court to claim the headrights. James left immediately with Glover to seat the new land, leaving Anne, Robert, and Edy to handle the move south into the newly-named Bath County the large, southern half of the fist-shaped peninsula. Within days of her "sale," as she had termed it to James, word reached Anne, through the Quaker community, that her father was dying. Anne screamed at the messenger to take her "thees" and "thous" with her, straight to hell! She was an aging woman, but she suddenly became the child she had once been, whose nurturing father had loved and tended her as he would have done the Holy Chalice. She had to see her father. He d give her comfort and love while she made sense of her life; her life with this man, in this place. Leaving without her master’s Glover’s permission, would be a serious offense, but Anne was too distraught for reasoning. She appealed to her visiting son-in-law, Carman, to help her reach Norfolk County. On a blustery night in late December, the two of them sailed out from the nownamed Bull Bay, into the east, pushed by a harsh, northwesterly wind that whipped the shallow Sound into froth. Carman suggested that it would be best to put ashore somewhere this side of the Currituck Inlet and wait until morning. But Anne was like the Sound, the storm of worries had shipped her into a froth, and she hurled encouragement and curses at the one-eyed sailor. There was no moon and no star to light or guide Carman, and his small craft struck an oyster reef and sank before dawn, beneath the waves that crashed over the marshes on the western side of the Outer Banks. Anne and Carman waded through the cutting grasses until they reached dry land. Strangely, there was no rain, just a biting, cold wind that blew from the western mountains. Across the high dunes, to the east, would be protection from the wind. From the dune’s ridge, they looked down to a bonfire on the sheltered beach. A canvas tent was probably the shelter of fishermen, for their canoe with a mast and sail lay nearby. There was little necessity for precautions against noise since the roar and whistle of wind covered conversation. Carman tried to tell her that the idea was BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans senseless. They couldn’t sail directly into the winds! Anne was not dissuaded. The wind would change. That was a certainty. They needed a boat. That was a certainty. She had to see her father! She had to get home! She still had a home at Deep Creek! Together they flipped the boat over and dragged it to the water. Anne was tugging at the mast and sail when one of the men stepped from the tent into the rain, followed by two more men; one with a sword, the other with a gun. All three of the men knew Anne from Fewox’s place. Two of them had sailed with Carman. They would make no trouble, but neither would they venture into Virginia, so exposed. Their lives would be forfeit in that colony. When, indeed, by morning the wind had changed, the men agreed to return Carman and the now-compliant Anne to Bull Bay. She spoke less as they neared the headland that had been her husband s. Anne was silent during the fortnight that it took to learn of her father’s death. Then she packed the few things that were hers; her Quaker furniture, her Grandmother Ware’s iron pot, and the other articles that were hers and not Fewox’s; things, andparts of old things that reminded her of other times. At this age, she had come to a level lower than that of Richard Williams when she first met and laughed at him, lower than the blubbering Shaw, lower than her Bourne in-laws, lower than the treacherous Harveys and Durants. From Gloucester County manor to Perquimans Precinct bull-baiting shed. From mistress to servant. From dilettante daughter, to defamed mother. John and Joseph would be ashamed; Edward and Richard surprised. Sarah Alice would disown her. Edy would take care of her.
Joseph was surprised and distressed when his youngest brother, Richard, galloped up the Great Bridge Road in late 1697, soon after having turned twenty-one. Joseph was distressed when told of the official condition of servitude that bound his mother in her old age. Richard tried to reassure him. William Glover merely wanted the headrights that Fewox had claim to. Robert, James, Edward, and Anne had moved to Bath County, thereby seating the land for Glover by being the physical presence required on new land grants. When the seven years occupancy was fulfilled, they would all be free to return to Scuppernong. "Mother is too old to keep moving from place to place," Joseph protested. He remembered his mother as a beautiful young woman, and he’d last seen her with a lined
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Becoming Americans and worried face. "And now she’s a servant? Damn me, for this. allowed her to marry that rascal, Fewox."
I shouldn’t have
Richard laughed, reminding his brother that Anne Biggs Williams Shaw Fewox was not a woman to be controlled by anyone. "Glover’s a most influential man in Carolina," Richard said. "And one of the richest. He’s promised to see to it that Fewox’s land at Scuppernong will stay reserved for him to purchase when the time comes. He’ll have to buy it then, but old Fewox always manages to come out smelling sweet. Glover knows Aunt Mary in Middlesex. He’s met John. He’s a staunch supporter of the Established Church and has no animosity towards Fewox. I served him rum at two of Fewox’s bull baitings! Mother claims he’s the type of man she was raised to marry." Richard had come to sell his portion of the Deep Creek plantation. Joseph expressed his sorrow that his brother wanted to abandon the heritage that their father had bequeathed to them. "I’m a Carolinian, now," Richard told him. "I don’t want to betied to land, here in Virginia, that I can’t work. I can dispose of these one hundred acres left me by Pa, and take the proceeds to invest in Bath County; buy some land, do coopering." The proposal worried Joseph. He had no faith in the prospects of that nearly anarchic, proprietary colony. "Why not wait until the Crown re-claims Carolina or, at least, until the boundary line is drawn?" "It’s only that land north of the Albemarle Sound that’s in dispute. The land I want is down in Bath County. Dark-water creeks, Joseph, like here. Plenty of bad sorts and dangerous men, of course. Pirates, too, but there’s a new settlement of good Germans on the Pamticoe. My land’s on the Machapungo River, near where it feeds into the Pamticoe River and the Pamticoe Sound. Dependable winds take you the fifty-miles past Ocracoke Island to the ocean. Pine barrens stretch on for miles, Joseph, and there’s tobacco land ." Richard’s focus drifted, and Joseph knew that he’d lost his brother to Rogues Harbor. How could the boy give up the land his father died protecting, and that their mother had almost sold her soul to reclaim? "You can’t sell the land outside the family, anyway," Joseph pointed out to his brother. Their father’s will left them portions for their lifetime use only, then to be inherited by their sons, "lawfully begotten of their bodies." BOSON BOOKS
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"I can lease it," Richard said, and within days he did so for ninety-nine years. He received notes for four thousand pounds of tobacco in cask from Richard Tucker, an optimistic neighbor in Deep Creek. Richard Tucker had only recently arrived in Virginia, not having passed a full year there. Tucker was still filled with enthusiasm, aroused by tracts and pamphlets that were still distributed in England attesting to the easy life and quick riches to be found in the New World. His enthusiasm was buoyed by a rapid and comfortable passage. The proximity of the growing Norfolk Town to Deep Creek excited him. The evidence of growing prosperity in the area was reinforcing. Tucker’s new friend, Joseph Williams, was proving those prospects to be attainable. Joseph had bought his mysteriously troubled brother John’s one hundred acres and manor house two years earlier. Then he’d installed wooden floors, added a second story to the old part, and through John had ordered beds, linen, and pewter ware from their cousin, Edward Williams, John’s factor in Bristol. Richard, too, was impressed with Joseph’s situation. For a moment he considered his brother’s suggestion to stay in Deep Creek and work in Joseph’s business. Only for a moment, did he consider. As he said to Joseph, he was a Carolinian, now. He did not tell Joseph that he couldn’t stand by and watch his sister-in-law, Mary, and her parents, the Bournes, take over Deep Creek. He returned to Carolina by a Carolina Road that was wonderfully dry and easily traveled in November. Richard walked his horse through blowing leaves and wondered if Mary had given up on having more children. She had become bitter and shrewish after ten years of marriage. They had no children except two girls, and those were born in the first two years of the marriage. Was she denying her husband? Richard had neither seen nor felt any warmth between the couple on his visit. Joseph seemed driven to rise in the morning and immediately get to work. Mary spent most of her days with her mother, cooking meals, hoeing corn, picking tobacco worms, or carding flax. There was always enough to do so that husband and wife would fall asleep, exhausted, soon after eating supper. With an unsatisfied appetite for respectability and independence for their offspring, the Bournes had urged Richard to request to convince! his mother to formally relinquish sell, if she insisted! her dower rights to the Deep Creek manor. Anne s mad attempt to return to Deep Creek the past winter had shaken the Bournes. "She’s gone completely mad," the older Mary said. "You heard your mother! She tried to sail here in that storm. And with a pirate!" Richard smiled to himself at the pot calling the kettle black. He grinned as he conjured the vision of his mother’s response to the request. Joseph had taken his brother aside and confessed that his wife was refusing
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Becoming Americans to allow his mother to see the granddaughters until a deal was made. Richard was ashamed of his brother, and determined never to let a woman rule his household.
Richard Williams bought fifty acres joining part of the hundreds of acres of William Glover’s property. Richard wanted to be near his mother and he felt secure in adjoining the purchase of such a man. Mister Glover owned land in Virginia, still; owned much in Albemarle; and was acquiring much in Bath County. He was among the most well-to-do of the colony. Richard’s neighboring acreage fronted on the eastern side of the Machapungo River, giving him a good landing for ships entering through the nearby Ocracoke Inlet. Glover was a clever man, Richard thought, and there was talk of the Proprietors establishing as a town and second, formal Port of Entry at the French Huguenot settlement in the area, adding to the Albemarle’s Roanoke Port of Entry. Richard felt certain that Glover intended for that new, first town in North Carolina to be here. Already, the settlement was growing, with French Huguenots being joined by Germans. There was some concern in Chowan about these additional dissenters, but some of these settlers were sponsored by Glover and other vocal Anglicans in order to get headrights. Glover was not so particular about their religion if they brought him land, Fewox said. Religion, rights, and obligation were the talk of the day. Weren’t certain rights due members of the Church of England, and weren’t there obligations of all colonists to adhere to the rules and regulations of the Established Church? When Bath County had been created in ’96 there was a rush of settlers eager for rich land open to the Pamptico. Some of it was grabbed by big landowners like Glover, but dozens, then hundreds of people bought small plots, and the German and French tongues were often heard. These diverse peoples found interests and problems in common, and soon found occasions to meet and talk. They had concerns. There were no militia days in Carolina and there was fear of an Indian uprising. The court was too distant for gathering. The Church people in Chowan and Currituck, along with scattered, like-thinkers in the other precincts, began to tire of being regulated by a Quaker-dominated Assembly. Now the threat grew worse, as the Friends had growing numbers of allies in these new settlers who were meeting and plotting. There were scattered meeting houses for dissenters and Quakers, but still no Anglican Church.
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For their seven years of indenture, James and Anne Fewox lived in a log cabin that was fifteen feet square. There was no window, and the door opened north, giving sight to a dreary, moss-laden cypress standing at the edge of a black juniper swamp. "Swamp rat," Anne often thought. She’d spent most of her life living within smelling-distance of a swamp. Only at Ware Manor was the dry smell of fresh-turned sod undiluted by the musky smell or rotting vegetation. She arrived in Bath County subdued and withdrawn, recovering from the attack of melancholia and that horrible year of 1696. She entered her barren years sitting in the dark cabin, pondering sad thoughts and memories. But the seven years passed quickly for the old couple, and by the time their contract was filled, in 1704, Anne Fewox felt younger than she had in a decade. True to his word, William Glover now Acting Governor made their old land along the Scuppernong River available, and she returned, with James and Robert, to their collapsing hut. Anne’s youngest son, Richard, was married to the beautiful Jean Fortescue, the daughter of a French Huguenot settler. They and their one daughter, Elizabeth, had lived near the Fewoxes in Bath County. Richard had turned from cooperage to join the growing and profitable production of tar. John was still in Middlesex, although he sometimes visited Albemarle for business. The Dean land came to him through his wife when the whole Dean family was taken by the yellow fever. John and Catherine Williams had only the one sickly boy, William, and John had "a desperate air about him," James had told Anne. Joseph and Mary had finally given her healthy grandsons. James, a name thought to please Anne, was born in 1700, and Stephen, named for a grandfather of his mother, was born the next year. Anne had given the parents her dower rights to Deep Creek. She had to see her grandchildren. Family was all there was in life, she’d decided. Edy sailed into and out of their lives when she was with Carman aboard his ship. When Carman anticipated a particularly long or perilous voyage, he brought Anne’s beloved daughter home to her. Edward, Anne’s pet, had married Pathelia Dobbins from Chowan County and had bought land west of Fewox’s on the Scuppernong. He was waiting when his mother returned to Bull bay. BOSON BOOKS
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Sarah Alice had disappeared into the world of the Virginia elite. She had remarried, into the Harrison family this time, and had moved to Surry County. No one had heard from her in Carolina, but John had reported that she was quite the grand hostess. Life was, finally, good for Anne. She lived simply and had no ambitions. James arranged some occasional gaming, but they subsisted with the furs he and Robert trapped, and the payments he received from pirates returning to haul their keels in the Scuppernong. Food was plentiful. She felt safe. James had stopped gambling, but she saw him for what he was. At least, she was back on land she could lay some claim to, and the morning sun rose on her face, again.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Fifteen
Sarah Alice Harrison sat in her coach at Williamsburgh’s College Creek Landing. Dappled shade fell from a tall poplar tree. It s supple, new leaves rustled like the green damask of her dress. She peered up into the branches, looking for the bird whose droppings had just spotted her driver. Joseph’s boat should be arriving soon. She knew how early he’dhave been up and about, and Major Dorsey had told her how long it ought take to sail from Deep Creek to Williamsburgh’s James River access on College Creek. The elegant Mistress Harrison was pleasantly anxious. She seldom saw her brother Joseph. She did see John, on occasion, at large gatherings of Virginia’s great planters; John was still manager for their ancient Greataunt Mary. But Joseph although doing very well for himself, Sarah Alice was proud to say was not of the Harrison’s planter class. She’d never met his nine-year old son Stephen before, but she was curious to see another result of union between her welldeserving brother and the swamp-woman, Mary. Amazingly, the boy’s older brother, James whom she’d met a year earlier seemed untainted by that "swamp blood." She preferred her brother John s little dandy, William. Sarah Alice recognized the tilted head of her brother as his small boat slid alongside the College Creek dock. The coachman helped her from the carriage and she walked with dainty haste. Joseph lifted his boy onto the boards, tossed him the rope, and ran for his sister. He ran but to the shore before he stopped to lean against a tree. He was forty-three years old, and reminders of his age sometimes came as sharp pains shooting down his right leg. Sometimes the leg collapsed beneath him. Sarah Alice reached out and embraced her second brother as warmly as possible, being careful not to get powder on him, nor his moisture onto her. Stephen looked up at this wondrous chatting woman who was his Aunt Sarah Alice Harrison. She was thirty-four years old, he heard her reminding his father. Stephen had never seen an old woman that was pretty, before. He thought her strange, and he thought it strange that this pretty old woman spoke like Sister Mary, all high-pitched, and giggly. "All my wigs save the best one are packed for the trip to England," his aunt said, "and that one’s in the shop today being curled and powdered for tonight." They joined her in the coach and rode away from the creek, destined for the Harrison’s leased town house in Williamsburgh. Stephen stopped listening and studied BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans the woman’s shiny green dress that stood away from her body like the bowl of a funnel from its stem. When his aunt forgot herself in conversation with his father, she moved to reveal whalebone hoops underneath the dress that held it out. Stephen had never seen a like thing before, and he tried to imagine his mother dressed in such a funny garment. "Well, you’ve had luck with husbands, so far, Little Sister. Let’s hope your luck will continue," Joseph said. "Joseph!" His aunt seemed genuinely shocked, and Stephen started listening again. "I’m sorry, my dear," Joseph said, and laughed. "I don’t mean good luck in their dying, but good luck in your being mated with men of means who could treat you well, and whose families saw to it that you continued to be well-treated after the untimely partings. May they rest in peace." After the brief silence, his aunt went on. "And you certainly don’t mean the good luck of bearing them both weak, sickly, doomed children. I bear that cross with the Queen," Sarah Alice said, in a proud manner that told Stephen it was a line she often used. Queen Anne had lost all seventeen of her children before or at birth, in infancy, or most recently, with the Duke of Gloucester in adolescence. "If I am presented to the Queen, I shall mention our commonality of bereavement," Sarah Alice said. "Is Major Dorsey so connected to the Court?" Joseph asked in awe. He had no wish to speak of sickly children. He was cursed with a weak-minded daughter, and his son James was in bed now. Again. His oldest son was as sickly as his brother Edward had been. "Well, not so very, not now," Sarah Alice said, "but his brilliance will be noticed in the war. I’ll not be surprised should he rise to the heights of Churchill." Was she identifying, now, with Sarah Churchill, the Queen’s off-and-on best friend, Joseph wondered aloud? Sarah Alice laughed and slapped her brother’s knee with her fan. Stephen noticed that the patch adorning the middle of her right cheek had fallen into her lap, but he said nothing.
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Becoming Americans A great blue heron, which had followed them from the marsh at the landing, leaned to one side and soared back towards the creek. The coach left the marsh, too, and left the enclosure of dense scrub oak onto the dusty, open path that led from the landing to the city. Stephen saw the ruins first. The west wall and separate parts of two others were all that remained of the Wren Building: the College of William and Mary. Sarah Alice saw her nephew staring at the rubble. She started to tell him about it, as she had his older brother James when James had visited the previous year. "I was here in Williamsburgh, that night," she began. "I know," Stephen said. "James told me all about it. About the fire, and when the melted lead fell from the roof onto a professor, and that the old building was designed by some noble friend of King William, and how bright you said the sky was from the fire, and that you said it was started by Colonel Hill who was staying at President Blair’s apartment one of those with a bad firebox." Sarah Alice looked to her brother. This child was nothing like the other boy! She refused to further acknowledge the boy’s presence, and spoke directly to Joseph. "It was dreadful," she said, and told the coachman to stop before the ruined pride of Virginia. "It was in the evening. I’d gone to bed ."
She saw that Joseph knew the story,
too. "Finally, after five years, they’re at work repairing the Wren Building, and Commissary Blair is talking about additional buildings." True enough, a crowd of workmen was clearing debris, and masons were already repairing and repointing the damaged walls. "And we’ve a wonderful new governor in Alexander Spotswood. Major Dorsey knew him in England. You’ve an exciting future, here, in Virginia. I’m almost sorry not to see it. Home to Britain. Who’d have thought it possible?" Then she lapsed into a sigh which Stephen couldn’t decipher as happiness or sadness. Sarah Alice directed the driver to continue down the street towards the new Capitol Building.
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Becoming Americans "You’re going home, Sarah Alice," Joseph said. "Home to an elegant life in England. Is there a woman in Virginia who would not change places with you?" "I’m going to Edinburgh, Joseph. Scotland’s not home to me," she said. "Well, if you’re to be the wife of Captain Curtis Dorsey, it had better be becoming home!" "It will. It will," she reassured herself and her brother. "Strange place to put a fancy road," Stephen said, as the carriage dipped into one of the deep ravines that crossed broad Duke of Gloucester Street near the dilapidated Bruton Parish church. The ravines were deep enough to prevent him from viewing the focal points that anchored either ends of the nearly one-mile avenue. Sarah Alice apologized for the sorry condition of the church, and told them that situation would soon change. Commissary Blair had just been made rector of this parish and had ordered a new church building to accommodate the growing congregation and the constant overflow of visitors coming to worship while in the city on business. When the carriage rose again, Sarah Alice pointed out the tall, nearly square building that sat at the far end of an intersecting street. "They’re calling it ’the Governor’s Palace.’ They almost completed it during the last five years, when we really didn’t even have a governor! Now Governor Spotswood is installing luxuries and fittings for the house that will make it the closest thing to a royal palace in all of English America." Small shops and homes lined parts of the broad Duke of Gloucester Street. Smaller and older buildings were clustered back near the College site where there’d been the original need for inns, ordinaries, and lodgings. Since the fire of 1705, and the concentrated work and now, completion of the Capitol Building, the new and growing demand for building was at the eastern end of the street. Some homes lined the parallel Frances and Nicholson Streets named by and after the governor who had planned the city. Father and son looked about the treeless landscape. All nearby wood had been used for building or for fuel. "You know," Sarah Alice injected into her tour monologue, "it was my father-inlaw, Colonel Harrison, who made the official suggestion that Williamsburgh then Middle Plantation become the new seat of government after the last burning of the James Town State House.
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Becoming Americans "Drive on by the Capitol, Nolly," Sarah Alice told the driver. "We’ll let you see the town and let the town see you," she told her guests. Joseph knew that people would be looking out to see who was passing in the Harrison coach. He was touched and a little surprised that his sister wasn’t ashamed of him and his son. Sarah Alice Harrison had only a cold claim to the late Colonel Benjamin Harrison as father-in-law, but that connection linked her to the most powerful men in the colony. Her marriage to Harrison’s son had ended as quickly as her childhood marriage to the Craford boy. Her children by both marriages had died, and she was left a dependent to a family which neither knew her well, nor cared to. After all, her own family was of absolutely no use to them. Still, as a Harrison, she was entitled to the respect due a member of the Virginia elite. Her father-in-law had been on the Council, two brothers-inlaw were burgesses. One sister-in-law was the mistress of Green Springs plantation, the former home of Governor Berkeley, the first real mansion in Virginia. Another was married to Commissary James Blair the Bishop of London’s representative in Virginia, and William and Mary’s President-for-life. She is named Sarah, too. Sarah Blair. She drinks to excess and is older than I. Such an embarrassment for the Commissary. Blair was, possibly, the most important man in the colony including the governor, since Blair had been personally responsible for the removal of more than one. For Sarah Alice, the Harrison connection had been a blessing with little responsibility. It had culminated in her introduction to Major Dorsey, a man she immediately loved and wanted. There was no dowry to purchase Major Dorsey, but the relationship was heartily encouraged by the Harrisons, who were anxious to be freed of the responsibility of her. The couple had announced their betrothal at the Green Spring reception honoring the arrival of Governor Spotswood the previous week. The goodbyes she was making now and over the next few weeks would be, certainly, tearful, but her joy at having found Major Dorsey was hard to conceal. And she was going home to England! To Scotland, at least. "See, Stephen, the Capitol! Don’t you love the name, Joseph? Like in ancient Rome, Colonel Harrison said. It’s built like two of the old James Town State Houses, one behind the other, and connected by a piazza with a meeting room upstairs. It’s built like that for a reason. The Burgesses have one side; the King’s Governor and Council have the other one. And there’s a room atop the connecting piazza where the two sides can get together to thrash things out. Isn’t it rational and beautiful?"
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Becoming Americans She waved her fan for emphasis as she repeated the story for these visiting relatives. It was a role she was used to. The Harrisons often used her to show visitors about town. "We’ll meet John at Taylor’s Coffee House," she went on, then interrupted herself. "Look at that building! It’s the biggest store in Williamsburgh. It belongs to my brother’sin-law, Commissary Blair and Philip Ludwell, of Green Springs." "Your Mister Blair must be the busiest man in Virginia," Stephen said. "Joseph!" Sarah Alice jerked the fan from her lap and grasped it with both hands. She saw her fallen face patch stuck to her dress, and removed one hand to fold the fabric and conceal the spot. The child’s eyes followed her movements. Joseph spoke seriously to his son. "The Reverend Blair may well be the busiest man in Virginia, Son. We are most fortunate to have him in the colony, and to have this family connection to him." "Indeed!" Sarah Alice said, somewhat mollified. "Here. You’ll meet John here for late morning tea, then proceed to our lodgings." The driver had stopped before a frame building of some depth. It looked much like the other buildings in the city, some constructed of wood, some of brick. Joseph had described the city to his boy as they sailed up from Deep Creek. "Don’t expect it to look like Norfolk Town," he’d said. Governor Nicholson had planned the city and, despite some changes in his plan most notably, the idea that the streets would form a huge monogram of the monarchs initials, W and M, overlain many things remained the same. The lots were of one-half acre; the houses had to be set back six feet from the street; buildings had to be at least twenty-by-thirty feet in size; they had to stand ten feet at roof’s edge; had to be built within twenty-four months of the lot’s purchase; and had to be fenced within six months of occupancy. When Stephen jumped down from the carriage, he ran to stand at a corner of the building to line-sight the other buildings of the street, hoping one would be out of line. "The uniformity contributes to the overall balance of the plan," Sarah Alice said to him, resorting to her travel monologue. She repeated a line she’d overheard and seized as her own. "The Greeks and Romans emphasized balance and symmetry."
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Becoming Americans "What are Greeks and Romans?" Stephen asked his father as his aunt’s carriage rattled off. But they had entered the coffeehouse, and John Williams was rushing to them from his table near a side window. Stephen looked from his uncle to his father and then to the other men about the room. Uncle John must be very hot on this summer day, he thought. Stephen s uncle s dress was more old-fashioned than that of the undignified younger men. Some of them wore coats without waistcoats, unbuttoned and open from the neck down, full linen shirts hanging over the waistbands of their breeches. Their coats, like his Uncle John’s, were pleated at the sides and stuck out, falling to the knees or a little below. There was no collar, the sleeves extended nearly to the wrists, and then were turned back. The cuffs were split halfway to the elbow, and held by buttons. All buttonholes were embroidered with silver and gold thread, or bound with kid or velvet. Uncle John wore a waistcoat. It fell to several inches higher than his coat. It was richly embroidered down the front and around the skirts; embroidery of running vines, interspersed with flowers. The pattern appeared around the pocket flaps and buttonholes. The buttons were enameled. Everyone’s pockets were higher than on his father’s old coat. Joseph Williams wore no waistcoat, but he was wearing a coat, at least. Some of the men wore merely their fine linen shirts with breeches. Some wore high-tongued, highheeled shoes with buckles and the usual, squared toe. Two men sat in a corner, smoking on yard-long clay pipes, wearing banyans a long loose robe that most people wore at night, but which some, bolder men wore about town in the sweltering days of summer. Stephen stared at the fancy men. The two in banyans wore no hot wigs or perukes, but had turbans covering their shaved heads. His father had done that once. Lice and other critters loved dirty wigs and hair. Another man entered, still wearing the leather spatterdashes that buckled down the side, fit close to the leg, and covered his shoes "You’ve a Ramillies wig!" Joseph said. The wig was plaited in a queue, and tied with ribbon at top and bottom. "It’s cooler," John said as he embraced his brother. He placed a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. "He looks like his mother, Joseph," John said of Stephen. "He acts like his mother’s mother!" Joseph replied.
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Becoming Americans Both men laughed aloud a had been said that was so funny.
thing they rarely did and
Stephen wondered what
Before Joseph could fill the silence that followed, John added, "Catherine is about to be of an age where there can remain no trace of hope for more children. Can a man have bigger failure in his life, Brother, than to leave no issue?" Is William not well? Joseph asked. He is well, for now. But so weak of nature. We spoil him. The talk turned to their plan for the next few weeks, as the boy looked out the wavy glass windows. There were almost no trees. It was like being on the ocean; the building were boats, but the ocean was all dirt. James had told him there weren’t any trees left, but seeing all that dirt made Stephen thirsty. John and Joseph were leaving the next day for Middlesex County and Aunt Mary’s plantation. She was weakening daily, and this would be Joseph’s last visit with his great aunt, Mary Williams. How different she was from the Mary Williams, his wife. "The Williams name is already a known name in Virginia," John boasted. "And the Biggses," Joseph added. "The Wares are remembered kindly in Middlesex and Gloucester," John said, thinking of his mother. "We’re a large, scattered family now, John," the younger brother said. "I think back, sometimes, to when I came to James Town with Pa. That was so long ago. There was Governor Berkeley and King Charles . Pa had been here since the Commonwealth, and Grandpa since Charles the First! We’ve been here a long time, John. I don’t feel like Sarah Alice is going home. Virginia is home." "And Carolina?" John asked, smirking. Is Carolina home? "I’d prefer England," Joseph said, in understated disgust. "Or, even, Scotland, I think you would add," John said. "Indeed!" "We are lucky, though, to still have ties in Bristol, John reminded his brother.
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Becoming Americans "Our cousin, Edward. You’ve spoken of him. I know him not, but for that one transaction." "You shall, Brother. Cousin Edward is become burdened with tobacco. Since Queen Anne’s War has stopped all trade with France and Spain, Flanders and the Baltic, piles of Virginia tobacco sit warehoused in England. But tar! The need is for tar! So far, Joseph, you’ve dealt in just the Indies trade, but now now England has decided is forced to become independent of Sweden for its naval stores, and you are there! Even I, with Catherine’s land. I could make my own fortune, and Aunt Mary’s will be damned!" The dying Mary Williams had made her last will and testament. John was a witness, but was not named as a beneficiary. Her son Thomas had finally drunk himself to death two years earlier, and the estate would be going to an unknown nephew in England, just as it had come to her from an unknown uncle. For all these years John and Catherine Williams had worked for the aunt, hoping and expecting to be rewarded at her death. John finally realized that he’d already received his rewards. Those rewards had been in high wage, in living arrangements, and in status. With the job of manager, John had assumed status as a relative of the vestryman, John Williams. But John’s social standing was only temporary, he found out. He was just another paid worker, and Catherine was, in fact, only the wife of a nephew-by-marriage. His son, William, was of no consequence to the old woman. John had swallowed his bitterness, but was still determined to have his own fortune. He regretted having sold his acreage at Deep Creek to Joseph, but dared not admit it. He regretted the foolish debt that had necessitated the sale. He would still succeed. "Tar to England? I sent some there years ago, but there was no profit," Joseph began. "There is now, Brother," John said, and the talk turned to business details. Stephen looked out the window, only half-listening to the men. He liked the smell of tar, but he liked the smell of the swamp, most of all. This place was too dry, even though he could smell the rivers and the creeks off in the distance. Stephen hadn’t wanted to come on this trip to see Williamsburgh. He just wanted to be alone with his father for a while. But, ever since they d stepped off the boat, his father had been talking to other people. And tonight there’d be a crowd, he d heard his uncle say. The plan had been to stay for Reverend Blair’s sermon the next Sunday, but Aunt Mary s condition was deteriorating, Uncle John said, and Aunt Sarah Alice’s fianc was BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans called back to England, immediately. Major Dorsey had presented his report on the militia to Governor Spotswood, but was needed, now, for the war. Tomorrow, Stephen was going to be left alone with Aunt Sarah Alice for a carriage ride down to Hampton. The Harrison s boat was taking her to join Captain Dorsey in Bath Town, Carolina. Stephen didn’t want to be alone with her for that long. She smelled too strongly sweet, and she looked at him strangely. He knew he didn’t like her, and that she probably didn’t like him, either.
Sarah Alice sat by a sunny window, that afternoon, making tiny stitches in her bedclothes. She was sick about missing the church services she’d planned as her final appearance. The next day, she’d be riding to Hampton with that child. At Hampton, her Uncle Thomas Biggs had a boat that would take the boy to Deep Creek. Sarah Alice would sail directly from Hampton to Carolina and the village on Matencomack Creek in Chowan County, just across from the Scuppernong River home of her mother. After a short visit there, she and her mother would take the nearby overland road to Bath, accompanied by her favorite brother, Edward, and his wife. It was exhausting, just in thought, but it would be worth it. In Bath, they would all join Richard and his wife and daughters. Her handsome Major Dorsey would come to Bath when he d completed his assignment in Charles Town. From there, the two would sail to England with a cargo of foul-smelling tar. There’d be no protection of a convoy, such as ships sailing from the Chesapeake had, but no matter. She’d be safe with Major Dorsey.
Stephen ate dinner that night in the cooking room with two Harrison girls. They were just little children and had no interest in him, so he listened through the door to the adults and watched the cook kneading tomorrow’s bread. There were so many servants, here; so many slaves. He wondered who these people were, to have so much. Even Stephen had been served from a pewter charger. He heard two men by the opened door finishing a conversation as they returned from the outhouse. "Blair fancies himself a Richelieu," one said.
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Becoming Americans "Got rid of Governor Nicholson, right enough. That, after getting him here in the first place! King maker, he is," the other one finished. Stephen had no idea what the men were saying, but he knew that they weren’t friends of his Aunt Sarah Alice’s Commissary Blair. He was suddenly curious as to what adults talked about in a city. At home they talked about things he usually understood. When the girls were taken away to bed, he stood by the door to the dining room, out of the candlelight, listening in the dark. "And ignorant Old Fewox actually took the tea and ate it!" he heard his father saying. The other men in the room laughed. "He’s such an embarrassment for our mother. Her grandparents were the Wares, Mister Harrison. I’m sure you knew them. Our Aunt Mary Williams says Colonel Harrison knew them," John rushed. "Illustrious family." An old man’s voice was heard. "Done in by the King’s advisors after Bacon’s Rebellion. Mistake. A big mistake, they made, not seeing to it that justice was given the brave and steadfast men who championed Governor Berkeley! You two men would be comfortable and respected, now, had the Ware’s and John Williams not been cheated of ." Another man interrupted with repeated coughs. The old man could be heard gulping his wine, then sputtering, "Not that you aren’t . My sister-in-law, your sister . Fine woman. Your family are fine people. Yes, fine people!" "Thank you, Sir." Stephen’s Uncle John was speaking. "That’s kind of you to say." "I’m about to construct a mill," Joseph Williams blurted. Stephen frowned. He’d heard nothing about a mill before. "Much of your family is in Carolina, I understand," another voice said. It was one of the men who’d been speaking outside. "Our mother, a sister, and two brothers, Sir," Uncle John said, apologetically. "That’s the frontier, now, they claim," his father said. "Thousands of acres of good land. It grows anything. And tar. Now the Empire needs tar."
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Becoming Americans "And from which port will this great commerce depart? Have they a Norfolk Town? And through which shifting, shallow inlet will this great tonnage pass?" The man from outside was speaking. Stephen decided that he did not like this man. These city people were not very likable. "They have Bath Town, now," Uncle John said. "It’s only fifty mile westward of their best inlet, that at Ocracoke." "John Lawson?" the old man asked. "Have you met Carolina’s John Lawson?" John and Joseph Williams had not. "An entertaining and vigorous man, this Lawson. Passed through here earlier this year with a disheveled and demoralized group of de Graffenried’s colonists. Bound for Bath County, after a most perilous voyage. Then set upon by French privateers as they finally entered the James!" The old man laughed. "I’m sorry. Indeed, I’m sorry to laugh at their plight, but theirs was a sorry collection of faces to behold." He laughed again. "Huguenots and Calvinists. A pitiful settlement they’ll make in Lawson’s wilderness. He gave me a copy of his new book. Most interesting and most deceiving. It presents Carolina as the land of milk and honey, and its Indians as wholesome, innocent savages to be loved and treated with respect. Lawson says we English have treated them worse than they’ve treated us!" "I could almost believe it of those Carolina woodsmen." The man Stephen didn’t like spoke again, warming the old man to his favorite subject. "Rogues and runaways and rebels!" the old man said. "A rabble. Since the beginning, they’ve been a rabble. Rebellious. Ignoring the King’s levies of duties. Taking runaways. Sheltering pirates! And for ten years they’ve squabbled over religion to the total destruction of government and stability. The mighty Church of England against the rabble. And yet, the Church . Who represents the Church? Glover and Cary both keep jumping the fence. First for the Church, then allied with dissenters. And then they switch. It’s more complicated than a chess match." Another voice offered, "From my observations, it’s simply a matter of who’s to govern. Their Assembly isn’t allowing equal representation to those new areas south of the Albemarle Sound. There is always another side, Colonel, to an argument. I think you’d be upset were Surry County not allowed it’s proper representation in the Burgesses." "Impossible!" the old man boomed.
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Becoming Americans "They’ve not the advantage we have in Virginia, Colonel," Uncle John said. "They’ve no Commissary Blair to right the situation. To lead them. They’ve yet to have but that one scandalous and disgraceful rogue of a priest, Daniel Brett, who was withdrawn. Are we to blame them for that neglect by the Bishop of London? We have nieces who are not baptized, and not for wont of our brothers’ desires, be assured. It is a fearful thought." "Indeed, Williams," the old man said. "There are some few people of your mother’s quality in Carolina, and I sympathize with their problems, but why would a priest choose to live among such wanton deviltry?" "Duty," Uncle John said. "It has been attention to duty from men like yourself that has brought Virginia to the present pace of development and civilization. We hope our brother will provide that attention to duty for Carolina." "Let us hope so, my friend, but I’m afraid progress will attend in Carolina until the Queen claims the colony for her own. Proprietary government! Another folly of our earlier monarchs." Stephen went out the back door. He needed to see a tree.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Sixteen
As the carriage rumbled on towards Hampton, Sarah Alice played at her needlework, looked out the windows at the passing countryside, and tried to ignore the boy sitting across from her. He was irreverent and disrespectful; his mother’s son. Stephen felt no more warmth towards his powdered and painted aunt. He was thankful for the silence. He was glad to be away from the formality of Williamsburgh and the Harrisons, their hosts for the night. He’d slept very little, and soon drifted off in the rocking carriage, to be awakened by the loud and angry voice of his aunt. He looked out the coach window and saw that they’d arrived at the docks in Hampton, and that Aunt Sarah Alice was talking yelling to a sailor. "I’m sorry ma’am, but they’s the captain’s orders. He’s not sailing out the Chesapeake without an armed vessel as escort. There be Spanish ships to the south, and French ones to the north. Privateers and pirates, everywhere." "Colonel Harrison will have his hide!" she yelled. "Take me to the captain," she demanded. "Sorry, ma’am, that’s part of this orders. The captain’s not to be bothered. He says you might take the Biggs shallop with the boy back over to Norfolk. You can make overland transport from there to Bath." "To Deep Creek? How does the captain know of that arrangement for my nephew? Does Mister Harrison know of this change in plans? Overland? From Deep Creek to Bath!" She was incredulous. "The captain wouldn’t dare make changes without ." Then Sarah Alice realized that the Harrisons considered her gone, no longer their responsibility and burden. "Wait until Major Dorsey reports this to his friend, Governor Spotswood!" But when would that be, she realized? They were leaving for England. That is, if she survived to Bath! "Thomas!" Stephen saw his father’s uncle, Thomas Biggs, approaching the carriage. BOSON BOOKS
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"My dear Sarah Alice," Uncle Thomas said to his niece. A niece who was only six years younger than he. "Thomas Biggs? Dear Thomas, what have they done to me? How can I manage all of this?" She pointed expansively to her trunks of dresses. "How can this reach Bath how can I survive to Bath? Over ship to shore, through swamp . I can’t think, Thomas. But, I must reach Bath!" "Dearest, pampered flower. Thee will survive, thy goods will survive, and thee will have wonderful stories to tell thy major. And anyway, thee needn’t think. There is no time for thinking. We were only waiting for thy arrival to sail to Deep Creek." "To Deep Creek," she said, despondent. It gives me pleasure to transport thee, Cousin. Thee art special cargo, Mistress Harrison. I shall take thee directly to Deep Creek, and Joseph’s man will transport thee to Great Bridge and down the Carolina Road. Thy brother, Edward, will meet thee in Currituck. We must hurry, Alice. Even with a full moon, I never liked navigating Deep Creek at night." Sarah Alice Harrison was speechless. She was returning to the home she’d left as a bride at age fifteen. An embarrassing hovel, as she remembered it, compared to the homes she’d grown accustomed to. And then she started! She would be guest of the awful "swamp woman," the mother of this rude boy! The mid-afternoon sun slapped her with its reflections in the lapping waves. There was nothing she could do. She climbed back into the coach and watched her things being transferred to Thomas’s boat, trying to adjust to the situation, but becoming increasingly angry with her duplicitous father-in-law. Stephen was thrilled to see his Great-uncle Thomas Biggs, a younger, half-brother of his Grandmother Fewox. He helped drag the trunks and roll the hogsheads of his aunt’s possessions to the shallop, then took a seat near the bow. His aunt was helped aboard when all was secured. Finally, the boat was pushed off from the dock. Stephen would like to have ridden on the new ferry that went from Hampton to Seawell’s Point near Norfolk Town, but his uncle’s shallop was faster, and there were no strangers to watch out for. Stephen didn’t like crowds, and he was suspicious of strangers.
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Becoming Americans "There’s one of thy Scottish boys, there," Uncle Thomas said to his old playmate. A large merchant ship was entering the Elizabeth River ahead of them, and Uncle Thomas was pointing to it. "Still seems strange to see a Scot’s ship flying our St. George’s ensign, does it not, Alice?" Thomas was the only one in her family who d called her by that name alone. "Aye," Sarah Alice said, relaxing into the inevitable. "Make good snuff, they do. Pay good prices for tobacco, they do, too. Canny, those Glasgow Scots," Thomas said. "I shall be in Edinburough," Sarah Alice said. "Well, since the Union three years ago, going to Scotland is going home, I guess. Finally finished those centuries of war, Scotland and England. Wish they’d finish this war of Queen Anne’s. Those Scots sailors were calling it a war for the Spanish succession. And what do I care for who’s King of Spain?" "I think the only people Grandfather Biggs hated were the Spanish," Anne remembered aloud. "’They must be kept to Florida,’ he used to say." Thomas remembered, too. "He was a wise old man," Sarah Alice said. "I’d like to have known him before he met your mother and turned Quaker. He was so tall and handsome," she mused. "I’d like to have known thy Ware relatives. Thy mother always made them sound so ." "The Wares were among Virginia’s first and most ." Sarah Alice interrupted. Sarah Alice heard herself speaking in the tone used in the Harrison household. She smiled at her childhood friend. "Yes, I know, and thy Uncle John was on the Vestry of Christ Church in Middlesex," Thomas said. "Look, Aunt Sarah Alice!" Stephen called from the bow. He was pointing to the mouth of the Eastern Branch of the Elizabeth River and to a peninsula clinging to the shore by a thin strip. "Norfolk Town!"
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Becoming Americans At first, the masts of dozens of ships claimed her attention. Then the row of warehouses along the bank, then rows of streets with houses and shops. "I haven’t been to Norfolk Town since . I had no idea it had become so impressive!" She watched the bustling harbor town as they passed, sailing upriver towards Deep Creek. The last happy day of her childhood had been on the site of that town. John’s first militia day. "The Wares, yes, Mistress Harrison, but don’t forget thy Grandfather Biggs. He was one of the witnesses to the deed of sale that set aside the land for Norfolk Town. Is everything about thy Friends kinfolk dismissed except our looks?" Thomas was smiling, but his reproof was taken to heart by his niece. Pine-knot torches lit the small dock at the head of Deep Creek. Thomas fired his gun when he saw the lights and waited to see Joseph’s bondsmen and his slave boy gather to meet the boat. Then, light from the cabin lit a path to the door, as Stephen’s mother, Mary, opened it in anticipation and welcome. Stephen jumped from the boat and tossed the rope to Pompey, the slave boy. He ran ahead yelling, "Mother, I’m back. And Aunt Sarah Alice is with me!" Mary Williams looked about the house. How could Joseph have done this to her! She had a sick son to tend, and there was Sister Mary. What did Sarah Alice know of Sister Mary? Mary wasn’t ready for company, and certainly not this sniveling sister. Better his mother again, she thought, than that rich little . She looked to herself. She was wearing one of her rockets a country woman’s dress of two long rectangles of homemade linsey-woolsey, doubled together with fringed ends. Her hair was wet from cooking in the sticky July heat, and it was pulled back close to her head, away from her face. She stood shoeless at the threshold, cursing her absent husband. They can all rest in hell with their put-on airs of breeding, she thought to herself. She told Sister Mary to keep on sweeping, and walked down to the water to greet her son, her sister-in-law, and Thomas. There was no sisterly embrace. Sarah Alice held a package tightly to her chest when she saw the disheveled woman, and Mary busied herself in restraining two loose dogs. Sarah Alice was afraid to enter the house. There was a sick child here, and a mad, deformed girl. Vermin would be everywhere, in this old house! Her precious belongings! The trunks and hogsheads would be infested! Memories of the painful years in this house rushed back. She was only six when her father died, and then there followed the painful years before Shaw, and then more family deaths and sickness; marriage, then more sickness and death. She’d never expected, BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans nor wanted, to see Norfolk County again. Now, she was being welcomed by a darkhaired squaw into the home that had once been the home of a respected and selfrespecting woman. She remembered seeing Mary carry her first child, Ann, like an Indian squaw would carry a child; lugging the baby on her back, holding onto the right foot and the left arm, while the baby held on as best it could. She closed her eyes and took a breath before stepping up into the house. Still, she crossed the noon-mark and stepped instinctively and precisely where she needed to to avoid the crack that always squeaked. Sarah Alice opened her eyes to surprise and comfort. The huge fireplace where she’s spent so many childhood hours turning the spit or stirring the large iron pot was exactly as she remembered, but the walls of the room had been whitewashed, and there were pewter candlesticks and tankards on a shelf. The smell of baking bread was familiar, but the colorful rug that covered what had been her parents’ bed, added a touch of light and gaiety to the room. She turned and smiled at Mary. "How adorable," she said. "Adorable, is it?" Mary repeated. "It ain’t much, but some of us ain’t been so lucky as others, I guess." For a moment Sarah Alice was amused by what Mary said. Few women could have been luckier than the former Mary Bourne, after all. She’d come from nothing to marry into a respectable family. She had four living children. The woman had never lost even one child! But, Mary had nearly spat out the words, and Sarah Alice realized that she again had spoken in the superficial tone of the Harrison and Byrd and Randolph families that had so often cowered her. She switched to the tone of genuine sincerity that they tried to use with inferiors. "The whitewash and Indian coverlet add such light and warmth and color," she said. Mary had heard her own biting sarcasm, and didn’t catch the patronizing politeness of her husband’s sister. Stephen came back into the room from looking-in on his sleeping brother, and stood by the frightened Sister Mary as he blurted out questions. He was interrupted by his Uncle Thomas, who hastily explained the change in plans and made an immediate retreat.
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Becoming Americans Stephen saved the women from all but the most perfunctory conversation with each other with his questions and his tales about the last thirty-six hours. His questions were mostly about his dogs, his brother, and of what food there was to eat. Mary rattled trenchers and tankards in getting refreshment for the guest who sat perched on the edge of a new chair that Joseph had just purchased. One made in Charles Town. Stephen’s oldest sister, Ann, was married and living in Princess Anne County. Twenty-year-old Sister Mary was like a family pet, and his older brother, James, was sick again, so the nine-year-old took it upon himself to offer his parents’ bed to his Aunt Sarah Alice. She demurred, but was encouraged by Mary. It was the best bed, and it was in the separate, quiet, and cool parlor that held the new chamber pot and matching basin that Joseph, in rare extravagance, had ordered with the chair. Sarah Alice was a compliant guest, and after eating a cold piece of chicken and a chunk of day-old pone, she begged leave to be excused for bed. In the fortnight that followed, Sarah Alice visited the Crafords her former inlaws and was much made over by the local gentry. The Harrison family was on a level higher, even, than that of the Crafords or the Thorowgoods. Now, Sarah Alice Harrison was back for a visit, and the elite of Norfolk and Princess Anne Counties as well as the Boushes and wealthy merchants of Norfolk Town were vying to entertain her. Not only was she a connection to the most powerful men in the colony, she was going home to Britain. It was rumored that her fianc , Major Dorsey, had connections at the Queen s Court! Mary Williams was amused. She remembered the former little girl with a runny nose who now accepted such state and attention as her due. Many of the invitations arriving by servant did not include Mary, and she was glad of it. The few which had been issued to include her were refused. She’d go nowhere that her parents weren’t welcome. Daniel and Mary Bourne were very old, and didn t covet such entertainments for themselves. They d never attended social occasions except to return for parties in the Swamp, where they were known, respected, and envied. Joseph Williams had given the Bournes a lifetime interest in some acreage of his estate! If the Bournes could rise to the life of comfort and acceptance among decent folk, there was hope for others in the Swamp. Stephen’s grandparents watched Mistress Harrison at a distance and with some distrust, however. The Harrisons were friends of the Isle of Wight family from whom they had escaped so many years before. Stephen was anxious for his Aunt Sarah Alice to be gone. Then he wouldn’t have to stay around the house so much and listen to her telling stories about people he didn’t know, or if he did, not well. Like his Uncles Edward and Richard and their children, his BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans cousins. He knew his Grandmother Fewox. She’d come to visit, twice, and he’d gone to Scuppernong to visit her, once, when his father thought that she was dying of something. The woman in the stories Aunt Sarah Alice told didn’t sound like the woman he knew as Grandma Fewox. To everyone s surprise and relief, Joseph returned home earlier than expected, Aunt Mary having died while John and Joseph were in Williamsburgh. He gave his first attention to James, then noticed with pleasure that his wife and sister were still speaking to each other. Mary admitted to her husband that she d been surprised at how undemanding her sister-in-law had been. Mary even felt some pity for this helpless, beautiful woman who d never had a happy life since she was a child. Sarah Alice was eager to be off to Carolina, but Joseph reminded her that his first obligation was to his family and his plantation. He needed his men to harvest corn. More convincing to his sister were reports of snakes and other creatures chased to the high ground of the Carolina Road by summer rains. In the following weeks, Sarah Alice settled in but was delighted, and most relieved, to receive any overnight invitations that took her away from the Williams plantation. The house smelled of the sick boy, James, and Sarah Alice was afraid of any sickness. She was frightened, too, of the twisted Sister Mary. Sarah Alice liked going back to the odor of cured tobacco. She found that at the plantations of friends she’d made as a Craford and as a Harrison. But the aroma of cedar and juniper filled some quiet moments she had at Joseph’s house, and when that happened there were sweet memories of her father riving shingles. In late September, crops had been gathered, so Joseph had his bondsman, Tyler Jones, busy himself with preparations for the overland trip to Currituck. Late summer rains had stopped and the road was passable. Some improvements had been made to the Carolina Road since Governor Nicholson had visited nearly twenty years earlier. The Swamp slowly being drained for cultivation around its edges was skirted completely. The Carolinians had built a bridge at Maddog’s North West River Landing. If a traveler were lucky, passed at a time of dry weather, met no robbers from the Swamp nor herds of swine being driven north for sale into Virginia the trip could be made in one uncomfortable day. After all, they were only going down a ways, then cutting over to the Currituck Sound landing of John Williams. Joseph infuriated his wife and delighted his youngest son when he said that he, himself, was going taking Stephen with him to Scuppernong. He would take the news of Aunt Mary’s passing may she rest in peace and a present from Aunt Mary to his mother. Maybe he would then accompany them all to Bath for the farewell. Tyler Jones could finish the bundling of shingles due for shipment to Saint Christopher Island.
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Becoming Americans Sarah Alice had rarely seen a woman behave in the way Mary reacted. Mary’s voice carried through from the chimneyed great-room to Shaw’s log-addition parlor. Sarah Alice stood by the closed door, listening to vocabulary she hadn’t heard since, as a child, she and Edward and Richard had participated in forcing a neighbor’s bonded boy stolen from a Bristol prostitute to recite all of the words for body parts and bodily functions. The sound of broken crockery was heard, then the sobs of Mary begging for forgiveness. Sister Mary was whimpering. Sarah Alice wondered if the "swamp woman" would blame her, too, and poison the pone she was making for the road. Then, the stench of her ill nephew softened her heart. Sarah Alice still dreamed of her own lost children. Mary cooked late into the night, roasting fowl and preparing wheat bread and puddings for the trip. She awakened Stephen early and told him to get to his chores. His surly grunt brought a quick slap to the bottom from his mother. Stephen led the horse that pulled the two-wheeled cart holding Aunt Sarah Alice’s belongings. His father rode ahead on the narrow road. Sappers sometimes drained the roadside pines, then left the trees to die and fall, littering the road until someone was forced to pull the trunks aside. County overseers were often lax in recruiting local taxables to maintain the roads. Sarah Alice had dressed in preparation for the journey. She had, of course, a beautiful riding dress of coat, waistcoat, petticoats and a feathered hat all trimmed in silver lace. She wore no such fashion for this ride. No hooped skirt, either. For comfort, she’d worn a gown with the bodice and skirt made in one piece. She permitted herself the old-fashioned ruffles to fall over her elbows, hopefully keeping away the mosquitoes she’d been plagued with during this visit. Over all, she wore a heavy canvas safeguard to keep her clothes clean from splashed mud, and to protect them from tearing briars or branches. She rode on a pillion that Joseph had borrowed. The padded seat cushion and wooden form was strapped to the horse behind the saddle. There was a metal handle attached to the framework for her to hold onto. A platform stirrup, or footboard, hung down the side for her feet. For this trip, she’d borrowed Mary s hair style, and pulled the hair back and away from her face. No one who mattered would see her, certainly, and she’d been told that tall and elaborate hair styles attracted bats. She’d not wear a wig in this heat! What would the Harrison women have said to that, she wondered?
A sandy path veered eastward from the road as they entered into Carolina. The small caravan continued along this path for another two hours before arriving at John BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Williams’s plantation by the Currituck Sound. Gulls and pelicans soared overhead, and pounding waves could be heard from the beach on the bank across the narrow sound. Currituck’s inlet to the sea was hidden by Knotts Island, but the group could see a twomasted briganteen waiting for the tide to rise so that it could pass the bar. Waiting at anchor was Edward’s boat: a new, double-masted sloop. Joseph looked to it with many questions in his eyes. Brother Edward was doing better than anyone knew, evidently. Sarah Alice and Edward embraced, then looked closely at each other. They’d not seen one another for over fifteen years, and both marveled at what they saw. Edward had expected his sister to be beautiful and regal, John had prepared him for that. But Sarah Alice was amazed by the changes in her brother. He was a middleaged man now; a handsome man, not a beautiful boy. His eyes were still a piercing blue, but he’d acquired the skin color of a man who spends time outside. He seemed vigorous and healthy, and the sight was the most welcome Sarah Alice had seen since leaving Williamsburgh. The sickly boy had become a dashing man. She was proud of him, she said, and was anxious to get to the Scuppernong so, after seeing their mother, she could see his prosperous plantation. "You see, Joseph. Edward!"
James will turn out fine! He just takes after his Uncle
The brothers and Stephen, with the help of John’s overseer, ferried folks and goods to the boat. When Sarah Alice and Stephen were seated, the brothers took up poles. The shallow sound was navigated first by poling, then, when it reached deeper water, the sails were unfurled and Sarah Alice sat back to look at Carolina. The narrow Currituck Sound soon merged with the vast, dark Albemarle. The boat turned westward. Edward pointed towards Roanoke Island, to the south, and told her stories of ghost ships that were often seen; the ghosts of Sir Walter Raleigh’s doomed expedition. He told her of blue-eyed Indians who lived on Hattorask Island and on the mainland to the south, near Richard’s land, who claimed to be descended from those lost colonists. The idea of Englishmen breeding with the Indians was abhorrent to Sarah Alice, nearly as repellent as the sight of light-skinned slaves that were more and more visible in Virginia. It was not a subject often spoken of, but it was a trend that she and many of her class found distressing. The great and growing number of African slaves was not a totally good thing. "Obviously not so distressing to the fathers," Edward joked. BOSON BOOKS
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The Albemarle Sound was calm and lovely, Sarah Alice thought. Many small boats, canoes, and large, masted periaugers plied the waters. Most were paddled or poled, but there were more two-masted New England traders like the one she’d seen waiting at the bar. She could see the northern and the southern shores, but the distant mouths of the Chowan and Roanoke Rivers were beyond sight. Trees grew from the water on both shores. She thought it all a strange combination of swamp and sea. The reunion of the two brothers and their baby sister brought forth old tales and bragging. Edward caught Stephen’s attention with a story that Richard and Sarah Alice, themselves, had never heard. He told of an early memory he had of his father. He’d been alone with his father when, in that private moment, Stephen’s Grandfather Williams had confided that he planned to move to Carolina, one day. "Your father and your Uncle John used to trade in Carolina with him. I never did. But I’ve seen more of Carolina than our father ever did!" "I’ve seen more of it than I ever wished to see!" Joseph added. Edward sailed near the Batts Grave Island that Sarah Alice had been told about, then tacked to the southern shore and the Bull Bay mouth of the Scuppernong River. She picked out the western headland and saw smoke rising from a chimney. Her heart beat faster as she looked to her smiling brothers and back to the smoke rising from her mother’s hearth. She’d not seen her mother since the Fewoxes had left Deep Creek. She tried to imagine Anne Biggs Williams in this disreputable land. Edward warned her not to expect the same woman she last had seen. Life had been hard to their mother these last years, and her mind had never returned to the sharpness she’d had before Fewox lost everything and she’d tried to flee to Virginia in that winter storm of ’97. Sarah Alice had heard this story from her older brothers, and was told that her younger brothers exaggerated the situation. On John and Joseph’s visits their mother had been fine except that one time she’d been stricken by the fever. But, even then, she’d recovered. Strong as an ox, they’d said. The slight bluff where the house stood had eroded since the house was first built. New pilings had been placed near shore to reconnect the pier to land. Edward eased his craft alongside the repairs he’d made for his mother, and leaped to secure his boat. Sarah Alice was lifted onto the small dock and waited. She removed her canvas cover and tried to quickly give some style to her windblown hair. Edward led his sister up the little slope as Joseph and Stephen followed. When she saw the house, Sarah Alice stopped. It was a log hut, much like the swamp dwellings BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans of the hog farmers they’d passed on the Carolina Road. A dilapidated shed and outbuildings stood away, near the edge of the woods. Vines and undergrowth were reclaiming the space occupied by an older, collapsing hut. The smell of rotting apples and scuppernong grapes mixed with that of drying fish and boiling tar. Sarah Alice reached for her perfumed kerchief and held it to her nose. An old, gray-haired woman came to the door. She wore a ragged rocket worse than any Mary Williams had. "Edward, boy, who’ve you brought with you," she asked? "It’s Joseph and his boy Stephen, Mother," Edward said. "You remember them." "Of course, I do. You think I’m still mad? Come here, boy, and hug your grandma." Stephen dutifully advanced and put his arms about the old woman. She smelled like soap and sour milk. "And we’ve brought Sarah Alice, Mother," Joseph said. Anne looked at her daughter with some consideration. "So, you’re Sarah Alice Harrison, are you? They told me you were beautiful and elegant. Did Mary Bourne fix your hair?" she asked. Sarah Alice was stunned. Her mother really had gone mad! But then Anne Fewox stepped from the house towards her children, and her daughter ran to her, crying. "I’m sorry, child. I’velive among the rogues and ruffians so long I’ve become one of them," Anne said. "You are beautiful and elegant, and I’m very proud of you. You have the Ware blood. They say traffic slowed on the Rappahannock when my mother stood by the bank." But Sarah Alice couldn’t stop her crying. The living conditions of her mother were beyond anything she’d imagined. Where was James Fewox, she asked her mother? Who was taking care of her? "I’ve learned to take care of myself, since your father died. Me!" Anne said. " M y cavalier is off on adventure with his cronies. Come into the house, children. I’ll fill the noggins with plum wine." BOSON BOOKS
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James Fewox, her old cavalier, was more acquainted with the political intrigues of Carolina than he was with work. William Glover, their patron, had gone from being Deputy Governor to Virginia exile. Glover had hired his former bondsman, James Fewox, to return to Bath to act as informant on the whereabouts and activities of his rival, another former Deputy Governor, Thomas Cary the voice and fist of the dissenters and malcontents in that region. Now, however, under Deputy Governor Hyde the Queen’s own cousin it was hoped that the dissidents would quieten and accept the Vestry Laws, first passed by the Assembly in 1700. These laws, officially establishing the Church of England and partitioning the counties into parishes as in Virginia had been passed, but they were repealed by the Proprietors. They said the Vestry Laws gave too much power to the vestries and didn’t allow enough salary for decent clergymen. Sarah Alice had heard Commissary Blair explain the proper understanding of these laws to John Lawson. The purpose of the Vestry Laws was not to bring about religious oppression, but merely that all men be taxed for the support of the established church. By setting up parishes, there would be convenient local subdivisions for governmental administration. Charity could be organized for aiding the poor, the sick, and the orphaned. To officially establish the Church of England in the colony meant to bring order. "Child, these people want no central order. Not the Quakers and dissenters," Anne said. When Deputy Governor Daniel had come to office in 1703, he seized upon a new weapon that had been issued by parliament: every public office holder was required to swear an oath of allegiance to Queen Anne and the Protestant Succession. This eliminated the Quakers from their positions in the North Carolina Assembly, and the second Vestry Act was passed in 1704. From that point on, the situation deteriorated until rival assemblies were elected in 1708; elections having been called for by both Glover and Cary, both claiming to be rightful Deputy Governor. Cary’s faction seized Assembly control. As president of the Council, Cary displaced Glover, nullified all test oaths that Daniel had instituted "Damn the Quakers!" Anne said replaced some local officials with dissenters, opened up the land grant policy, and lowered the quitrent rate in Bath County. The self-styled Governor Thomas Cary and his people held sway until Hyde arrived. "Governor Hyde will take control," Edward said. "Most people are tired of the past ten years of bickering and chaos, but the folks in Bath are determined to have their fair say in the Assembly Brother Richard is among them and that point’s not yet resolved. There’s talk of open rebellion should Governor Hyde change things again. For now, peace prevails. Even the Calvinists and baptizers are awed by the presence of a kinsman of the Queen." BOSON BOOKS
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"You all mark my word," Anne told her children that night. They were together and eating her cooking for the first time in years. "All this to and fro amongst the white settlers is going to put ideas in those drunken, angry Indians heads." Stephen’s young voice stopped the conversation. "It’s your greedy traders, Grandma Bourne said, taking advantage of the Indians. Stealing from em and pushing em off the good land. People are talking religion, she said, but they aren’t talking about God." Joseph explained his child s behavior to the adults. Stephen and his brother are allowed to speak their opinions at home. His Grandmother Bourne started that. Sarah Alice ignored the bizarre concept of child rearing. "But surely, Mother, they wouldn’t dare attack the settlers!" she said. "Governor Hyde wouldn’t allow it." "How would he stop it?" her mother asked. "We’re doing the same things here that Governor Berkeley was trying to stop in ’76." "But the government troops would stop them," the daughter said. "Which government, and which troops?" Edward asked. Sarah Alice paid little more attention to the political talk. She’d heard enough of that from the Harrison men and their friends. Her thoughts drifted, and she looked about her mother’s home. The house in Deep Creek was a palace in comparison. Why, she wondered, with all his new prosperity, had not Edward provided a wooden floor for his mother? Sarah Alice hadn’t walked on dirt floors since she was a child, except when attending to plantation duties that took her into a slave cabin, or when attending church services with friends of the poorer parishes. It was the first time she’d been inside a log-built house. She’d heard that the Swedes had introduced this form of construction, and she’d been curious as to how people would live in a large animal pen, as she thought of it. The hut was warm, she admitted, but it was crudely assembled. That, of course, was a great advantage of the construction technique; little or no knowledge of carpentry or of joinery was necessary to pile notched logs atop one another. It was the thickness of the trees that kept the room cool in summer, she was told, and warm in winter.
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Becoming Americans The hut was a room, twenty feet square. In one corner was the good Quaker bed Sarah Alice remembered from her childhood. It dominated the room. In an opposite corner was a smaller, rough bed frame, the bedding supported by rawhide straps. A third corner was filled by a pine-wood chest her mother’s clothes press and larder. A wellmade Quaker table and two chairs sat in the middle of the room, a rough-hewn bench at one side. The fireplace wall was hung with cooking utensils. She recognized the great iron pot that was hanging from its hook, swung away from the low fire, and a betty lamp she’d always hated. The odor and the smoke were irritating. Sarah Alice was accustomed to candles, now, and this old-fashioned betty lamp was from another time. It was an old grease-filled metal dish, with a lip in which lay a linen wick burning just beyond the lip. A handle curved inward over the covered, grease dish and had attached to its end a chain, which terminated in a combination spike and hook for hanging the lamp. They did have one luxury here at Scuppernong; there was plenty of the cleaner-burning whale oil. How Sarah Alice hated bear grease! Still, even in remembering, the betty lamp was better than the rush-lights they’d had, because the wick absorbed new grease as it burned, and needed less care. A rush light needed constant attention because as soon as it burned back to the jaws that pinched the dried rush, it went out. That was the old days. Her mother was burning bayberry candles, and Sarah Alice was glad of that. Her mother always liked nice things. Still, the smells of drying fish and boiling tar from outside were nearly overpowering. She lifted her kerchief. The small hut was crowded with furniture and with visitors. Sarah Alice looked to her brothers and wondered, again, how they could let their mother descend to such a condition. Edward was wearing new boots of jacked leather and had a new, two-masted sloop. Joseph was talking of building a mill! She listened again when the conversation turned to her and the life of wealth she’d led since leaving Deep Creek. The rising anger towards her brothers turned to guilt. "I’ve always been proud of my daughters as well as of my sons," Anne was saying. "Our Edy has survived tragedy and humiliation, and she remains strong in her love of God and family. She’s found love, and from a man who’s respectable, now, raiding French and Spanish shipping. She’s good to her mother, I’ll tell you that. Joseph, you and John and Sarah Alice, in Virginia, have had the comfort of ministers to pray for you, to bless your unions, to baptize your children even Sister Mary and those poor infants who passed so soon bless their tiny souls. None among my sons has left the Church, despite being surrounded by Quakers and dissenters in Norfolk and Nansemond and heaven continue to keep us strong in the faith from the hordes of dissenters and so-called Presbyterians and baptizers and non-believers in Carolina. Richard married one, but ."
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Becoming Americans The heavy door swung open and Robert Fewox entered. Sarah Alice barely remembered him. Young Stephen knew who he was. Joseph rose to greet the man and Edward yelped, "Robert! Welcome home! How do you fare? Tell us of things in Bath!" Robert gave his greetings to the visitors, then went to Anne and kissed her cheek, asking, "How are you, Mother?" Joseph, Stephen, and Sarah Alice were somewhat surprised at that greeting to their mother. Edward seemed, to them, not to notice. In fact, his attention to this nearstranger was at least as warm as was his attention to them. "I’m well, my boy," Anne answered. "How goes it with you? And with Richard and his family? And with your father?" "There’s turmoil abroad, Mother. And sickness on the road to Bath. We must pray for an early frost to stop the sickness, for the fever has struck all along the road. I fear it will spread if we go long without a killing frost." Joseph placed a protective hand on his son’s shoulder. "The Hainey family were all taken," Robert told his stepmother. Anne closed her eyes for a brief moment "Their suffering on Earth is over," she said sadly, "and mine goes on. God delivered me from madness and from the fever, but He keeps me here to face new trials." They were all silent with their private thoughts. "But, He sends me loving gifts," Anne brightened up. "My lovely daughter and devoted sons." She reached out to touch Robert’s arm. "And grandsons." She smiled at them all, her sight resting on Stephen. "Gifts!" Joseph cried. "I’ve something for you from Aunt Mary." He searched in his sack, and pulled out a piece of black crepe that covered a curved, rectangular object. Anne opened it and stared at a piece of brass with writing etched onto it. "What does it say?" Anne asked everyone. "It says, "This cask arrived with the news of the Restoration of King Charles II." Joseph said it, pointing to the letters as if he were reading.
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Becoming Americans The old woman seemed to sink into herself for a moment as everyone waited, then she lifted her head, revealing her glistening, beaming eyes. "Robert, set our man to roasting a nice pig! I’ll bet our Sarah Alice hasn’t eaten without a fork since she stopped being a Williams! We’ll fatten her up for that Scotsman she’s to wed! And for that jarring ride to Bath!" "You can’t go by the Bath Road, now, Mistress Harrison," Robert said. "You must wait. Or, you might sail inside the Banks." "I must get to Bath!" Sarah Alice was immediately agitated. She was frightened of the fever, but she was determined not to miss the arrival of Major Dorsey. The captain of his ship wouldn t wait for the fever to leave the interior of the county before sailing on to Saint Christopher and England. Should the fever reach the town, the ship might not even dock! And she couldn’t stay in this hovel! "Major Dorsey has been ordered to remain in Charles Town, Mistress Harrison. John Lawson told me that himself," Robert said. "The Charles Town harbor is decorated with the rotting heads of pirates, and the people still fear others’ return, or an invasion by the Spanish. Lawson says that by Spring the city will be calm." Should she try to get to Charles Town, Sarah Alice asked Robert? He advised against any unescorted sailing in the Atlantic, even if just to Charles Town. "Then I’ll wait in Bath!" Sarah Alice said in desperation. "Yes, Child. You certainly would be more comfortable," her mother said sadly. "Yes, Bath," Sarah Alice said. She’d accept the invitation of John Lawson. He was the only honorable man from Carolina that she’d ever met, and that was only this year at a reception given by Colonel Harrison upon Surveyor-General Lawson’s return from England. He was back from a triumphant trip to London where he’d reported to his superiors and had his book, A New Voyage to Carolina, published to much acclaim. Mister Lawson had traveled throughout much of both North and South Carolina, writing of the land, the plants the animals and the various Indian nations in the colony. He d sailed for Virginia aboard one of two ships which carried, as well, 650 healthy, industrious, skilled people bound to settle a new town Lawson was to survey for them and for their leader, an impoverished Swiss nobleman, Baron Christopher von Graffenried. Half of these German settlers died during the stormy, thirteen-week voyage and, when finally entering the James River, a French privateer appeared and took one of the vessels, leaving all aboard destitute and impoverished. BOSON BOOKS
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Sarah Alice had made the burdened Lawson laugh at a dinner Commissary Blair gave for him. Lawson was a Scot and, when told of her impending marriage to Major Dorsey, he extended an open invitation to visit him and Hannah the woman with whom he lived and treated as his wife when Sarah Alice arrived in Bath. Robert’s news would insure her acceptance of that invitation. Indeed, Edward must take her to Lawson’s house in Bath! To stay in this hut with her mother until spring was an unbearable prospect. "And we’ve other friends in Bath, my dear," Anne said, brightening up a little. "Tobias Knight, a member of the Council, lives there. He’s a good friend of our patron, William Glover. Some few other church people live there, also. It’s not simply a hotbed of pirates and dissenters, my dear. They’ve a public library, even! There are women who can read!" Anne was a Carolinian, now, and she was eager to point out the developments that were happening in Rogues Harbor. Sarah Alice looked through the candlelight to the wrinkled old woman. Her mother had had a long and eventful life, years of happiness, sprinkled with problems and sadness. Times of great love and great loss. Sarah Alice Harrison was called old by some, and she felt it when she thought that she’d lived for thirty-four years without one moment when her eyes sparkled in the way she’d seen her mother’s do in the months the Fewoxes were newlyweds. She’d never buried herself in mourning other than for the change of clothes and requisite performances of grief when her husbands died. She’d never gone mad at the thought of betrayal and grief. But, now, there was Major Dorsey, and the sparkle had appeared in her newly-wrinkling eyes. Terror gripped her at the thought that Major Dorsey might sail without her. This was her last chance for life! She would go to Bath. During the fortnight visit, Anne and her daughter realized that this visit would be their last together, so each did what she could to please the other, while Joseph and Stephen fished and hunted with Edward and Robert. Sarah Alice wore her mother’s rockets. She told her mother stories of grand plantation life and of lavish entertainments in Williamsburgh. She helped her mother cut and dry green apples, and she cleaned fish for smoking and drying. She went with Anne to visit Edward s wife, Pathelia, at his surprisingly small plantation. Anne sought to relieve her daughter’s boredom by having Sarah Alice invited to the best Anglican homes in Chowan and Pasquotank. James Fewox’s reputation had not besmirched that of his wife, who was openly and vocally aligned with the pro-Church party. Despite her poverty, Anne was a welcomed guest among those Glover partisans who were still celebrating the arrival of the Queen’s cousin as their governor. In preparation for one such party, Sarah Alice had been stunned when Anne opened her chest and pulled out a dress, sleeves, and bodice that would have been fashionable, even, in Williamsburgh. Any of the older Harrison women would have wanted it!
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Becoming Americans Salvage, Anne told her. Edward had found it in a ship that was abandoned and floundering off the treacherous Outer Banks. Those dangerous shoals were the graveyard of many ships, she told her daughter. Many people found such goods washed ashore, or, in half-submerged wrecks. "The ways are different in Carolina," Anne said.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Seventeen
After the busy visit with her mother and a prolonged, weeping farewell, Edward’s sloop was re-loaded and they sailed to Currituck, leaving Joseph and Stephen there at John’s plantation. The boat then headed southward, following inside the line of the Outer Banks before skirting the islands and marshes between the mainland and Roanoke Island. Sarah Alice stood by the helm as her brother practiced maneuvering his new boat. "Is it here the ghost ships sail?" she asked. "So it’s said," he replied, looking about. "And does this boat have ghosts?" she asked. Edward turned his attention to her and laughed. "If it does, they’re bumbling, Boston fools," he said. "Where did you get her, Edward? Your plantation, though busy, could not buy a sloop such as this. I know, the ways of Carolina are different, but ." Edward laughed again. "The ways are different only in detail, for they lead to the same place as the ways of Virginia. Riches!" Edward said. "I claimed this boat by the law of the sea. She ran ashore on the bank and her crew were all dead of the fever, save two, and they died the same day." "And how was that ’the Carolina way?’" she asked. "Do you really want to know, Mistress Harrison?" her brother asked, with a twinkle in his eye that reminded her of their mother. "I do," she said, very curious. "We take an old mare to the top of those high sand hills on the bank, and we wait until night. We tie a lighted lantern about the nag’s head, then walk along the top of the hills. Foolish sailors think we’re a landing, and they head into harbor and run aground. It’s not new with us," Edward rushed on. The Indians did it before us! The same thing." He waited a moment for his sister to react. BOSON BOOKS
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"That’s kinder than most!" he declared. "I seen men shoot holes into stuck boats so their owners can’t refloat and go on. Now, that’s the way to get some booty!" He was warming to his subject. "You know that nice dress Mother wore to the Pollock’s last week ?" Her brother was beautiful to Sarah Alice. Even when a sickly child himself, Edward had taken care of her. No one ever thought he’d live to grow up, John had told her once. Now he was alive and sparkling, and she had no remorse for the loss of New Englanders. "It’s a wonderful find," she said. "I hope you’ll take Mother something beautiful back from Bath." Edward’s sloop, the Pine Reward, sailed westward from the inland sea called the Pamticoe Sound, into the broad Pamticoe River. Sarah Alice judged the mouth of the river to be nearly as wide as the Albemarle Sound at Bull Bay. She saw islands, marshes, and large bays on the north shore of the river; the south shore was barely visible. Dolphin swam alongside the sloop, a family of three seeming to race them. If Fewox could build a racetrack for them, he would, Sarah Alice told her brother. Soon, the three-mile-wide entrance to the Machapungo River appeared. Edward steered the Pine Reward northwesterly into it, and towards their destination. A gently curved bay on the eastern shore of the river, opposite a point of land on the western side, was the location of Brother Richard’s land. His long pier extended into the river to a depth that would accommodate ships that boarded heavy transports of naval supplies. To Sarah Alice, the land appeared more a wilderness than that at Scuppernong. Here, there grew almost nothing but pine trees; a desolate, green pine barren where no crop would ever grow, even when cleared of the trees. She despaired that her brothers would never have tobacco land. Tar was a smelly, dirty business. Richard, with his wife and daughters, came running down the pier as Edward and his man tied up the Pine Reward. After introductions and kisses, Sarah Alice followed her brothers, her nieces, and her beautiful, French sister-in-law whose Irish accent was a surprise to Sarah Alice back to their house. The house was built on high, cedar pilings, and it was obvious to Sarah Alice why this was done. The land was very flat and low, barely above the level of the river. A week of rain would leave the house an island. Dusty trails led into the woods, and a cart path made of logs ran from the pier into the forest. The house, itself, was better than the one occupied by their mother. Richard had always been good with his hands and tools, so he’d built a sturdy, one-room house with a wooden floor for his family. A sumptuous BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans meal of shrimp, duck, and venison, accompanied by the good local wine and a fine French brandy, made Sarah Alice less pessimistic about Richard’s future. "’Tis a wonderful war, Queen Anne’s given us," Richard said. "You’d not believe it, but your youngest brother’s growing rich! The Crown’s placed a bounty on tar, and as much as I can produce, the Admiralty will purchase." "But living here, Richard. Do you want your daughters growing up in this wilderness?" Sarah Alice asked him. "My wife grew up here," he answered, smiling. "It seems to have done her no harm. And we’ve a town nearby, you know. Joseph says it’s already nearly as much a town as James Town was when he first visited there. Bath is more of a town now, I wager, than James Town is at present! And certain, it is, to become an important port for Carolina. You sailed near Ocracoke Inlet to get here. Easy, rapid access to the ocean, yet impossible to invade by large warships. We’ve a product, a port . What more could we want?" "A stable government, for one thing," Edward said. "And less fomenting troubles with the Indians." "Nay," Richard shrugged. "We’ve no problem with our Indians in Wickham precinct. We’ve Algonquin tribes. They’re enemies of the pesky Tuscarora. What we need is our own county and a courthouse for the Machapungo settlers. Most of the freeholders of Wickham precinct have petitioned for one. That will come about. As we tamed that bear cub, Edward, as boys, we’re taming this wilderness." Sarah Alice was surprised by the strength and adventuresome spirit of the brothers. They’d not been like that when younger. By morning, wind was blowing sand and dust, but Richard was eager to show off his operation. Sarah Alice dressed in borrowed rocket, splatterdash, and boots, and followed her brothers through the smoke and dust into the woods. Twice she saw snakes crossing the path, and deer she saw grazing across a used and burned-down pine forest glanced up, then went back to eating new growth. "Jacques Fortescue was her father." Richard answered Sarah Alice’s questions about his wife. "He had to flee France when King Louis started his massacre of Protestants. Like many of the Huguenots, they first went to Ireland. Then some of them came to Carolina, most to near Charles Town. A few, like Fortescue, came here, and were the first white settlers in Pamticoe. Jean was born in Ireland, but she grew up in Pamticoe. Like father, growing up in Virginia."
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Becoming Americans The wind was blowing from the fresh forest and, again, memories of her youth came with the sharp, clean aroma of the pines. To one side, dead, dying, and scarred trees leaned against each other. In the distance were large, black fields of smoldering stumps. In front of them was the vast, virgin pine barren that was being stripped and drained of its sap. "Here," Richard said. "This is how we do it. Much as father did at Deep Creek, but better and quicker." "We get the rosin by cutting channels in the standing trees that meet at a point, here, at the foot of the tree. Then, two or three small pieces of board are fitted to receive it. The men cut the channels as high as they can reach with an ax, and the bark is peeled off from all those parts of the tree that are exposed to the sun. The heat of the sun forces out the turpentine, and that falls down upon the boards placed at the root. Then, it’s gathered and melted in great kettles to become rosin. To make tar, the men dig out a flooring down to the clay, and a little low in the middle where they lay a pipe of wood with the top part of it even with the floor. The pipe runs out about two feet outside the clay floor, and the earth is dug away and barrels placed in the hole to catch the tar when it runs. Then, on the clay floor look over here they’ve built up a large pile of dry pine wood split into pieces then covered it up with a wall of earth, but for a little at the top where the fire is kindled. Once the fire is burning look over there they cover the hole with earth so there won’t be any flame, only heat enough to force the tar down into the floor, through the pipe, into the barrels. The men poke air holes in the fire with a stick, sufficient for the heat to continue. We make the pitch by boiling the tar in iron kettles or, usually, by burning it in round clay holes made in the earth. My problem is barrels. I can’t make hogsheads and barrels fast enough! I have to buy barrels. Father would be ashamed of me." Richard laughed, and so did Sarah Alice. But she’d heard enough around the Harrison dinner table to know that her brothers were on their way to becoming men of substance. It wasn’t tobacco, but they’d be able to purchase tobacco land with their earnings when the war was over. Her mother had always been right about that: in Virginia, Maryland, and even in this wild colony, tobacco cultivation brought respectability. When they returned to the house, Old Fewox was there. As he ladled punch, Sarah Alice had to admit that there was still a charm about Fewox, although he was toothless, wore a thinning, old periwig with his coat, and had dispensed with the waistcoat. His courtliness to Sarah Alice reminded her of the old rakes at Williamsburgh dinners. It was quaint, this courtliness, but he was not a man of serious qualities. Those old men seldom were.
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Becoming Americans A late-in-life marriage of love. Had her mother felt for James Fewox what she was feeling for Major Dorsey? But her mother had been rash, and the fears of Anne Shaw’s friends had largely come true, Sarah Alice realized. Anne’s marriage to Fewox had led her to life among the lowest of men and their women, left her bereft of clergy, and had given her endless days of toil in a land where the women worked and the men played, drank, and slept. Now, Anne lived in one place, her husband in another. For that, she’d confided to Sarah Alice, she was thankful. Fewox was a gambling clown, in his old age, taken seriously by no one. In this inconspicuous capacity he’d been brought back to Bath by William Glover. But things had cooled down between factions, and Fewox, now, was relying on less reputable old friends. Thomas Carman had come along with Fewox, but Edy was still waiting in Bath. He, Richard and Edward, with Old Fewox, would share in the Machapungo part of Sarah Alice’s reunion and farewell. Sarah Alice had seen such disfigured men as Thomas Carman before, but those were not to be dealt with as family, certainly. She was put off, too, in seeing Richard and Edward’s demeanor change when they were with Fewox and Carman. She realized that her brothers had known these men for many years, but to fall into heavy drink with them, and for them all to trade stories of their heroes the pirates who plied these waters caused her a good deal of distress. Edward was promoted in the group; it was obvious to her, when his ownership of a two-masted sloop was announced. The men sat on benches at the table: Richard and Edward, Fewox and Carman. Sarah Alice sat on the bed with Jean, while Elizabeth and three-year-old Sally played with their cornhusk dolls and took turns carrying embers to the men as their pipes went out. Tapoc, Jean’s old Indian slave, sat on the floor in a corner finishing the beaded deerskin slippers Jean intended for Sarah Alice. Everyone’s noggins were kept filled. "I’ll whip you, I swear it, if those moccasins are not finished before Mistress Harrison leaves tomorrow!" Jean Williams was a strict mistress, Sarah Alice thought, and a loud, French one at that. It was her home and her right, Sarah Alice knew, but the old Indian woman reminded her of old Mary Bourne for some reason, and she didn’t care so much for a savage’s needlework to warrant such harsh threats. Sarah Alice drank more of the potent punch. Still, it was Jean’s right to discipline her own slaves, and her family had owned the old woman since they’d come to Carolina. Tapoc had been part of Jean’s dowry. BOSON BOOKS
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"I don’t care for your crudeness," Sarah Alice said suddenly and loudly. The men at the table stopped and turned to her. "Mistress Harrison." Fewox stood up. "Please accept from me ." "You’re in Carolina, Little Sister," Richard said. "In an older brother’s home. If my language is sufficient for my wife, it is sufficient for you," he said. "It’s not just your words and your curses, it’s the subjects you speak of with praise. Defiance of the government. Praise for the pirates. More than praise, adulation!" Sarah Alice nearly slipped from the bed. She’d had too much of their local spirits! She must control herself! "Girls, go to bed," Richard said to his daughters. They scampered up the ladder to the sleeping loft. "Your patience has been worn thin with all of us savages, has it not, Mistress Harrison?" Richard asked. His commanding voice stopped her as swiftly as it had thirty and more years ago. "You don’t approve of how we live." "And I’m not alone!" Sarah Alice snapped back, as she always had. "John and Joseph are scandalized by what you’re becoming. ’Genuine members of Rogue’s Harbor,’ they said!" "Do you know why, Little Sister, that Aunt Mary Williams sent father s brass plaque to Mother instead of giving it to John, or why John was left out of her will?" Richard asked, knowing. "I paid the debt off! It was satisfied! She shouldn’t have done that," the drunken Old Fewox said. Sarah Alice slipped over and held to the bedpost. "Our aristocratic brother was taking Aunt Mary’s money and investing it in this despised ’Rogues Harbor.’ The bondsmen and slaves he bought alldied the first year, and the money was lost." Richard hadn’t stood, he just leaned forward on the table. "And our tipsy step-father, here, saved him. He paid off the debt with one of his easy-come winnings he doesn’t always lose. He’s sued John, twice since, for the money, but he s yet to see the money. He needs a new suit of clothes." Richard laughed.
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Becoming Americans "A man is judged by his clothes," Fewox gummed. Sarah Alice sat in quiet embarrassment over having made such a fool of herself. She’d never drink this local brew again! "And you might ought be a little more careful with your accusing Virginia tongue when you get to Bath. We’ve a different land, here. We’ve different needs. We have different ways of being governed and of not being governed. You and my Virginia brothers want me to grow tobacco, but your Virginia Burgesses won’t let me sell it from there. Well, I’ll soon grow tobacco, and I’ll sell it. We do thingsour way, in Carolina," he finished. The other men cheered him. His wife cheered him, too, but embraced her sister-inlaw and gave her a forgiving kiss on the cheek. "You talk as good as that rascal, Tom Cary," James Fewox said. "I could say a few words for you, now, if you want to get elected to something . On either side!" he added. Sarah Alice laughed with them all, and gave Jean a favorite fan for a gift.
Many of the leaves had fallen, but many tired, brown leaves still dangled from the oak and hickory branches. There’d been no hard, killing frost this year, and it was well into October. A cold wind blew from the north as they sailed down the Machapungo and worked up the Pamticoe. They passed by the Romney Marsh practice fields of Cary’s militia to the mouth of Town Creek. The winds turned more westerly and they entered the creek, seeing the town of Bath right ahead. It started on the far heading of a back creek, and stretched scattered for a quarter of a mile along the Town Creek bank. "That’s where Mister Lawson and Hannah live," Richard said, pointing through the trees to a white house sitting on a knoll of land that was the point between the back creek Adam’s Creek and Town Creek. Matching, white-washed fences surrounded the first waterfront lots, and enclosed a large parcel of land across from the Water Street. There sat Lawson’s house, facing the serene, dark waters of Adams and Town Creeks.
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Becoming Americans Edward docked his graceful sloop at Lawson’s wharf, and sent Tapoc whom Jean had loaned to Sarah Alice during her stay to alert the Lawson servants that Mistress Sarah Alice Harrison had arrived to call. In minutes, Hannah Smith was running down the hill to greet her guests. Although not married to John Lawson, Hannah Smith the daughter of a long-time planter on the Pamticoe was treated with a love and respect that was envied by most wives of binding, civil ceremonies or of the rare, clerically-blessed unions. Lawson had gone to the extent of making provision in his will for his "beloved Hannah," Jean had told her, and for their two children, Isabella, almost six, and a toddler, John, not quite two. Sarah Alice had been charmed and intrigued by John Lawson in Williamsburgh, and by the stories he’d told of Hannah and their busy life. Lawson had made a most exhaustive journey through Carolina; he’d surveyed the town of Bath picking the choicest lots for himself, of course; he’d sent voluminous collection of plants and animals back to the London apothecary, James Petiver, his chief sponsor; and there was his book. Hannah apologized for John’s absence, but he d ridden his horse to the plantation of Tobias Knight to report on the Palatine settlement. He was returned from the new town, New Bern, which he d surveyed at the juncture of the Trent and Neuse Rivers for de Graffenried s Palatine and Swiss settlers. He’d be home for supper, Hannah said, and hustled her servants to move Sarah Alice’s things inside. "Looks like we might get some rain," Hannah said, hopefully.
"The Indians, my friends, are far better to us than we are to them," John Lawson told his dinner guests. "An Indian will offer food to passing strangers; we would hold back from their children a stale lump of pone." "But we bring them God!" Sarah Alice replied in amazement. "Which one, Mistress Harrison? They had their own before we came. We bring them yours, mine, the Quaker’s, the baptizers . I fear we may have confused them," Lawson said. "Major Dorsey is of the Scots Church, I believe? When is your conversion to occur?" John Lawson looked at her with bemusement. "John, don’t tease Mistress Harrison. She doesn’t hear the humor you intend," Hannah warned her husband. Lawson looked to Sarah Alice with a smile on his face. BOSON BOOKS
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"I’m sorry my dear. I was only trying to amuse our guest as she so charmingly amused me in Williamsburgh. You find no humor in religion, Mistress Harrison?" "No, I admit I do not, Sir. But I find your ability to see wit in everything a most charming and generous attribute," she said. Mister Lawson had turned in his chair and was sitting with his legs crossed, riding his son up and down on a foot. The boy screeched with delight, and Sarah Alice thought that the forty-five year old father might do so, too. "I’m a naturalist, Mistress Harrison. It is my job to observe life of all kinds, and I’ve observed that life in Carolina lends great opportunity for the wit of irony. What we say about the Indians and the real facts is one such irony. Oaths or affirmations to religion or authority are belied by the reality of actions. Such ironies have their humor." "I’m afraid irony requires too much knowledge and thinking for me, Sir," she said. "Ah, ha," Lawson said. "You’ve just proved yourself a mistress of the form by your very denial," Lawson said. "You’re a mite too charming with the ladies for a man with his will already made out," Hannah said, glaring at him with a proud laugh in her eyes. "Yes, my dear," he said, as his son stepped down, and Isabella mounted her father’s foot. Footsteps on the piazza summoned a Lawson servant. When the door opened, Sarah Alice saw the hideous Carman with an old, toothless woman. "Mistress Hannah, you’re hiding my treasure," the old woman said. "Edy, come in," Hannah Lawson said. "Come inside, Carman. Is it raining, yet?" "No, Mistress Hannah, looks like it’s blowed over. Gettin’ colder, though." Sarah Alice watched and listened in amazement. To see Carman and a toothless old woman appear at the front door of such a man as John Lawson was, in itself, surprising. But the delayed recognition and acceptance that this old hag was her sister, Edy, was shocking.
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Becoming Americans Edy rushed to hug her younger sister, but Sarah Alice stepped back, and Edy relapsed into a manner that she’d lost with Carman in Bath. She tilted her head and let the hood fall across her face. She lifted a hand to rest on her chin, hiding her mouth. Sarah Alice recovered and stepped forward to embrace her, but Edy felt unclean before her well-dressed and imposing sister. "Darling Edy," Sarah Alice said, and held her sister close. She recognized the look of pain that she’d inflicted, and her own eyes filled with regret for that, and for the life and company her sister had suffered since the pox had left her so scarred. It had been Edy’s dowry, after all . Both sisters were crying as the men stood by awkwardly, when Hannah hugged them both and comforted them with, "Now, now. Isn’t this lovely?" More footsteps on the piazza sent Lawson’s servant to open the door to Richard, Edward, and Fewox. Sarah Alice was amazed, again, at the reception given to her roughlooking relatives. Lawson and Hannah knew them all Fewox and Anne had befriended the young Hannah Smith and the newly arrived John Lawson when the Fewoxes first came to Bath to seat Glover’s land. Lawson was a scholar and therefore suspect, at first, by the folks of Pamticoe. But he’d also been among the first of the settlers here, and had won the attention and admiration of his neighbors. To be invited by John Lawson on his rushed visits home, was a treat to any man or woman with a taste for wine or spirits. He was generous with his drink, with conversation, and valuable advice. He had bottles of drinkable spirits, as well as those that preserved his collections of small animals. Lawson delighted in testing the brandies he made from his crop of various plums, peaches, pears, apples and berries he cultivated and studied. He experimented with new plants, and a banana tree that he’d ordered the previous winter grew green outside, as did a palmetto he’d brought back from Charles Town. As the brandy flowed and the conversation grew freer and looser, Sarah Alice relaxed into the atmosphere of this strange place. John Lawson was as much at ease among the Williams men and Old Fewox as he had been with Commissary Blair and the Harrisons. He discussed the breeding of bulldogs with Fewox with the same intensity and knowledge that he’d discussed European politics with Colonel Harrison.
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Becoming Americans The next day Richard was returned to his Machapungo plantation, while Sarah Alice remained as an honored guest. The entertainments began again, friendly mixtures of Anglicans, Presbyterians, Quakers, and the baptizers. She found herself chatting, openly, with dissenters! She saw, very soon, that the warm reception at Deep Creek and at Scuppernong was being repeated at Bath, but for different reasons. The earlier ones were because of her Harrison connections; her Bath reception was owed to her own family ties. John Lawson was more close to Fewox and her mother, to Richard and her sister Edy! than he was to Colonel Benjamin Harrison or his fellow Scot, Commissary Blair. Glover’s few friends here among them, Tobias Knight knew that the Fewoxes were once bonded to Glover, and that Carman brought needed goods to the merchants. Edy Carman could heal many sicknesses that Doctor Llewellyn could not. This attribute of her sister’s was news to Sarah Alice; another example of what she’d missed. All of these years she’d had a family she’d not known. It was good to be a Williams again. After a week, Sarah Alice put on her most homely dress and green apron and walked with Hannah Lawson and Tapoc to call on Edy. It was a cool day, but still nothing like one would expect for late October. In the warm sun she had no need for a cloak, even, as she walked up Water Street from the Lawson home at Town Point. There were several stores and warehouses along the street, and at least a dozen houses she could see. Many of the houses belonged to merchant ship captains, Hannah had said, who all worked with her brother-in-law, Carman. They passed the workshop of John Jordan, a cooper, and thoughts of her father returned. He would have liked it here in Bath, she thought. The three women stopped to watch the grinding at the horse-driven grist mill that belonged to Lawson and his partners Christopher Gale and Doctor Maurice Llewellyn. Down the street, two boat builders she’d met, Thomas Harding and William Powell, were hammering and sawing. This was a noisy outpost in the wilderness, she thought. The people of Virginia should see what was happening here, good people doing good things. Mister Lawson had surveyed a large lot that was set aside for a church, along with three hundred acres of glebe land to support it. Only passing missionaries had paused in Bath, though, and there was no church building. Sunday prayers were given at the home of a Mister Gale brother of Lawson’s mill partner who held the collection of books sent here from England by the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel. Still, the promise of the town was uplifting, and Sarah Alice was in good spirits when Hannah left her and Tapoc at the door of Carman and Edy’s temporary home. Carman was often at sea, Edy told her, but when he was in port the couple stayed in a tiny house that belonged to Tobias Knight. When Carman was away for long times, Edy stayed with her mother up at Scuppernong. Edy and her mother kept close ties. They’d spent many years together, in different circumstances, and travel was relatively easy around the county or up the road to the Albemarle Sound and Edward’s land. But BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans the relationship between the reunited sisters was difficult and strained, Sarah Alice felt. She couldn’t overcome her reaction to Edy’s appearance and her reservations about the temporary legality and respectability of Carman’s trade preying on enemy shipping and bringing goods into port for sale. She dared speak of that aspect to her sister. "Yes, and he’ll not stop it when the war ends, neither," Edy said. "He’s bitten by it. He was raiding foreign boats New Englanders, too before there was a war. He’s a good man, though, my Carman is. And he’s taken right good care of our mother, he has!" Edy was determined to stop her sister before she started. Things were different in Carolina. "I only worry for you, should something happen to him," Sarah Alice said. "I’m not worried about me, don’t you be," Edy said firmly to her younger sister. "Where has he been, this week?" Sarah Alice asked her sister directly. "They’re out doing the Queen’s business," Edy answered. "They? He left with Edward and Richard. They’re not with him, surely?" "Richard went home to his family and his pine trees. Carman and Edward be using that fine sloop to go sail hunting. French and Spanish sail," Edy said. "And you say nothing?" Sarah Alice asked. "I used to sail with him," her sister replied, evenly. "When will they be back," Sarah Alice wanted to know. "Major Dorsey may come at any day!" "Could be a month, could be a year. Could be, they won’t!" Edy threw her own worries at her sister. Sarah Alice was still a spoiled child. "But if they don t, they’ll be heroes in Bath Town, you can believe that. You see how the fine folks treat us, don’t you? It’s not because they like our looks!" Sarah Alice turned away, and Edy spoke more softly. "Don’t you worry. One blast from the cannon and the merchant ships heave to. The captains own nothing but their lives. The ship owners are in Bristol or New York. I told you, I sailed with him." "But Edward has no cannon," Sarah Alice said. BOSON BOOKS
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"Our friend, Tobias Knight, can get his hands on anything. Guns and cannons can be got. You ask Richard’s friend, Governor Cary, about that." "Why would Cary need guns and cannon?" Sarah Alice asked. "Are the Spanish coming to Carolina? Governor Hyde is here now. The conflict between the Cary and Glover parties is passed." "Word came down from Governor Hyde’s headquarters at Mister Pollock’s on the Chowan, that he’s named both Glover and Pollock to the Council. If you knew Carolina, you’d know that that’s asking for trouble from the Bath County people." Sarah Alice walked back up Water Street, followed by the borrowed Indian slave. This was a dangerous place, she thought. There was only a thin layer of civilization here, represented by men like Lawson. But even those men including Governor Cary, a sonin-law to Archdale, the Proprietor mingled with, and trafficked with the basest sorts. She looked at her own clothes and nearly cried. Could she make it through the winter? When would Major Dorsey come?
The new year came, and with it came hope. Sarah Alice was awakened on the first Sunday in April by little John and Isabella’s screams of delight. Otherwise, there was a quietness and stillness that was unsettling. She looked through the window and saw blinding white. A deep, wet snow had fallen in the night, covering everything and muffling the vibrant songs and screeches of red birds hiding in the berried holly trees. Mister Lawson’s broad-leafed banana tree was weighted down and doomed. The palmetto held a cone of snow. Suddenly, a cannon boomed, the muffled echo sounding ominous. Snow fell from the palmetto and slid from the steep-roofed house onto the ground. Sarah Alice looked out her window again and saw the sails being lowered from the tall masts of her brother’s sloop as it passed the house at Adams Creek, and coasted up Town Creek to a merchant’s wharf. The ensign of Saint George slowly flapped in the quiet air of the peaceful Sabbath. Within minutes, Water Street was filling with people bundled up in cloaks and furs they really didn’t need; hurrying to the wharf; laughing; thanking God that the winter draught was over; hopeful, now, that there would be enough winter to kill the projected insects of next summer; exchanging invitations for nog; throwing balls of snow; curious as to what goods Carman, as quartermaster, had chosen to bring back from the raid. BOSON BOOKS
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The beauty and prospect of the scene made Sarah Alice giddy, and she hurried down the narrows stairs. Hannah was as excited as her children; snow was seldom seen in these parts, and it was April! The children drank their beer, and ran outside. Sarah Alice’s elation was dampened when she realized that the welfare and safety of her brother and of Carman, her sister’s provider was unknown. When she and Hannah reached the wharf there was a crowd. Some people were already dressed for services at their various places of worship; some of them still wore the clothes they’d slept in; many hadn’t been to bed. Everything was white except the blue-black water of the creek, the red birds and bluejays that scratched for food, and the greenery of pine boughs broken by the heavy snow. Even Edward’s boat was covered with snow and ice. Carman slipped and fell on the wharf when he came ashore, but rolled in the snow laughing, as Edy ran to help him up. A boy atop the center mast threw down streamers of red and purple ribbons to the delighted crowd. The sloop was low in the water, and the crowd speculated on what might be aboard, as Carman talked to the merchant who owned this wharf. The man seemed excited, and climbed up on a cart to tell the crowd to pray for these heroes on this Sabbath day, and to return tomorrow for the ribbons, buttons, cloth, sliver plate, and fine Madeira wine that these men had brought to Bath. That afternoon, Edward came to the Lawson home to see his sister. Sarah Alice assaulted him with questions and denunciation when he came in. How could he go about this dangerous enterprise when he had a wife and children depending on him? Did he think he was Sir Francis Drake? Was he playing children’s games he’d never got to play? He barely knew how to manage his sloop within the Sounds, how could he expect to survive against seasoned veterans of the sea? Edward dismissed her worries. There were easy spoils to take. Many ships were storm damaged, or blown off course. His new craft was swift. He had Carman with him! He stopped her questions with the word he brought from Charles Town: Major Dorsey was sailing within the week to Bath, and then with his ship loaded with masts, rosin, and tar for the Indies the couple would return to Britain.
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Becoming Americans Sarah Alice spent her week opening trunks and hogsheads to decide what she’d wear for the Major’s arrival. She stayed inside at the Lawson’s, preparing clothes andwigs for the reception of her betrothed. The snow was gone by Tuesday morning, but the town’s excitement continued. The presence of captured goods, sold at reasonable prices, was exciting, and so were the captured coins which Edward’s crew spent lavishly in the taverns. On Friday afternoon, a two-masted brigantine entered Town Creek, and Sarah Alice knew it was hers. A sailor from the ship ran to the Lawson house to tell Mistress Harrison that Major Dorsey would be calling on her that evening. Hannah Lawson brought out her best pewter and porcelain to entertain the Major. John Lawson was still up in Chowan for consultations with Governor Hyde about the March Assembly. He left knowing that Hannah was capable of being his representative to any visitors. Sarah Alice dressed in a dark green damask dress, the skirts separated in front to reveal her embroidered, cream petticoat. Her finest powdered wig draped curled locks across her shoulders and touched the rope of pearls she been given by Craford as a wedding gift. Major Dorsey arrived in the splendor of his dress uniform. His sword picked up the candlelight, as did the gold braid on his coat and on his cocked hat. Hannah Lawson extended her hand to be kissed, and the Major obliged. He did the same for Sarah Alice, then leaned to kiss his fianc e on the cheek. The children giggled at the kiss, but were awed by the splendid, tall soldier in officer’s uniform who was standing in their hall. The children ate by the fire as Hannah and her guests sat at the table. The room was bright with candlelight and light conversation. "But we sail in two days, Mistress Lawson, so I must disappoint you. My men and I were entertained to excess during our long stay in Charles Town. Now, we must be about Her Majesty’s business. I’m sorry to miss John Lawson, but the Admiralty has ordered me to hasten back to London. After waiting all these months, now I’m to hasten. That’s the life of a soldier. Nothing new about that. I hope my Sarah Alice can become accustomed to it." The couple barely ate the meal that Hannah and her cook had spent such time preparing, but Hannah understood. When John came home suddenly, they sometimes forgot to eat! She watched Sarah Alice playing the coquette, like a courtesan. Within BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans hours, the bride-to-be had left the reality of Bath Town and was living back in the rarefied air of the Virginia elite thinking of going to even higher places. Hannah felt a momentary sadness that her guest had, so suddenly, become the woman that her husband had described as meeting in Williamsburgh a still-lovely, but fading, cut flower; pure decoration. Maybe, England or Scotland would be best for Sarah Alice Harrison. She bore little resemblance to her brothers, her sister, or her mother. The family but for Sarah Alice was part of the New World. The bride-to-be had lived most of her life in imitation of life in a place she’d never seen.
Richard returned to Bath with his wife and girls to hail a last farewell to Sarah Alice. Edy and Richard s wife, Jean, were tearful at the good-bye, but the town, the colors, and the activity absorbed his girls. Richard noticed with sardonic interest the minute indication of relief Tapoc displayed when she stepped back over an imaginary line to the Williams side after spending five months with Sarah Alice Harrison. Richard prided himself in noticing. It had taken years to learn anything about what these people felt. He’d never bothered to look or to care until John Lawson talked to him about Indians. Lawson liked them as people, he’d said! It was a festive day in Bath. The ship of naval stores that carried Major Dorsey and Sarah Alice was taking the southern route to Barbados with these supplies, then to London, re-loaded with sugar. Sailing as an escort would be Edward Williams and his cannon-armed sloop. The Pine Reward would return with even better goods this time. Some townsfolk had asked Carman to look for specific articles.
When Richard came back to Bath in early June, he thought of his sister. She wouldn’t be in Bristol, yet. Edward wasn’t back unless he’d gone to Scuppernong so shipping must’ve slowed, or his brother was being careful. But, the talk of the town soon took his mind away from family sentiment. Governor Hyde, in whom such reverence and hope had been placed, had convened an Assembly whose actions were intolerable to Cary’s independent-minded Bath supporters. It passed laws for punishment of speaking against the government, and it levied a fine of one hundred pounds sterling on officials who refused to swear their oath of office. It provided that the Vestry Laws were in force, and it nullified all of the laws of
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Becoming Americans Governor Cary’s recent administration. Cary had been particularly outraged by this last act, and was already raising men and gathering arms. Cary’s army was taken from the malcontents that he plied with promises and good rum. Richard didn’t wonder that these men weren’t more concerned with their crops if they owned land because the winter drought had continued. Early spring rains had brought promise, and fields were planted with corn and tobacco, but the rains had stopped and not returned. It was probably too late for the crops to be saved, so the small planters drank and listened to Cary’s speeches of promises. Over the past weeks, Richard had resisted pressure from his neighbors and his father-in-law to join in with Cary. He liked Thomas Cary well enough; he’d helped Cary build a house at nearby Romney Marsh some years earlier. But Richard had no interest in rebellion. He was an Anglican if anything, and that, only for his mother. He was prospering, and only wanted government to protect him from marauding, drunken Indians and to establish a separate county and courthouse for the Machapungo settlers. They were too many and too far from Bath. He’d put his mark on a petition to that effect, and expected the new government to grant it. Richard tried to arbitrate with the complainers at John Potter’s tavern. He hoped the Queen’s cousin might be brought to reason, he said; Hyde was new at the job, give him time. A full-scale rebellion would end the prosperity they were enjoying, and he repeated his mother’s warning all this bickering amongst whites might encourage Indian hopes for revenge and slaughter. "But the Assembly has issued a formal indictment against Cary," Potter said. "They’ve charged him with high crimes. Governor Hyde is collecting forces to come against Cary." Doctor Llewellyn had entered the hot, crowded, and smoky tavern and stood on a stool. He demanded quiet, and when things calmed a bit, he motioned Richard to join him outside. The doctor took Richard’s arm in his and started walking slowly toward Edy’s house. "A boy arrived in Bath today. Nearly naked. Scratched. Almost dead, he was, from his ordeal." The doctor paused only for a moment. "He’d been aboard the ship that carried your sister," Llewellyn said. "The vessel was sunk by a Spanish warship. There was no hope. The boy washed ashore near Lockwood Folly and made his way home overland. Amazing."
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Becoming Americans "Are you sure it’s the truth? Richard asked. "What about the Pine Reward? Did Edward pick up survivors? Maybe he ." "The boy says the Pine Reward made grievous, elemental mistakes in trimming her sails, and rammed the burning ship of naval stores that carried Major Dorsey and Mistress Harrison. Your brother and Carman are gone, too. Along with the crew. The boy says no one could have survived the flames. Even the ocean was aflame, he said!" Richard stopped the doctor and asked Llewellyn to sit with him for a moment by the creek; just time enough to prepare his words for Edy. He thought of Sarah Alice and of his older sister. Edy’s early years were difficult and painful, he knew that. But, weighed against her youth, her last years were happy and rewarding. Sarah Alice had been a pampered child and pampered adult; yet, her only happiness had been brief; the happiness of expectations, not of experience. His mother! He’d have to ride to Scuppernong to tell his mother after stopping by Edward’s plantation to give the news to his wife, Pathelia. Pathelia had brothers in Chowan to care for her and manage the plantation until she remarried. Richard was worried for his mother. Could she survive two such blows at once? Her madness might return! John and Joseph must be told. And there were no bodies to bid farewell! No funerals. The shock turned to anger. How could his brother Edward have been so foolish! He was nearly forty had been nearly forty and suddenly within two or three years had turned from a sickly, aloof loner, to a man who’d come to admire and imitate the friends of Fewox. Fewox should have been aboard the sloop! Edward would be better off still pale and weak at his small pine plantation. His mother’s pampered flowers were dead. He remembered her once talking of pampered tulips that had died. Edy’s wails of agony were torture to Richard, as he held his sobbing sister. How could anyone so ugly as Carman had been so loved, he wondered? Doctor Llewellyn gave Edy a mixture of her own recipe, and she eventually calmed and slept. Hannah Lawson came with a servant to watch over Edy, while Richard went to fetch Fewox from Cary s crowd at Romney Marsh, and to get his wife for the family pilgrimage to Scuppernong.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Eighteen
For nearly forty years, Anne Fewox had mourned the loss of two children; Mary, who d been a laughing baby, and the infant son whose death was on the same day as Anne’s own birthday, forever marring any celebration offered her. And now, two more were gone. To bury infant children was painful, but not so strange. Nearly everyone performed that dreadful task. But to outlive children who were older than she’d been when widowed by their father was not normal. The delicate and beautiful things she loved all seemed to die. God had cursed her. He’d taken her mother, her babies, their father, and now, her delicate and beautiful grown children. And still, she lived on. Robert Fewox comforted his stepmother, the two widows, and Richard’s wife and daughters with yaupon tea, as James and Richard sat outside, shaded beneath the ancient grape arbor at Scuppernong, saying nothing. Finally, Richard spoke. "I’ll take Mother back to the Machapungo, with me." "Why?" Fewox asked. "What makes you think she’d go?" "Edy will come. And, Mother might come if you do. It’s time you stopped getting between the government and Cary, anyway, old man." "Your mother wouldn’t come because of me. You know that. She doesn’tneed me anymore. And she’s got my Robert," James Fewox said. "Strange," Richard thought aloud. She has all these children, but it s Robert who takes care of her. "Scuppernong will be his one day, let’s remember. It’s his now, for all I care," Fewox said. A rumbling came across the Albemarle Sound, and then another. "Thunder!" Richard’s little Sally came running out into the sunlight, yelling, "Thunder!" as she shielded her eyes and looked about the clear horizon.
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Becoming Americans But no more of the rumblings were heard and Richard looked to Fewox, who was smiling. "Cannon," Fewox said. "Cary did get the ships armed. Damn me, for a nonbeliever!" he said, and slapped his thigh. "Do you mean Cary has attacked Governor Hyde?" Richard was alarmed. He’d been afraid something foolish would happen, but he had no idea Cary had armed ships. It was a good thing Edward wasn’t here! Fewox was silent, his hand cupped to an ear to catch more echoes of cannon fire. "No rain?" Sally asked. "Not today, Sally. Soon, I think," Richard told his daughter. Fewox finally took his hand down, puzzled. "Damned shortest battle I ever heard of," he said. "Congratulations to the victor," he said, and emptied his tankard of rum punch.
By nightfall, stragglers from Cary’s army were fleeing south across the Albemarle, running from the government troops. Two servants of Edward’s came with the large pirogue to tell their mistress and the gathering of mourners at Bull Bay of the happenings. Edward’s livestock and servants had been frightened by the noise of Cary’s rag-tag army trampling south from the nearby ferry landing. Everyone was spellbound by the story that the servants told. "Cary had got two boats with six guns, and sailed up by where Governor Hyde was having a meeting of big men at Mister Pollock’s. But the cannon balls rolled off the roof into the garden, and some of de Graffenried’s servant’s dressed in livery ran out to see what was happening. Cary and the sailors thought the servants were marines!" He stopped talking when Anne and Fewox started laughing. Edward’s widow almost laughed. Edy shook her head. Richard laughed, but a serious look from Jean caused him to be more discreet. "And Cary’s sailors didn’t know what they were doing, and they ran aground." BOSON BOOKS
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Anne and Fewox laughed again. "Then there was a little skirmish between the two sides, while Cary took off for Virginia. Hyde’s sent to Governor Spotswood for help." Anne’s laughter had already stopped. She was silent for a moment, then returned to the wrenching sobs of earlier.
Fewox was right, Anne wouldn’t move. She’d moved for the last time, she said. Pathelia Williams was nearby, and their shared grief was a comfort. She had old friends in Chowan and Perquimans. Edy went with Richard to the Machapungo, quiet and resigned. Her mother had insisted. There were single men in Bath, she d said, and Edy would need a man to take care of her. Fewox was easily persuaded to come back to the Machapungo. Glover had no need for him, and he was known and laughed at in Albemarle. There were plenty worse than he in Bath and, even at his ancient age, he could be of help to Richard with his ciphering. He’d always had a mind for numbers.
By September, Cary had been captured and sent to London for trial. Daily life returned to normal, even though an air of uncertainty hung over the Pamticoe and Bath areas, and the yellow fever had not slowed. Early in the month, Joseph came to the Pamticoe to trade with a hogshead of sweet-scented he d earned by trading shingles and staves through his brother John. Joseph s trip to Middlesex for sweet-scented had been unsettling. John had moved from the manor house and was, now, a paid overseer, living with his wife and son in a small cottage built by the new owners. Joseph was gratified with his own success, though, pleased to have his sweet-scented, knowing that with it he could get gold coins in Carolina from privateers and merchants. He could make a better deal on a slave in Norfolk if he paid in gold. BOSON BOOKS
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A fortnight after leaving Middlesex, Joseph took his recovered son James on a long-postponed trip to Carolina. The boy was strong, at last, and Joseph was certain that this son was not like his brother, Edward. This boy was level-headed and destined for success. He and James led the oxcart with the tobacco aboard down the Carolina Road and over to John’s Currituck plantation. The Currituck plantation had been a disappointment to John. His final hope for becoming rich with naval products from Catherine’s inheritance had been, sadly, dashed when he realized that the land had been cleared of pines. Pines were the easiest and first to go when Dean settled there forty years earlier, and they d not been allowed to re-seed. Drainage ditches that Dean had dug, however, had proved invaluable this year. John had rented men to work the plantation and had them use fresh water flowing from the Swamp to irrigate the corn during the year of drought. They produced a scrawny crop of corn, but John did better than the farmers down in Bath and Pamticoe. Father, son, and two of John s rented men transferred the hogshead of tobacco from the oxcart into the wide cypress pirogue. Joseph, and his silent James, sat in front of the hogshead and helped John’s strong men pole and row the loaded boat down the Sound and up the Pamptico River, then the Machapungo, to Richard’s pine plantation. This trip to Machapungo was the first meeting of the brothers since the family losses. Richard was a busy man, with little inclination for mourning. His wife and children made his life full and he was proud of the life that he could afford them. He and Jean were expecting another child in two months, and Topac had assured them it would be a boy, his first son. He told Joseph of his plans to build a two-room frame house this winter, that would be built with sawn lumber, imported brick for two chimneys, and glass windows to look out at the broad and beautiful Machapungo. Joseph admitted his dream of building a mill. Edy seldom spoke, now, Richard said. She should be living with her mother. Fewox stayed drunk and was of little use, although he was tolerated, even as he issued orders that everyone ignored. After dinner, Richard and the drunken Fewox urged Joseph to take this opportunity to visit his mother and Pathelia while he was in Carolina. The road north from Bath was safe now, Fewox said, and after his visit Pathelia s man could take Joseph from Scuppernong to Currituck to rejoin James, at John’s plantation. Richard promised that if Joseph preferred he, himself, would go with the men to take the young James back to Currituck. Joseph relented, and on the second morning Richard joined them in the pirogue, and they coasted with the outgoing tide and river flow into the Pamticoe. BOSON BOOKS
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The Pamticoe was low and sluggish because of the year’s long drought. Trunks of dead trees were exposed, and sandbars had become islands with grass already covering parts of them. Richard worried aloud that, before long, even those boats of shallow draft that carried away his naval stores wouldn’t make their way to Bath. Already, his pier into the Machapungo was too short, and his goods were loaded with great labor from shore to boat and then aboard the larger boats. But, he didn’t worry overly, he said. Life was good and getting better. Now that there was only one, undisputed Governor, there was hope for stability.
The fever still gripped Bath, so Joseph took little time to dispose of the sweetscented tobacco in exchange for a great number of coins. Much of the second afternoon in Bath was spent studying the grist mill that sat idle because of the drought. Doctor Llewellyn admitted that he, Lawson, and their partner, Christopher Gale, had made a foolish mistake. They should have gone to the expense of converting the mill to saw wood when not used for grinding corn or wheat. They could be producing lumber. This was the first trip to Bath for James. He d been too sick to join his father on earlier trips, but he had been to towns in Virginia. He couldn’t help but compare Bath with Williamsburgh and Norfolk Town. Bath was a village, occupied by the Governor’s troops, and inhabited by surly foreigners. Scots, Germans, and French accents made the locals hard to understand, although their spirit and the hospitality and food afforded them by Hannah Lawson were generous. Still, James was not impressed with the village. He wished he d stayed home where he was comfortable. The next day, Joseph thanked his hostess and bid his brother farewell, entrusting him with his elder son. Then, he set out north to the Albemarle, accompanying troops of Governor Hyde’s militia. Richard, James, and John’s two men climbed into the high-riding pirogue at dawn, and pushed off from Lawson’s dock waving good-bye to Hannah and her children. They paddled easily and slowly down the creek, into the Pamticoe. They’d not quite reached Romney Marsh when Richard saw smoke rising from the south side of the river. The men thought, at first, that it was the sign of settlers clearing land, but then they noticed that the smoke came from too many locations, and was spreading. One of John’s men was the first to spot a drifting pirogue. They paddled towards the south side of the stream to capture the pirogue and saw, to their amazement and horror, that the boat held a family of seven, all dead from arrows and spears that had hit BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans them in the chest, and upon which they’d fallen. Then, other bodies floated by; some shot, some burned beyond recognition. "Deep!" Richard pleaded with the men to paddle hard and fast. The Tuscarora had obviously begun the war that many had feared, but for which no one had prepared. The men returned quickly to the north edge of the river’s current, seeing that all the settlements on the south shore were ablaze, their tar pits billowing black smoke. The sound of beating drums carried across the water, and everyone’s thoughts clung to the knowledge that most of the Algonqiun were not allied with the Tuscarora, and hopes that the north-side settlements of the river would be spared. Hope died when an arrow shot from the north shore struck the pirogue, and gunshots were heard coming from that direction. Romney Marsh was quiet. Cary’s white militia had long ago deserted the campgrounds. There was no organized help for Bath and Pamticoe settlers, Richard knew. As the men headed the pirogue into the Machapungo, Richard stood to see the smoke rising from upriver. All were silent as they dug their paddles deeply and in unison. James was whimpering with fear as the pirogue was beached and the men waded through the mud to shore. All of the cabins and outbuildings were smoldering or were still ablaze. The drained pine forest had burned back to the untapped area, and these parched trees exploded as the heat approached. Black smoke from dozens of barrels of tar and rosin blew towards them, then away, as the awful heat created currents in the air. James Fewox was the first one found. He lay in the front yard, his head on a pillow. He’d been shot in the face. Elizabeth’s body lay beside that of her puppy, both with their throats slit. The child’s long, blond hair was gone. Unable to hear his own screams, Richard was pulled away from the sight of his wife, impaled on a stake, with their unborn boy ripped from the womb and draped across a dogwood branch. Inside the still-standing house they found Edy, set upon her knees, her hands lifted up as if she were at prayers, leaning against a chair in the chimney corner, her petticoats turned up over her crushed head. Richard’s youngest daughter, Sally, was gone, and so was Tapoc. The burned cabins held charred bodies of Richard’s men. There was no sign of life, only smoke and heat and awful smells. Richard’s men were frightened for their lives, and tied their raving master fast, and carried him back to the pirogue. The men, with a sobbing but quickly compliant James, paddled furiously toward the Pamticoe and up towards the Albemarle and safety.
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Joseph found his son and brother, Richard, at John’s Currituck plantation. Richard would go to Bull Bay and his mother, for now. Joseph took his speechless son back to Deep Creek where, for months, the boy would awaken screaming as Stephen shook him, thinking that Satan must have possessed his brother.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Nineteen
Oars split the flowing calm of the Southern Branch. Joseph and Richard worked in tandem with the boys, James and Stephen; James teamed with Richard, Stephen with his father. Sweat matted their hair and the men had shed their coats, the boys their vests, on the steamy August morning. While they paused on an upstroke, Richard joked about the Cherry girl he d seen James talking to. Uncle and nephew stuck together when Richard visited Deep Creek, but never spoke of past horrors. Stephen wasn t jealous of the relationship; it made things equal. He was closer, himself, with the Biggses. Traffic had increased on the Elizabeth River since the end of Queen Anne s War the previous year, and the river often carried bumpy swells in the wake of merchant ships and the towering warships of the British Empire. On some days, with the swells, there were cross-currents, obstinate winds, and hidden traffic. It was no fun for Stephen, not when he was working the boat with James and their father. James could be slow and uncertain. But on this summer day the river was calm and smooth, no wakes from passing ships, no ripples from a breeze. The marsh grasses were dusty and motionless. The only movement outside the boat was a cloud of swarming gnats that followed. As they reached the mouth of the Eastern Branch, the men saw ships and boats of all sizes tied up at the docks and anchored in the river off Norfolk Town; a forest of barren masts that reminded Stephen of burned-out patches in the swamp when fire stripped the tall cypress, juniper and pine. There she is, Joseph told his brother. John, it says, and under that, Bristol. Father s cousin s boat. Our cousin s boat. Your factor s boat, Richard said. They lifted their oars from the water and the boat drifted. Joseph dragged his oar to correct their drift as they quietly approached the John. Our James has too strong an arm, he does, Joseph complained, proudly. Ahoy! Richard called up to the deck. A noseless sailor leaned over the rail. We wish to speak with Mister Williams! Joseph called. We are his American kin!
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Becoming Americans Mister Williams is ashore at the Caliph s Head! the sailor called back. He turned away and was gone. Good. I prefer talking to him on shore, Joseph mumbled. But we wanted to see the ship, Stephen said. His father ignored him. Yes, we ll tie up here and meet our cousin at Goodwin s place, then, Joseph told his crew. They secured the boat at the foot of the Street to Waterside and walked on crushed oyster shells to Market Place. A few torn banners draped listlessly from poles and buildings, still hanging from the celebration of The Pretender s flight from England back to France. Farmers and merchants were chatting loudly while they worked, adding to and re-arranging displays for the next day. Tuesdays and Thursdays were market days; on Wednesdays, the taverns and coffeehouses were particularly busy. The clean, soft crunching of oyster shells underfoot prompted Joseph to speak. I ve decided to pave my place with oyster shells, too, he said. In front of the manor house. All my dock and wharf frontage. The path to the mill. I m thinking, even, all the road to Great Bridge that passes over the property. No ruddy ruts for the wagons of corn, Richard continued for him. Taking away Williams s milled corn. For pone and pudding. He turned to James. You ll someday be a wealthy miller s boy, he said. Father s got to build it first, Stephen interjected. Thank heavens my factor is a cousin, Joseph thought aloud. count for extra credit.
That should
It didn t help John, Richard said. Joseph ignored him. John had been overconfident of his situation. He d died a pauper soon after being forced to sell Catherine s plantation for satisfaction of obligations to Cousin Edward Williams. The eldest brother had lived his comfortable but humiliating last years at the tolerance of Aunt Mary s unknown and never-seen nephew. John s widow, Catherine, had remarried and moved with their son, William, to live near the head of the Rappahannock River. There d been no news from her since. Joseph was not so reckless as his brother and had no intention of leaving his wife and children in such a situation as had his father and his brother. He was willing to BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans venture for improvement, but he was not a gambler. Once, he d lost a sum to a thimble and button man who was passing by Deep Creek on his way to the Norfolk County fair. The outlandish stranger wore a short great coat that was white, with large black buttons, and appeared at a time when Joseph was feeling quite old, having lost two brothers and two sisters within three years. The loss of fifty tanned hides to the thimble and button man had been a stinging shock to Joseph, and he d sworn off such uncertain frivolity. Stephen lagged sufficiently behind the others so that he could concentrate on the crunching of the shells. Norfolk Town was so busy and noisy that he wanted to listen to just one thing while he got used to the confusion. He liked the clean, crunching sound of the shells. He hoped his father did put them everywhere. He looked up and saw a girl arranging oranges in a pile. Stephen looked back down, still thinking of her face. He couldn t help but blush. There were so many pretty girls in one place. He looked back up and around, to see if there were other girls to look at and remember.
The sign of the Caliph s Head hung where there was previously a painted replica of a fully rigged ship, sails full of strong, good wind. Jeremiah Goodwin s place had been just one of a dozen taverns and ordinaries in Norfolk Town before the ambitious owner jumped to take advantage of a fashion that had captured Virginia when it arrived in the holds of ships from New York and Britain. Coffee and, now, tea were becoming favored drinks and stimulants by those who could afford them. Some ordinaries offered only coffee, but Jeremiah Goodwin s Caliph s Head offered both of these exotic beverages from the East. Goodwin s strong rum punch, Richard said. That s what I crave. I ll have tea with father and Cousin Edward, James said. I want to try the coffee, Stephen said. He whispered to James, Billy Manning said it makes you run faster. James opened the door to the Caliph s Head for his father and uncle and went in after them, pulling the door behind while Stephen looked up and down the busy street. He was left to pull at the heavy door himself.
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Becoming Americans The room looked like any other ordinary. Tobacco smoke clouded the air and turned the mid-morning sunlight into a flowing blue stream as it poured through the opened windows. But a man got used to the smell of smoke and stale beer in an ordinary. At the Caliph s Head the smell of tea and coffee blended and darkened the aroma; made it exotic. Stephen wondered if that was the smell of the air in those far-off lands, like the smell of swamp rot was at Deep Creek, or the salt air in the harbor, or the dried tobacco on a plantation in the fall, and here in Norfolk Town down by the warehouses. Joseph recognized his unknown cousin in the old man he saw across the room. The man looked like Joseph s father might have had he lived. The pulled-back hair of the top of his wig, and the long, broad curls running in pairs backwards from the temples, emphasized a round, jowly face that Joseph saw in memories of his father, and in his own reflection in the looking-glass above the fireplace mantle. He recognized that jowly tendency and looked closely at his boys. There he be, I warrant, Richard said, pointing to the man. I don t gamble, Joseph replied, and led the others toward the gentleman s table. The old man slowly rose and held out a hand of thick and stubby fingers, lace falling nearly to the knuckles. He didn t smile, but seemed to be appraising his colonist kin. You are Joseph, and you are Richard. Richard . eyes looked through his grandnephew.
He repeated the name as his
And you are he after whom our late brother, Edward, was named, Richard said. May he rest in peace, yes. Sit here. Edward Williams indicated his table. It s late in the morning, Edward said, Goodwin s busy hour. But he s held the chairs for us. Without my ships and credit it would still be the Good Wind Grog, Ale, and Slop Shop. He laughed and slapped his fat thigh. The American Williamses laughed along, Joseph a little more enthusiastically. I only now arrived. Ordered a pot of Black Dust. Gunpowder. Black Dust will do, I hope?
Had no Hyson, no
Oh yes, Joseph said. Richard murmured ignorant agreement while the boys looked through the haze of tobacco smoke, around the roomful of men.
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Becoming Americans It was a rougher, coarser group than in Williamsburgh. Some were drinking ale, others rum, some tea; most were drinking coffee. The boys recognized three of them as acquaintances of their father and uncle. I am most pleased to have this opportunity to meet you, the old man said to the younger Williams men. He took a silver snuffbox from a pocket. Your mother was a Biggs, I understand. Yes, Cousin. answered.
Her father was John Biggs, born in Southampton,
Joseph
And a friend of my own father, I m told, Edward Williams said, ignoring Joseph. Uncle John wrote me of it some years ago. From Kent, I think Uncle said. Turned Quaker, did he? He inserted a pinch of the brown powder into a nostril and sniffed. He did, Sir, Joseph said. But our mother was raised a staunch Christian. But I d heard . The old man sneezed, and Richard interrupted. Our mother sat with the Friends to save her children. She is a true believer, Sir. She has paid mightily for her trespasses. If, indeed, she ever made trespasses that God would note. Richard s voice wavered at the edge of anger. I wager we ve all made transgression of note. effort to retreat from offending.
The old man made a diplomatic
That s a bet I ll not accept, Cousin! Joseph laughed, making an effort to lighten conversation. We are most pleased to meet you, Sir. Are you enjoying your visit to the colonies, Uncle? James asked. Stephen wasn t surprised to hear his brother interrupt the men s conversation at a time of tension. Family and friends called James, the peacemaker. I am, Young Sir. Each one, so different. Your Virginia is most beautiful and restful. No cities. That’s good. City living jars the nerves. And the poor get restless in cities. Foment trouble. BOSON BOOKS
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Norfolk is a city, Stephen thought to say, but knew he d be ignored. Williamsburgh is a pretty, prosperous village, I think. Some fine buildings in Williamsburgh, Edward said. Father has taken us to Williamsburgh, Stephen said, wanting to say something. I see. The old man acknowledged Stephen s existence. As my father did with me and our brother, John, Joseph explained. When James Town was seat of government. He thought it important that his sons see the King s presence. Our grandfather died while fighting for the first King Charles. Your grandfather was my own uncle, remember, Edward Williams said. heard the tales.
I ve
Stephen stared at the old man. Did you know of our Uncle Edward? My namesake? Yes. An adventurous privateer, was he? Richard spoke in defense. Queen, he was.
He died in Queen Anne s War. Fighting for the
James elaborated. His boat was escorting a shipment of naval stores from Carolina. Hmmn. I ve heard that story, too Edward said. And you lost your brother John. A clever man. Too clever, maybe. I ve come here from business up the Piankatank, near where he lived. They speak highly of your John Williams, still, in Middlesex. And of Uncle John. Bad luck. The Williamses have spread themselves thin in America, it seems. Middlesex, Norfolk, Carolina. Richard s busy eyebrows rose. Williamses here are tight.
We re not thin in America, Cousin.
The
Edward continued with his thought. And now, I have a foot in Virginia because another planter in Middlesex spread himself too thin. I was force to take his plantation and sell it. What, pray, do I need with a Virginia plantation?
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Becoming Americans A man must pay his debts, Cousin, Joseph said. Did you sell his wife and daughters? Richard asked. I say! Edward was surprised at the impertinence of his nephew. Other patrons in the coffeehouse looked in their direction. Joseph laughed. I warrant we ve a rougher sense of humor in Virginia, Sir, than you find in Bristol. The old cavalier relaxed and joined with the laughter. Cousin. I keep the best for my own stables, he said.
No, I didn t sell them,
The serving girl came with their pot of tea. James and Stephen focused on the pear-shaped silver pot, and the tiny lamp beneath that kept the tea warm. They d never been served from silver before, and knew that old Cousin Edward was a man of substance to warrant Jeremiah Goodwin s silver service. Stephen’s eyes moved, and stayed on the girl as she placed blue and white cups and saucers around the table. This china ware comes as ballast in the ships. The English cousin spoke to the boys. Tea shipments are too light. The girl put down a pewter bowl piled with chunks of sugar and a small, earthenware pitcher of cream. The ancient cavalier held a lump of sugar in a spoon, watching it absorb the tea and dissolve. This is my first visit to the Virginia colony, he said. Norfolk is a bustling little frontier port, I see, he said. Frontier? was the defensive question in the minds of the local Williamses. It s growing very quickly, Cousin, Joseph said. I m proud to say that some of our timbers are in this very building. Growing very quickly, yes. Lots of mouths to feed.
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Becoming Americans Joseph knew this was the time to speak. Tomorrow, Edward Williams sailed for Bristol. That s why I m determined to construct a mill!" Joseph leaned forward and rushed on. "I could feed the county with the corn I d grind in a tidal mill. And we re at the head of the creek, where the timber meets the water. Richard could run a sash saw with the wheel. We d clapboard the county! Joseph stopped himself. He was almost across the table, staring into the face of the old man. James and Richard looked to each other. Stephen looked at his father. He’d never seen his father so excited before. My cousin Richard did well in coming to America, Edward said, daintily stirring sugar into his tea, then pouring a stream of heavy cream on top. We are all proud of what our father did, and hope to build on what he left us, Joseph said, and leaned back into his chair. Left your mother with a hefty debt, I m told. And that s what drove her to the Quaker heresy? To save your birthrights, you say? The Biggses had been God-fearing folks in Kent. It pleased my father to hear of the union of Richard with that family. Before John Biggs turned Quaker, of course. Our mother is a pious believer, Cousin. She has redeemed herself from any unbecoming associations, Richard said. Stephen took his eyes from the serving girl to look more closely at the old man. His relative lifted his cup to his nose, eyes closed, to sample the aroma of the steaming liquid. He placed it back on the saucer. She s an honest woman, she is, Richard said with rising heat. She taught us to pay our debts, Joseph added, thinking of her most unnecessary act of repaying a debt caused by her husband s counterfeiting. Grandmother Fewox has friends in the best homes of Virginia and Carolina, James said. He was the favorite grandchild, and this old man from England would not speak ill of her!
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Becoming Americans Son, Joseph said, Cousin Edward meant no disrespect to your grandmother. Norfolk County is not the world, you know. It is we who are not so mindful of the limits of respectability. We live amongst Quakers. Due to our long and forced proximity to dissenters, we sometimes forget that association might cast an unfavorable light on us. Exactly, Cousin. An unfortunate reflection, that s all, the old man said. And, amongst us, I ve never met a dishonest Quaker. I ll give them that for what it s worth, weighed against their arrogance and blasphemy. Edward removed the excess snuff from his nose with a tiny, silver spoon. Appearance matters more than reality in many things, Richard said. And money can buy appearance, Joseph added. Edward Williams sipped his tea, gave a grunt of disgust, then turned in his seat and spat his tea on the floor. "Wench!" The frightened girl hurried to their table, spilling coffee onto her apron. "What is this slop you’ve poured into my cup, Miss Betty? I asked for Black Dust! I wanted tea! What is this black dust, cinders?" The men in the room were listening, waiting for the girl to call for Goodwin. She straightened and spoke. "I don’t know, Sir. It’s the Black Dust what you sold my master, Sir," she said. The men’s laughter drowned out all outside sounds. Edward Williams would not be laughed at. "Then it’s you who don’t know how to prepare it! You colonists attempt to rise above yourselves when you approach the gracious aspects of life," he replied aloud. Some of the sailors, and two gentlemen, laughed. Other men rose up in anger. Willie Goodwin hurried into the room, wiping his hands on his shirt. "Gentlemen, please! Mr. Williams, is there a problem?"
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Becoming Americans "Goodwin, if you’d spend less time peppering Miss Betty, here, and more time teaching the slut the arts of tea preparation, the customers would not be forced to riot!" "The tea is not to your satisfaction, Sir?" "The drink bears no resemblance to tea! The wench has destroyed the fine product I delivered to you. Bring me and my guests coffee. And would you please be so kind as to prepare it yourself?" "He don’t let me fix it," the girl mumbled. "Oh? Then, my apologies, Sir. But for God’s sake, let the girl make the coffee," Edward said. The men laughed again, and those who’d stood sat back down. Joseph was agitated. He wanted to talk about the mill! "I hope you took no offense, Cousins. I’ve found such ignorance among many of the colonists," Edward said. "We must assume so, Cousin." Joseph leaned back on the table. "But we Virginians are humble in our ignorance, and are dependent on friends back home in England to speed our growth towards knowledge in all spheres."
"With what benefit to your friends in Bristol?" Edward asked. He leaned forward in his chair, smiling. Stephen knew that the bargaining had begun. Grandmother Bourne always said the Williamses were "thick as thieves."
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Becoming Americans Chapter Twenty
A cold April breeze blew from the north. Stephen stopped in his work and stood upright, letting the short-handled, hoe-shaped broadax serve as a prop. He turned to face the moving air, closed his eyes and let the air chill his sweating, bare chest. Maybe a traveling female would see him from the Great Bridge road. Her horse would stumble and he’d run to catch her . He lifted the heavy broadax and felt the muscles in his arm tighten and swell. He smiled at himself. He was the tallest, strongest and most handsome of his age group. In three months he’d be a tithable and in the militia. He wasn’t the best shot, and he was having trouble learning the march commands as he watched James drill, but he could pin any of his peers in a wrestling match. He’d seen girls and some women watching him. It was time he had a woman. He was old enough. In frustration, Stephen opened his eyes and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He stepped away from the long framing timber he was dressing, and stepped into the shadows. He took off his cocked hat and fanned his neck as he lifted his blond hair by the cord that bound it in the back. Stephen’s hair had never turned black like the rest of the family’s, it remained a dark blond that his Grandmother Bourne claimed he’d inherited from her. He looked around the busy yard and went back to work. Hardware for the mill would be arriving in the summer, and much was left to be done. Stephen’s father, Uncle Richard, and brother had gone up the James, the Rappahannock, and the York to visit and examine mills. Stephen was left at home, under the supervision of his Great-uncle Thomas Biggs, to help prepare timbers for the more skilled workers to drill and chisel mortise and tenon joints. Stephen had wanted to go along and James hadn’t, but his father had insisted that the oldest son and heir be a part of the mill from its beginning. Stephen didn’t care about the mill, but stories that came back with Governor Spotswood’s return from exploring the Appalachian Mountains made him curious about places that were different. "Bugger you!" Stephen heard a worker’s loud, angry voice. He turned to see one of the hired men pull a broadax from the timber he was dressing and throw it at a man doing like work fifteen feet away. The twirling handle hit the man in the chest and knocked him to the ground. The thrower fell on top of him and started punching. The stunned victim tried to ward off the blows while thrashing with his legs. "Get ye two apart," Thomas Biggs yelled as he ran toward the fight. BOSON BOOKS
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Stephen dropped his ax and joined the gathering crowd. Willy Biggs, Thomas’s son, ran to stand beside Stephen. The two boys yelled encouragement to one fighter, then to the other. Thomas reached the crowd and pushed the boys apart, then bent down and separated the fighters. "I’ll have no more of this conduct. Thee art not in the swamp with thy cutthroat friends, today, Mister Jones! Mister Black Jack, back to thy work!" The two fighting men calmed, then dusted themselves off, muttered, and picked up their axes. Neither challenged the giant referee, Thomas Biggs. "Stephen!" Thomas glared at his nephew’s son. "Yes?" "Why art thee naked in public with no shirt?" The crowd of men chuckled. One of them called out, "Yeah, Stephen. Why’s that?" The soft sound of horses hoofs stepping on oyster shells caught everyone’s attention and turned their heads. The wind lifted the skirts of the female rider and Stephen stepped from the crowd, drawing himself almost as tall as his uncle. "It is thy sister, Ann Harbut, Stephen," Thomas Biggs told him. Stephen ran to greet his sister and brother-in-law as the men went back to work. "Hello, Ann," he said. "Dick." He smiled up at his brother-in-law. "And, hello, Little James," he said to his young nephew. Little James rode seated behind his father. "Hello, Bess," he said to the toddler who rode in front of her mother. Ann Harbut stopped her horse. "Stephen Williams! strangers?"
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Becoming Americans "It was hot before this breeze came up," he said defiantly. "Father would whip you if he were here. You know that!" His older sister shared their father’s concern for appearance. "Ann.," Richard Harbut started. "Father’s not here," Stephen said. "Welcome to Williams manor, Mistress Harbut," he said, and bowed low with a graceful sweep of his hat. "Put on your shirt, Stephen," his sister said, then nudged the horse toward the house Richard Harbut lifted his son to the ground. "Grandmother! Grandma Bourne!" The little boy ran ahead, calling to Mary Williams and the ancient Mary Bourne. Ann had come early to her mother’s house to lie-in for the birth of her third child. The Harbuts were moving in with the Williamses while Dick Harbut oversaw the construction of the Williams mill. The house would be crowded, but it had been worse. "Dick said I should come early, Mother. He wouldn t be able to bring me next week. He’s finishing a warehouse up at Great Bridge. Dick Harbut had arrived in Virginia with little more than his carpenter tools, but that was more than enough. Skilled carpenters were scarce in Norfolk Town and in the southern counties. Joseph had met Harbut at the courthouse soon after the man’s arrival, and decided that the soft-spoken Harbut would be perfect for his daughter, Ann. A carpenter was exactly what he needed, certainly. So, to help his aging and stern daughter, Ann was given a dowry of dressed white oak framing timbers, and one thousand feet of sawn poplar planks. The dowry was appealing to Harbut, and so was the prospect of a continuing source of good timber. Ann tried to be a good wife, and followed the example of her mother in urging her husband on to perfection. But, sometimes that effort caused her vexation, as did her children’s behavior. Ann was already concerned about her children. Both were demanding and obstinate, she often said, despite the whippings she gave Little James and the solitude she used to punish the willful toddler, Elizabeth. "This next one is going to be better," Ann told the family as they ate dinner. "That’s what I said after you came," Mary Williams told her oldest daughter. BOSON BOOKS
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The family started to laugh, but stopped when Sister Mary’s laugh became too loud. Sister Mary always laughed when someone else did. "Why didn’t Aunt Pathelia come with Uncle Richard?" Ann asked. "She could have been helpful with Father and James away." "Your Aunt Pathelia says she feels uncomfortable here, what with people talking about her so," her mother said. Ann was adamant. "She should have thought about that when she married excuse me, became the mistress of her brother-in-law! There can be no marriage in Carolina, I don’t care what their Proprietors say. God recognizes no ceremonies without one of His licensed ministers." "So, then, your mother is a bastard! Why don’t you say it?" her Grandmother Bourne demanded. "Say, ’Our sister is an evil bitch,’ Sister Mary," Stephen said. evil bitch.
Our Sister is an
"Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch ." Sister Mary started a chant. "Stop it, Stephen. Be quiet, Sister Mary, and chew you food," their mother said. "At least your mother was born of love," Mary Bourne said, finishing the conversation. "I can eat no more," Ann Harbut said, and stood up. She held her huge stomach as she walked to the bed opposite the fire. Little James took up Sister Mary’s chant and banged his spoon on the table, yelling, "Bitch, bitch, bitch." Sister Mary chimed in with him. "Children, stop it! Mary Williams had had enough. She was tired. She was over forty years old and pregnant, herself, although no one knew of it but her. She was waiting for Joseph to get back before she told.
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Becoming Americans Stephen was disgusted with the women, and got up from the table without saying a word. He filled his pipe, lit it with a coal, and then went outside to smoke. But, it was cool after sunset, too cool. After finishing the pipe, he went back inside and climbed up to the loft and got in bed, still clothed, beside the sleeping Little James. Stephen was awakened in the middle of the night by cries of pain. He realized that Ann s baby was coming, and earlier than she d expected. He heard a muffled shhh, and women s voices, low and soothing. Little James stirred in his sleep. Stephen put an arm around the child and went back to sleep. He awoke again, hearing the lusty cries of a newborn baby. The women had done their work. In the morning they would present him with another nephew. He hoped they named it Stephen. He awoke a third time, just before dawn. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and of his mother s and his grandfather s snores. He lay in the still, listening to the comforting sounds. He heard his grandmother whispering to Elizabeth, his niece. Get back in bed, now, Bess. Don t want to wake up your mother. mother s tired, dear. Get back in bed with your Grandma Williams.
Your
Stephen loved the sounds of home. He wished he were with James and their father, seeing the country, but he loved the sounds of home. One day, he would see the country. He d go to Carolina again, and he d visit his Grandma Fewox and his Uncle Richard, but he wanted to always have a warm home with warm sounds. The new baby started crying, again, but the hearty screams, soon, were muffled. Then, they stopped. Stephen drifted off again but soon was re-awakened, this time by smoke then, fully, by cries for help. He jumped from the bed, pulling the startled Little James with him. Go outside! Now! he yelled at the frightened child, then dropped the boy down into the hall. He stepped into his shoes and climbed down the ladder. Smoke had filled the room. Flames engulfed the fireplace end and crawled across the ceiling. My baby! My baby!
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Becoming Americans Ann s voice pulled Stephen s eyes to her where she lay in bed, struggling to rise with a limp, naked, infant in her arms. His mother was helping Ann from the bed, while Grandmother Bourne tugged at the child. There were screams other than his sister s, and Stephen looked through the smoke towards the fire. His niece Elizabeth. Her dress had burned away. Her hair had burned off. Her little body was on fire! Stephen rushed for the child, but flames drove him back. His shirt caught fire and he smelled his own hair burning. He couldn t reach the child, and before she fell her screams had stopped.
Mother sick, Grandmother? Mother sick? Little James tugged at his grandmother s skirts. Ann lay sobbing atop the salvaged cloths that were spread upon the oxcart. She held a dead baby. Where Bess, Grandmother? Where Bess? Mary Bourne stood with an arm around Sister Mary staring, first, at the unrecognizable charred remains of Bess, then at the lifeless infant Ann held. One leg was much shorter than the other, and the face was split with a hare-lip. Stephen turned to stare at his Grandmother Bourne. Those children always die real early, Child. Almost always. Mary Williams tried to comfort her daughter who’d lost two children in one night. Take the boy somewhere, Stephen, she said. Take him away. Find him something to eat. Neighbors had gathered from the creeks and river and from the swamp. Some had brought tools, some had brought food. Dick Harbut galloped up and ran to his wife. Stephen led Little James to a Biggs aunt, and wandered away from the crowd. He still saw the fire, the dead baby, Bess in flames and screaming. He still heard the silence that happened when she d stopped. He walked up the creek to where thick locust poles had been sunk for his father s tidal mill. The sun was above the trees and shining on the ashes of the Deep Creek manor. His home was gone and his Grandmother Bourne had . He couldn t let the thought into his mind, at first, but he finally knew that BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans his Grandmother Bourne had suffocated the crippled baby. Maybe his Grandmother Fewox had been right, and Grandmother Bourne was a witch! Maybe God had caused the fire as punishment! Thomas Biggs came up to him. Stephen s mother wanted him to feed the animals and to say good-bye, he said. Mary, Ann and Little James, with Sister Mary and Grandmother Bourne were going to Thomas s house at Great Bridge until his father, brother, and Uncle Richard returned. Will we still go with Grandpa Bourne to the swamp? Stephen asked his mother. Yes, she said. Your father still needs timbers for the mill. There s no change in that. Your cousin, Willy Biggs, is going with you, Dick, and Pa to the swamp. I ll stay with Ann till she s right to travel home by road. Oak trees with broad, curving limbs were needed for cutting into strong, arched pieces for wheels and gears. Maple blocks would make hard teeth when set into the wheels as cogs for gears. Grandpa Bourne knew where to lead Dick to find the wood he wanted. He d find good trees near the edge of the swamp; he d find more workers deeper in it. Stephen had been looking forward to the search, now he was desperate to go deep into the swamp, further away from people than he d ever been. He was eager to be away from the evidence of man s temporary creations, and the mysterious female magic of life and death. He wanted to think about what he d seen and heard. Dick Harbut decided to bury Bess, with the unnamed child, at the Deep Creek plantation. There d been no minister in Norfolk County for over a year, so the warden of Elizabeth River parish said words over the two bodies as they were interred beside the resting-place of their great-grandfather, Richard Williams. Their mother was not recovered and remained in bed at her Great-uncle Thomas s. Stephen helped lower the little box into the earth while wondering about his Grandmother Bourne s actions. Had she been right to kill the twisted and deformed infant, or should she have let the child bring suffering and shame to the family? Stephen had wanted to speak to his mother and his sister about what he knew had happened, but he didn t. The cold, dry eyes of his grandmother and his mother stopped him. Maybe it was a woman s duty to make such decisions and to act on them. Women were weak in so many things, but they did some things that few men could. There were male witches, Stephen knew, but he d never heard talk of one.
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Daniel Bourne was almost seventy years old, but the thick, rich air of the swamp sank deep into him, making him hardy and alert. He chewed on a sassafras twig; the taste was good with the chew of tobacco. He was a man again, in his own territory, amongst the challenges he knew. He could sense the forces of God and of the Devil all around. Life, in all forms, was everywhere. Trees towered above, with vines drooping down, bird flying in-between. Vegetation scratched at his face and pulled at his legs. The animal rustles and roars and chirps, snapping, buzzing, and singing were a din. So was the silence. Heady odors of flowers and peat and rot clogged the air. Stephen broke free of a tangling brier and caught up with his grandfather. The old man didn t get-up caught in the briers, and his boots were still dry. He was stooped over, but was nearly as tall as Stephen s father. The men followed a bear path that Stephen had used before. The path led away from one of the branches that trailed from the swamp into the head of Deep Creek. Bear, and other animal trails, were often the only passageways through the thickest growth. Not many men went there. Stephen never had. Mink,
Daniel Bourne said, pointing to timid scratches in the sandy bank of a
stream. Thy grandfather is a knowledgeable man, Willy Biggs said. He is, Stephen said. He always looked at his grandfather in a different way when they were in the woods. At home, Grandma Bourne was in charge. Did you ever know any witches, Grandpa? Stephen blurted out. Witches? His grandfather made a sign and muttered a protecting rhyme. I knowed some they said was witches, Grandpa Bourne said. Dick, here, knows old Grace Sherwood. She lives over by where him and Ann did. Between the Pungo and Back Bay in Princess Anne. You seen her yourself, Boy. We all went to the trial. But Stephen hardly remembered it; he was only five years old when they’d tried the witch. The trial had taken place on the Lynhaven River, near the ferry and Princess Anne County s old church. They d put-off the trial for five days because it was stormy and windy. They were worried about Grace gettin sick! Everybody who told the story put in this part, and laughed. BOSON BOOKS
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I never saw so many folks! The fields and woods along the river were black with people. They came on carts and wagons. On horseback. Some on the ferry, or in their own boats. We took Tom s boat up the Elizabeth to the Bay, and then to the Lynhaven, by Cape Henry . Watch out for that black snake, Boy! Willy Biggs jumped into the air. The serpent had disappeared. Evil in his path! They d took her there to the witch duck for her trial by water. They tied her right thumb to her left, big toe, and her left thumb to the right, big toe, and chucked her in the water. She swam anyhow, so that proved she was a witch. And five old ladies searched her body and said she had some strange spots and markings. They kept her locked-up for a few years if you can lock-up a witch but then turned around and gave her a hundred and forty acre grant a couple of years ago! Over there by Kemp s, where Dick worked that time. Folks says she turns into a bat, some nights, and flies about the country, sucking the air out of babies. Is that what happened to Ann s baby, Grandpa? Stephen asked. The old man was slow to answer. Mighta been. It wasn t Grace Sherwood, Dick Harbut said. It was God s will. The old man stopped walking. About here, it was. Wouldn t do no good to go farther. We never would get the logs out. This bear path s the only way. There they are. Daniel Bourne pointed to a leaning oak whose heavy branches swept to earth. Stephen could see that broad curves could be cut from sections running from the branches into the hidden trunk. Brown, dead vines draped and nearly covered the tree. New vines had almost overtaken it. I cut all those vines when I girdled this tree back in November. Just slowed em down. You did well finding me the right oak, Grandpa Bourne, Harbut said. Well, that s the oak. Over there s the maple.
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Becoming Americans A girdled maple tree stood on higher ground behind them. Grandpa Bourne had not only found two perfect trees, they were in perfect locations. OK, boys. Get to work, Harbut said. He handed Willy Biggs his long knife to slash through the vines. Stephen carried Willy s ax on his shoulder while he pulled at the tangled brush with his own. The last year s falling sap had hardened into a dark circle around the tree. New, Spring sap still tried to rise, but Grandpa Biggs had girdled the tree in the dark of the moon, so there d been very little budding. The strong, young men took to their axes and hacked at the hard old oak in unconscious rhythm, each into his own thoughts. Dick slashed out a clearing where the tree was to fall, as the old man worked at a pathway back the way they d come. Willy Biggs stopped chopping and caught Stephen s attention. He pointed to Stephen s grandfather. Attached at the ankle of Daniel Bourne s boot was the head of a rattlesnake, caught by its fangs, sunk deep into the leather. The body had been severed by a swipe of the old man s blade, and lay writhing behind the unconcerned old "swamp rat." This part of the swamp ain t nearly so fearsome as some, the old man said when he saw the boys staring.
It took the men a week to fell the trees, cut them into sections marked by Harbut, pull them back to Deep Creek with the oxen, and raise the logs off the ground to finish seasoning. Most of the ashes and rubble of the manor house lay as they d fallen, awaiting Joseph s disposition. Neighbors had cleared a way to the hearth of the still-standing chimney. The men slept in a dilapidated slave cabin near the fenced-in garden. On the night they finished with the wood, Stephen awoke from sleeping, as he did, now, every night since the fire. But, Harbut s struggling snore and the stench of his breath kept Stephen awake. He wondered how it could he that Willy continued sleeping soundly on the other side. He got up from the pallet and went outside. His grandfather sat by a fire in the old hearth, stewing something in a three-legged saucepot. Stephen carried a piece of firewood to the hearth and used it for a clean seat. What are you fixin , Grandpa?
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Becoming Americans Making us some crab soup. The pot was half-full of simmering milk. Crabs, some of them already turned red, rose to the top, then sank. The two men watched the pot in silence. After some time, Stephen spoke. Grandpa, do you think Grace Sherwood cursed that baby? Daniel Bourne stared into the fire. I don t know, Boy. Some folks would say yes. Other folks would say it was God s will. Was it right for him to die, Grandpa? Was it right for Sister Mary to live? the old man asked. Sometimes it ain t so easy to know right and wrong. And sometimes it don t matter. You just do what you have to do. You mean Grandma? Stephen asked. Daniel Bourne turned to his grandson. Did I say anything about your Grandma? Stephen said nothing, and his grandfather turned back to the fire, moving the pot from the heat. Me and your grandma haven t always lived the easy life we re living now, you know. When we were little Jimmy s age we lived like maggots in a dung heap. I tell you true. A fresh heap of horse dung will warm your hands. I remember that. And when we were your age we were living like animals in that swamp. Went two months with no cooked meat before we got a flint. Seen wild cats eat their own kittens. Seen bears leave crippled cubs to die. Won t no Grace Sherwood in the swamp to make them animals do that. The weak ones die, anyway, and hold the others back before they do. Is that why Grandma ? Stephen stopped. There was no need to say it. There was a baby boy come with your mother, Boy. She didn t come into this world alone. Your mother was a twin. He was twisted, like that baby of Ann s was. Like Sister Mary is, still. We were awful young about the same as you. Thought we d have lots of boys . He was a lusty crier, that boy . When I went and came back with a gourd of water, the boy baby was quiet. That s all I ll say, and that s more than I BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans oughtta said. Your grandma and I never spoke of it. That s the way things are. Life s hard enough, anyway. Stephen didn t speak, but watched his grandpa from the side of his eyes; his jaw was set, his eyes still staring at the fire.
Joseph Williams stepped from the masted pirogue onto his dock. He stood, slackjawed, and stared at what had been the family home for fifty years; his only home, built when he was a baby. The chimney, one year older than he, still stood. It was a survivor of the hurricane of 67, and many lesser ones. Mother is at Uncle Tom s, Stephen said. His father seemed to be unhearing and slowly walked to the ruin. Grandpa Bourne and Dick walked with his father and his Uncle Richard, as Stephen led James up the path to where the door had been and told the tale to James. If you d stayed, you couldn t have done anything, Joseph Williams said to Dick. You wouldn t have been in there with the women. You ve been a good husband to my girl. You ve given us a healthy grandson. You ve always done right by me. Losing two babies in one day is even worse than this, I guess. He nodded toward the ashes. Joseph had a hard time talking about such things. Nothing to do, but take care of them what s left, Dick said. No one spoke for a while. Richard was lost in his own memories. Won t have to buy so many nails now, to build the mill, Joseph said. The other men snorted in appreciation. He thought aloud. Got to have some shelter for my family. That ol shed gonna get crowded with the mess of all us. Bourne said. We can get a log cabin up, right fast. Harbut had been thinking about it. Nothing, but, to do it, Joseph agreed. Trouble is, I need you all working on the mill. BOSON BOOKS
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Dick had it figured out. Grandpa can take us to the swamp to find men . Richard interrupted. No, you and Joseph have to stay here, he said. Grandpa can take me to the swamp for men. It s been three months since I ve been home. Three months! Grandpa can get someone to lead me out to the south. You ll need tar, anyway. I ll take just Stephen. You send Tom Biggs and his boat to me in Chowan. I ll bring us back some good tar to sell. Good. We have a plan, Joseph said. Now, Dick, let s turned away and stopped. He spoke to Stephen.
go to our families.
He
Did you think to save my accounts and tobacco notes? he asked. Stephen stood there. He d never thought of his father s accounts! He d only thought of saving furniture and clothing. It happened so fast, Pa, he said apologizing. I feared you could not be counted on. Good thing I took them all with me, his father said, and went with Dick Harbut to catch their horses.
Daniel Bourne and Richard Williams carried guns and long knives; Stephen carried a gun and a knapsack of supplies for the trip into the depths of the swamp. The sun had just begun to break through the trees when they set out. Birds were flitting about and singing with an enthusiasm that was shared by Stephen. He would have an adventure, and the chance to prove his usefulness to his father. The three men followed a well-worn path that branched off into another path that skirted the swamp s edges towards the west. They passed through the farthest fields of the Craford plantation and, as the sun rose above the trees, Daniel Bourne stopped by a thicket of muscadine and looked about. He walked to the bramble and thrust in his knife. He shook the vines, then lifted the matted growth revealing a small opening. Then he passed through the grapevines to a hidden bear path. Stephen s grandfather led them forward, slashing at the briers before they caught his feet. BOSON BOOKS
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For two hours they advanced, single-file, through the morass. Catbriers, Virginia creeper, honeysuckle, poison ivy and grape interlocked and scratched the men s faces. The oak, ash, and gum trees grew thickly and tall, shuttering out the light. The floor of the swamp was matted with fallen trees and climbing vines. Hidden roots of trees crawled along the ground and made each step treacherous. Gnats and smaller insects clogged the air and made breathing difficult. Stephen suppressed the urge to scream in desperation and frustration. He understood how people had gone mad when caught up in these overwhelming swarms. When possible, he held his arm to his face and breathed through his sleeve. At least there re no mosquitoes, he thought. The ground was not dirt. The fallen leaves and bark of centuries had become a deep, spongy cushion underfoot. When one of the men became thirsty it was necessary, only, to press a hand into the soft surface and let a cupped palm fill with water. This was deeper into the wilderness than Stephen had ever been, and he could not imagine how men lived in such a place. The sounds of rustling in the undergrowth were unnerving, but Stephen s grandfather continued to slash away at the trail, and the other two men followed. The buzz and hum of insects didn t stop. The sounds of countless birds chirping and tapping into wood broke through, but those sweet sounds were overwhelmed by the occasional, terrifying scream of a bobcat or the growl of a bear. Suddenly, a cleared area appeared. Five or six acres had been burned away and, already, saplings were rising in thick clumps. Charred trunks littered the surface, and one section of the ground still smoked. We ll stop here for a while, Daniel Bourne said. It s hard to tell where the ground s firm enough for us to walk on. Don t want to fall into a fire. No more fires. Richard and Stephen waited as the old man studied the area in search of the best route across the burned-out spot. When they resumed walking, they followed the zigzag pattern of the new growth. They d just re-entered the forest when the dry land stopped at the edge of dark water. Cypress and juniper trees rose to a hundred feet above the water, draped with eerie, ghost-like Spanish moss. Their roots stood above the water in spikes, or knees. Roots of gum trees formed arches above the yellow-orange water. Heads of water snakes slid through the stillness. Daniel Bourne looked about, getting his bearings, then stepped into the water. Where are you going, old man? Richard yelled at him. BOSON BOOKS
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Stephen s grandfather stopped and turned around. Where I said I was going. Where you and Joseph asked me to go. I m taking you to the camp to find workers. No one lives in the water, old man! We can t go into that mire. If the snakes don t get us, the quicksand will! The quicksand s more over towards the big lake, and on down into Carolina. The snakes probably won t bother you. Do lots of splashing, Grandpa Bourne advised. Stephen was frightened, but he trusted his grandfather, in the swamp. Damn! Richard said. He stepped into the water, feeling for the bottom. Stephen followed his uncle, and the men waded in knee-deep water, following an underwater trail that only the old man knew. Stephen looked for landmarks that his grandfather might be using, but one towering cypress looked like another, no clump of trees or fern or moss-covered trunk appeared outstanding to him. Stephen strayed slightly from the path and slipped and sank to his armpits. He held the gun above his head and called out to his uncle and grandfather. Don t move! Daniel Bourne cried. The two older men turned and waded back to Stephen. Richard passed his gun to Bourne and reached out to grab Stephen s weapon. Don t lose your grip! Richard steadied his stance and held Stephen s gun outstretched in both hands. Now, pull! he said. Stephen held onto the stock of his gun and pulled at it, as he would have the limb of a tree. His uncle was an old man of forty years, but still nearly as strong as he was. Stephen s upper body had grown powerful with thousands of swings of the broadax. Slowly, he pulled himself from the mud, leaving his boots stuck in the bottom. During two hours of precious daylight they struggled to retrieve the boots. Finally, with his uncle holding him by the feet, and his Grandpa Bourne holding the knapsack of supplies and barter above water, Stephen felt around beneath the dark water
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Becoming Americans and pulled his boots free. They waded to an island of gum roots and sat, recovering their breath, as Stephen rinsed out the boots and put them back on. You wouldn t make it a hundred yards without the boots, his grandfather said. They ate dried beef and dried corn and went back into the water. Stephen followed the men very carefully, ignoring the birdcalls and gnats, staying on the hidden, underwater path. Light was dimming when Daniel Bourne started calling out, Jordan! Jordan! After each call he waited for an answer. When no reply came he repeated, Jordan! Jor-dan! It was nearly dark when a shot was fired and the thud of a bullet was heard in a tree behind Bourne. Dozens of unseen birds went to the air, honking and screeching. Don t shoot! You ll wet the sugar! Daniel Bourne called out. Jordan, it s me, Bourne! We ve got sugar. And powder for your guns! There was silence as the three of them stood motionless, waiting for an answer. Finally, a voice called back, Over here! And put down your guns when you step on land! They slowly waded to the group of trees that hid the voice, Grandpa Bourne leading the way, testing the depth before each step. They wove through cypress knees to land and held onto the knees to climb up, then leaned their guns against the trunk of the mighty tree. A man stepped out of the gray Spanish moss; his face nearly covered with hair, his body only partly covered with clothes. His shirt and pants held the form, alone, of their original patterns, the substance of them being formed from bits and pieces of material patched together as the originals had rotted or been torn away. Who are you? What are you doing here? the man asked. I m Daniel Bourne. Who are you? Where s Jordan? He d always been the lookout. Jordan or Amos. Where s Amos? I don t know no Daniel Bourne. How d you know Jordan? the man asked.
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Becoming Americans I known Jordan for thirty years. Amos, too. I lived in this swamp for twenty years! Who are you? The stranger didn t answer. This here s my grandson and this is my son-in-law s brother. We re looking for some workers. Building a mill. Up at Deep Creek. Brought you some sugar and some lead. The stranger was thinking. Don t take too long, Boy. It s gettin dark. You ain t gone kill us because you know Jordan would cut off your . Jordan s dead, the stranger said. Been dead for five years. Bourne took it in. And Amos? he asked. Amos took ill last week. He s about dead, himself, the man said. Let s see
that
sugar. Bourne opened Stephen s knapsack and pulled out the sugar loaf. He broke off a chunk with his knife handle and tossed it to the stranger. The man broke off an edge with his teeth and started smiling. I know the way to the camp, Bourne said. Want me to lead the way? Go, the man said, and chipped off another sliver of sugar.
The path to the camp looked to be dry, but footprints filled and disappeared. Only once did the stranger correct Bourne s direction, and he announced his approach to the camp with a strange call. That s the call of a South American parrot, he told Stephen.
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Becoming Americans They emerged from the moss-draped trees and poison ivy to a small clearing, formed when three large oaks had been felled and the undergrowth removed. Stephen quickly glanced around. Small huts perched on the three stumps. Two more small huts had been built atop platforms mounted on large, sunken poles. Three naked children were playing with a pile of turkey feathers near a shaft of light. Three men sat around a fire that sputtered and hissed from its bed of shells. A young woman turned a makeshift spit that held a pig. Walkways connected the buildings to each other and to the fire; rows of poles, lashed together, lay lengthwise; smaller poles, crosswise, were lashed on top. Stephen cleared his eyes. People could live anywhere! The stranger went to one of the men at the fire. He was a fat and greasy man with one ear missing, and a nose that appeared to be one large sore. He stood up, then motioned for the Deep Creek men to approach. The man seemed curious. You knew Jordan, you say? Bourne told the big man that he d lived in the swamp in a camp near this for many years. He mentioned several names, but the man shook his head at each one. Then three names caught his attention. Nan, go get Turner. The woman let go of the twisted tree branch she was turning and went to one of the huts. She returned to the fire as a man called out from the shaded entrance, Bourne! What did you bring with you? Sugar and powder. How s Amos, Turner? he called back to the dark. Got a stone he can t pass. Bad off, he is. I d kill a dog that sick, I would, Turner said. He came into the firelight. Came for workers, did you? We did. Stephen s grandfather introduced them all, and told Turner what the job would be. We can talk about it after we have a smoke, Bourne said, and took a knot of fine sweet-scented from Stephen s knapsack. It was still dry and ready to be torn and crumpled into their pipes. He spat out the old chew from his mouth. Shadowy figures emerged from Turner s hut. The first man was very tall and powerful in appearance. His hair and great bushy beard were blacker than the shadows. BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Behind him was a man, possibly as old as Bourne. He had no nose, he wore an eye patch, and his bald head was covered with a tied kerchief. As he came into the light, it was obvious that he was badly scarred by burns. The Deep Creek men stared at the menacing two. You have competition looking for men, Turner said to Bourne, turning to the two behind him. They want a crew to sail with Mister Drummond, here. Turner pointed to the large, bearded man. Richard Williams stood up from his log seat and took a step towards the old man with the kerchief. Carman?
he said.
Carman!
Is that you, old man? We thought you were
dead! Stephen stood back up and examined the old man with no nose, comparing his memory to the face he was looking at. Richard, boy! Carman called back. And that s one of the nephews, I ll wager. Wouldn t my Edy be proud of that grand boy? Carman, we thought you were dead, Richard repeated. Bout as close as I ve come, so far, Carman said. Got blowed into the water when the powder went up. The water was burning. I was burning. I washed up on an island by Lockwood Folly with the doctor from Major Dorsey s boat. He kept me going till I was up, then he took sick and died. I made it down to Charles Town and got up with some old friends. Some men you mighta knowed at Batts Grave. Turner took back over. Carman and me took Mister Drummond, here, to see the lake what s named after his kinfolk. He needs some twenty men to sail with him. Sounds like a profitable business he s in. Teach is the name I go by now, the man named Drummond said. Teach, it is. Could use a stout lad such as yourself, he said to Stephen.
Captain
I wager you could, Captain Teach, Bourne said. But this here s my grandson, and he s got plenty to keep him busy, right now. Could be, in a few years, he ll want to look you up. I ll likely be there! Drummond said. Hung up from a gibbet! BOSON BOOKS
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He laughed, and everybody laughed along. Stephen realized that Captain Teach was a pirate, wanting him to join his crew! Turner, Carman, and Captain Teach went back into the hut they d come from. One of the three women Stephen had seen led them with a torch and a jug. Turner was the ruler of the camp. The twenty men and four women who lived here were a mixed group, those by the fire told the Deep Creek men. Daniel Bourne recognized only two of the men they mentioned; Amos, who had lived here when the Bournes had, and Turner, whom Bourne had met later as a hired laborer. One of the women was an Indian. One, a transported felon who d avoided hanging in London by rite of clergy, then escaped from her Virginia master by running away. One of the other women was a branded prostitute. The pretty one was Turner s woman. One of the children was the prostitute s, one was a runaway claimed by her, and one was a mulatto who looked just like Turner. Turner had stolen the boy from a Carolina planter when the boy had been sold from its master. The mulatto boy, the whore s son, the Indian, and the Williamses were the only ones born in America, Stephen realized. He smiled. When the quiet in the hut was ended by shouts of laughter and clapping hands, Turner reappeared in the doorway. He called for Bourne and Richard to join him for a taste of the rum that Captain Teach had brought. Stephen fell asleep on the walkway by the fire as the men sitting there talked into the night.
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When Stephen awoke, the camp was already bustling. Five men were going back to Deep Creek with Bourne; four were joining Captain Teach and Carman. Stephen and his Uncle Richard were joining that party through the swamp, west, to Bennett s Creek, a tributary of Carolina s Chowan River. The way out of the swamp was different, but no less frightening to Stephen. They entered vast areas of marshy reeds that rose four feet above his head. The reeds grew thickly, like everything in the swamp, and even here the briers pulled at their feet. It was hot, and no air moved in this denseness, although they could hear wind rustling the branches of white cedars. That jug of rum s getting lighter going out, is it? Daniel Bourne called back to his grandson. Aye, Stephen muttered. They stopped for a rest and a drink of the rum. Most of them had already drunk from the jug, and Teach carried his own. Stephen was hesitant to drink. He was desperate to get out of the reeds and wanted to keep his wits. Why had God made such a forbidding and useless place? He wondered about the firmness of the soil. He cut a tenfoot cane at its bottom, and stuck it into the ground. It sank its length in the spongy soil. Don t drop that compass, Thatch, Richard said. compass. Where s the sun?
We go in circles without that
Better still be behind us, Captain Teach said. Wouldn t want to do it, Daniel Bourne said, but I knowed a man going through here what lost his compass. Took a fat louse out of his beard and put it on a piece of white paper he d stole. The blind critter turned north, to the darkest part of the sky. Led him out to the piney swamp, then to dry land, it did. Captain Teach roared and took a drink from his jug. He swung his long knife at the reeds. His sword hung from a belt. A brace of pistols crossed his chest. Why wouldn t you have the girl last night, Williams? Teach asked Richard. Her sores bother you? Maybe you didn t like going after me?
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Becoming Americans I ve done worse than that, Captain. I remember this wench in Norfolk Town who could . Richard looked at his nephew and stopped himself. I m a married man, Teach, Richard said. Got a wife, have you? So have I. Three of them! That s never slowed me down!
Teach roared with laughter.
I can see that, but it does me. Richard said. Your wife must be beautiful, Teach said. Beautiful and rich. cutlass at the reeds.
He swung his
She is beautiful, Richard said. And rich? Teach pressed. She had a plantation that had been my brother s. Your brother s? How did she come into possession of a plantation that was your brother s? You didn t bed your brother s widow, did you, Williams? He hesitated You did, you dog! A man after my own heart, you are, Williams! The pirate laughed again and returned to swinging his powerful arm into the reeds. I must see this lovely, he said. Like the man Bourne told of, they emerged into a piney swamp that was knee to ankle deep in water, where the ground beneath was solid. Stephen realized that he was breathing in a different way, slower and deeper than when he wondered if he d see the sun again, or smell the dust of summer. Richard Williams and Captain Teach had become very friendly. Stephen s uncle wasn t much older than the busy, bearded man, and the both of them laughed and traded stories, even through the reeds. Teach kept taunting Richard with tales of riches and lusty women and fine wines. Stephen was fascinated by the man who told gory tales of his adventures, emphasizing details of butchery and torture he d performed, seeming to enjoy the frightened silences that fell over most of his listeners, including the men who had joined his crew. Stephen wondered why the stories didn t bother his uncle, and then he remembered the slaughter on the Machapungo. At Bennett s Creek, they found the pirogue that Captain Teach and Carman had left with a family of pig farmers. Carmen, with the four men Teach had recruited, rowed BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans the boat as the Deep Creek travelers sat aft and drank with the pirate. Soon the creek widened and, after turning and twisting for fifteen miles, it emptied into the wide and beautiful Chowan. Captain Teach s ship was waiting in the black water upstream of the large island that crossed the river. Teach and his men boarded the ship while Carman remained on the pirogue to go visit with his in-laws at Richard s plantation. Teach would sail downriver in the ship and spend one last night ashore, as Richard s guest. We ll talk business around a big meal, with a good pipe, Richard said.
By mid-afternoon, the pirogue had reached Richard s plantation on the Chowan. The fifty acres had come to Pathelia Williams from her father and had been a refuge to Richard from the bloody struggle in Bath County. The Tuscarora War had ended only after two interventions from South Carolina s government. Security returned in 1715 with the total defeat of the Indians and their removal to a reservation inland on the Roanoke River. A plantation on the Chowan had been Anne Fewox s dream for her children, but this was not a tobacco plantation. The cleared land on this old plantation was no longer good for tobacco, and Richard Williams had no desire to be a tobacco planter. Even fine tobacco land did you no good if there were no way to get the product to market. The shoals and the Virginia Burgesses made both sea and land access difficult, though many planters crossed the unlocated boundary into Virginia and disposed of their crops to ships waiting on the Nottoway or the Nansemond. Richard had been doing well with tar on the Machapungo, and he d taken up his father s craft as a cooper when he married Pathelia. They’d sold Edward’s land near the Scuppernong and he’d been considering the profits in land speculation when he d been convinced by his brother to enter into business with him in Deep Creek. He d begun having second thoughts. Milling was a slow and boring business. The millers he d met while studying their operations with Joseph were a stolid, settled lot. Richard didn t want to become one of those, and he remembered his dread of any partnership that included Mary Bourne. His new friend Teach s life was one of riches and adventure. Richard had known such men of adventure since he d come to Carolina as a boy of Stephen s age. His brother Edward had lived that adventure for a brief time. Richard regretted that he was too old to live it. In any case, he was not a planter and he had no wish to be.
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Pathelia Williams didn t show her age, but Stephen knew that she had to be over thirty. Her long blonde hair fell loose and curling from beneath her skullcap. The brown dress and green apron were clean, and her blue eyes twinkled like a child s. No wonder his Uncle Richard had married his dead brother s wife and had insisted on hurrying back to see her. His watched his uncle rush to embraced Pathelia as Captain Teach stood fingering his great, black beard. Stephen kissed his aunt, Carman was re-introduced, and they went into the house. Stephen listened to Carman tell Pathelia Williams the details of her first husband s death. His uncle and Captain Teach continued drinking rum from the jug as Stephen drank rum and milk and watched the Captain s eyes narrow, focusing on Pathelia. By dark, the three men were drunk, with Captain Teach growing increasingly loud and disruptive. Twice he tipped the table over, spilling noggins of rum and beer. The second time he spilled the lighted lamp onto Pathelia s dress, setting it afire. I ll put it out! Teach yelled, and with brute force pushed Richard from his wife, then fumbled clumsily with Pathelia s skirt, burrowing his face into her chest. Captain! Carman insisted. She s my wife, Teach, not a swamp slut! Richard yelled, and pulled Teach from his wife. A brief struggle followed, which ended with Teach seated back on the bench by the righted table. My friend has not slept for three nights, by dear, Carman said to Pathelia. I m sure he meant no harm. He s just drunk and tired. It s been a long day, has it not, Richard? Aye, it s been a long day, Richard said, not completely satisfied. A long day, and I need a woman! Teach called out. He stood up again, then fell backward over the bench. Let the great, black beard lie, Richard said. Let him lie. Richard took his wife outside. They stayed away as Stephen sat and talked into the night with his disfigured Uncle Thomas Carman. Captain Teach muttered in his sleep, but never moved.
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Pathelia Williams remained inside the house the next morning as her husband bid farewell to Teach. The Captain seemed to remember nothing of the night before and gladly clapped Richard on the back, telling him what a good man he was, and how he looked forward to doing business with him. As the pirate stepped into the pirogue where Carman waited to take him to his ship, he tossed a small bag of coins to Richard. My compliments to your wife, he said. She is a gracious and understanding hostess. And what business do you have with the likes of that man? Pathelia Williams demanded of her husband when he went inside. Stephen thought she looked much older than on the previous day. To let him use my Machapungo land to careen his ship when time comes. And I sent word with Carman for Tobias Knight that Captain Teach is a friend of mine. Knight and Teach can form a profitable relationship, I think, Richard said. Well, you stay clear of him, husband. He s an evil man. His eyes shine out from all that hair like the eyes of a beast. He is a devil. You stay clear of the likes of him. I don t want to lose another husband to the devil s work. Richard looked to his nephew and raised his eyebrows in mock terror. Stephen had heard enough of his Uncle Richard s and Teach s conversations and mutterings to understand something of their deal. To serve as Teach s introduction to Thomas Knight, he carried two cured hams to the gentleman from Richard Williams. The Collector of Customs and Secretary to the Governor was known to have a taste for the meat cured with Anne Fewox s recipe. It would be a personal touch for opening conversation. Richard was no close friend of Knight s, but they had been acquainted for some years. Knight had wed Catherine Glover, the widow of William Glover. Catherine Glover was a longtime friend of Richard s mother, and the Glovers had a daughter the same age as Richard s youngest daughter had been. William Glover had died in 1711 as had Governor Hyde, both victims of the fever which had swept through the colony just as the Indians were spreading slaughter. When scandal broke in the ordinaries over Knight s refusal to assume the debts of William Glover that came with the widow, Richard had been vocally supportive. Those had been debts owed to the Church, though, and many partisans complained that Knight was robbing the Church. To quite them, Knight had become a vestryman in the West Parish of the Pasquotank Precinct, but BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans people were talking, again. It was said that Tobias Knight was working with the pirates, trafficking in their stolen goods. The hams would introduce Teach to Knight, and Teach would introduce Richard s interest in profit-making cooperation. Stephen thought of his uncle looking at him and raising his eyebrows. Stephen had been forced to walk away, so as not to laugh at his uncle and make his Aunt Pathelia more angry. His uncle made him laugh. His uncle was so different from his father; it was strange that they were brothers. His father had never lived anyplace but in that one house in Deep Creek. His father lived only to work and to work at planning for more work. His Uncle Richard had had an adventurous life. He’d lived in several places. He knew most of the people in this colony, it seemed. What different men they were, Stephen thought. His father cared so much for what people thought of him, of his holdings, of his public morals, of his family. He didn t care so much about what his own family thought of him. He was a cold man, Stephen had told his brother. At least, to him. His father had never included him in a joke. His father s jokes weren t funny to Stephen. His Uncle Richard was a free man. He was a strong man, and a brave one. He d brought James back home through a hail of Indian s arrows and stones. He loved his wife and was faithful to her. If his father was faithful to his mother, it wasn t from love, but from a lack of passion and concern for what people would think. Stephen wondered how long he could continue to live at Deep Creek. He realized that he didn t have to live there if he didn t want to. He was old enough, big enough, to go on his own. Captain Teach had wanted him. Others would. Or, he could still find Captain Teach if he needed to. His Uncle Richard was in business with the pirate! Even in the swamp there was more freedom than there was at home. At Deep Creek he was a prisoner with no future. If his father built a mill and became wealthy, the mill would go to his brother James. Stephen felt no jealousy at all, just a small emptiness in knowing that, as second son, he would always be second best. At some time he would have to leave Deep Creek.
In mid-May, Thomas Biggs, Will, and four more crewmen arrived with his boat. They already carried hogsheads of tobacco that they d boarded up the Roanoke River. The entrance to the Roanoke was difficult, Willy told Stephen. That s why his father had gone for the tobacco first, he said, before they had a heavy load of tar. The short, broad
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Becoming Americans Cashie River ended its run between the mouths of the Chowan and the Roanoke, and small islands, mud flats, and piney swamp made navigation troublesome. It s beautiful, virgin country, Stephen. Willy told him. After you get past the mud flats into the river you start seeing the great old fields and the rich farmland that the settlers have opened. Many small planters, all looking fat and happy. There s an easy life to be had in Carolina, Cousin. As they rode the current down the Chowan and into the Albemarle Sound, his Uncle Richard seemed to want solitude. He seemed busy with his thoughts, and offered little conversation. Stephen spent the time with Willy, telling of his struggle with the swamp and of the hidden society he d seen. When he told of meeting and traveling with a pirate, his Quaker cousin s eyes opened in surprise and envy. Robert Fewox met the boat at Scuppernong and said that Anne was visiting in Bath, and so they sailed on to Deep Creek.
James Williams let the froe hang by his side as he peered down the creek. He was right; it was his uncle s boat. It s Stephen and Uncle Richard! Mary Williams stuck her head out of the opening to the shelter she used during the day. Nights were still spent at Tom s house. She put down the knife she was using to skin a rabbit and wiped her hands on her apron. She hurried down to the landing. Stephen jumped from the boat and wrapped the rope around the piling. He ran to his mother and put his arms around her. I was worried about you, Son, she said. No need to worry, Ma. I was with Uncle Richard and Grandpa. Nobody knows the swamp like Grandpa. Well, you come get something to eat. I know Grandpa didn t cook for you in the swamp, Mary Williams said. She led her son to the shed while Joseph Williams stood talking to his brother, never having acknowledged the return of his youngest son.
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Joseph Williams had organized operations at Deep Creek. Separate work crews attended to the house or to the mill. Everyone had worked together to clear the debris of the fire. The only thing that remained was the chimney, and many of its bricks had crumbled. Dick Harbut was in charge of constructing the mill, following Joseph and Richard s specifications. James and the four workers from the swamp labored on this, the more important of the projects. Grandpa Bourne, Stephen, and Willy worked with Thomas Biggs on the house. They were allowed framing timbers, but no additional workers. Grandpa Bourne had returned from the swamp in fine mettle, insistent on turning over a hidden reserve of notes and coins he d earned in many dealings as agent for swamp labor. The family was astounded at the cache, and Grandma Bourne had begun a series of accusations and harangues. Within weeks, Stephen grandfather was returned to what he d been before their trip into the swamp. He wasn t master of himself in civilization, Stephen saw. It frightened him and he only felt sorry for his grandfather, again. Grandma and Sister Mary were making soap and candles. They had always worked together. With supervision, Sister Mary was a good worker. Her soap always made. Nobody makes better soap than Sister Mary does, her Grandma Bourne always said. The girl would beam when she heard it, and ask her to repeat it. Who makes the best soap, Grandma? Now they were making soap and candles for sale to neighbors who were looking for a way to help when they paddled their pirogues up the creek to watch progress on the mill. Stephen watched the odd pair at work and wondered if his grandmother spent so much time with his sister out of shame for what she d done. When Grandpa Bourne offered to pay for the house their father had refused, at first, James reported to Stephen. But when Grandpa Bourne had insisted, saying that he wanted to build a house which neighbors in Norfolk County would be envious of, their father changed his mind. The house would have two stories and a gambrel roof, the new Dutch style hip-roof that he liked That was the beginning to Grandma Bourne s tirades, James said. exploded; worse than she d ever done before. BOSON BOOKS
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What is a gambrel roof? How do you know what a gambrel roof is and I don t? Since when have you been looking at roofs? I ve always looked at roofs, Grandpa had said. After three weeks of their mother s nagging, their father agreed to allow volunteers to work on the house and to let Harbut spend some time on the house at the later stages. The finishing that required a carpenter could wait. Everyone knew something about building a house. Tom Biggs had raised three. Stephen was pleased. He wasn t interested in the mill and he desperately didn t want to work under his father. Grandpa Bourne and he had already learned how to work together in the swamp. He got along well with his Uncle Thomas, and Willy was envious and eager. Stephen was sorry not to be working with James. James was better with tools than he, and James often helped him when they worked together. Stephen noticed other differences from his brother, now that they d spent time apart. James bragged about the excursion that he d taken while his brother was away. He d gone into Norfolk Town, ridden in a carriage with young Mister Boush, and gone to the tavern that that young man frequented. He d listened to other young fops telling stories of their trips to London. They d talked of girls, wine, and the theater. There were coffee shops on every street, they d said. James s dream was to go to London. Stephen didn t share that dream. His thoughts went back to Carolina. At night the men talked about their work, and that was another relief to Stephen. He didn t have to spend time with his father and he didn t have to hear about the mill. He didn t want to know anything about it. His uncle seemed tired of it, too. In his second week back, Stephen heard loud words being exchanged between his father and his Uncle Richard. It was over immediately, and his Uncle Thomas Biggs made the boys go back to work chipping at mortise joints in the sills. On a Friday afternoon in early July, his Uncle Richard called Stephen to the edge of the old orchard. I m going into Norfolk Town to search-out word on ship arrivals. Want to row along with me? he asked Stephen. Stephen s wanted to go, but wondered why his uncle had such a strange smile on his face. I think, maybe, it s time you had a woman, his uncle whispered.
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Becoming Americans Stephen stopped breathing.
James and his father walked to the landing as the boat returned the next morning. James caught the line his uncle threw while his father turned back and went to the hut that the family was staying in. Two other huts housed the Bournes with the Harbuts, and Richard with the workers. Richard and Stephen had stopped singing when they saw Joseph waiting. James gave them a hand and they stepped from the boat, but Stephen stumbled and fell, anyway. Richard helped him up and whispered to his nephew to be quiet, that the family was still asleep. Pa says you re not to work on the house today. He said tell you to dress those four timbers he d laid out for me to work on. He says you re to dress those logs before you get any sleep. Dress those four logs! I ll be up till tomorrow morning. My arms will fall off! Stephen giggled and slipped to the ground. James helped him up again. You smell like cheap liquor and cheap whores, he said. I do, Stephen admitted. Yes, I do. Stephen leaned against a tree and took off his shirt. He threw it into the water, then took off his shoes and hose. He turned around and jumped into the creek. He ducked his head, washing his hair and face, trying to rid himself of the smell. The exuberance of the wine and whore were wearing off. His head was splitting, his stomach churned, and his nose was still full of the smell of stale piss and sweat. He d never forget the girl. She was about his age but she was nearly toothless and she was filthy. He remembered his uncle laughing at his blush when the girl slipped a grimy hand inside Stephen s pants. Even as he tried to wash the filth away he felt himself stir again with memory of the thrill. On Sunday morning, Stephen was shaken awake by his mother. He d only slept a few hours, having been at his punishment dressing timbers until nearly midnight, aided by a bright moon and two torches. He tried to hold onto his dream of Nancy Manning, but his mother s voice chased it away. BOSON BOOKS
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Get up, boy. You ve need of church today. Get up! His mother knew about the girl! He opened his eyes. Big enough to go whoring, are you? God saw you with the wench. God saw you! And now you re dreaming about her, are you? She glanced down at the rise in his bedclothes, then coldly into his eyes. You risk eternal hellfire for that? Get up from there! Stephen was shaken. How did she know? What would he say? The rise in his bedclothes had fallen and he got up from his bed of straw and ran to throw water on his face. Mary Bourne had not been raised in the Church, but she took to it with fervor when she married Joseph Williams. That was one thing about his wife that her husband appreciated. The county knew her as a pious woman and that helped his stature in the community. She d even approved when he d paid to have their last minister give him and James reading lessons. They d be able to read the Bible to her, she said. But very little had come of the lessons, and they had ended when the minister left the parish, soon thereafter. He still can t plead rite of clergy for his crimes, Mary would tease him in front of friends. From their mother, the boys had learned to have great fear of God. Their father taught respect for the Church. James was curious and he was angry that it had not been he who d been first with a woman. Weren t you ashamed? God knew what you were doing. Ugly hags. I ve seen the whores about the docks. I m sure she was an ugly hag. She was beautiful, James. And she knew what she was doing. Taught me a lot. What could she teach you that you d need to know with a Christian girl? A decent girl would be disgusted, James said. The girls at church will be disgusted when they hear of it. How will they hear of it? Will you tell? Stephen asked.
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Becoming Americans They ll learn the same way Mother did. Mistress Manning saw you and Uncle Richard as you entered the whore house. She was in Norfolk Town to see her sister. Did you think no one would see you, fool? Did you touch her breasts? I kissed them, Stephen said. Jesus, James whispered, then, Dammit! Outside the church, Joseph and Mary Williams circulated among their friends before going in. James and Stephen were surrounded by militia friends who revealed their knowledge with winks and nudges and raised eyebrows. The unknowing girls had smiled and flirted with him as usual until others came to them and whispered in their ears. Some seemed stricken and looked at him with grief. Some turned their heads away in disgust. Some gasped, but then stole glances from behind their fans. He didn t see Nancy Manning until they were inside. In church, the Williams family sat towards the rear, behind the boxes and pews of wealthy parishioners. The Manning family sat across the isle, Mistress Manning staring straight ahead. Nancy Manning sat beside her mother, still refusing to acknowledge Stephen s pleading eyes. The warden read the scripture and spoke to the congregation about the search for a new minister. Money was needed for inducements. For two years they d been searching, he said, as the morals of the parish had collapsed. Stephen was certain that the warden had looked at him as he said that. From the corner of his eye he saw his parents, both, turn red. After the service, Stephen and James were left alone. Their friends had been herded away by their parents, and the two boys created a pathway when they walked through the crowd. As they sailed back to Deep Creek, the family was hushed, waiting for some direction from Joseph or Mary. Daniel Bourne and Richard Williams, alone, seemed not to notice the atmosphere of tension. They sat in the bow telling each other stories and laughing loudly. Grandma Bourne made soft grunts of displeasure every time Grandpa Bourne laughed. Stephen sat in solitude as James worked the sail for his father. Mary Bourne stared into space. She was as embarrassed as she was angry, and would not speak of the matter publicly with her brother-in-law. Joseph knew that she was dangerously angry. At home she was not so reticent.
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Becoming Americans Mary Williams didn t raise her voice, but fury came from her throat through clinched teeth, like a growl. Stephen and James were outside the hut, but could hear her talking to their father. None of your brothers have been worth their salt! she said. John was nothing but talk. Edward was an invalid who became a fool. And Richard is a black cloud who brings trouble! Everywhere he s been there s been trouble. He s a curse! Machapungo. Ann s baby. The fire. And now, Stephen. He s corrupted my son! You ll not speak of my brothers, woman! They have all treated you as a sister. Richard is here to help us he has helped us. His miseries in Carolina were no fault of his own, nor were our tragedies. With Stephen . I ll not defend what he s done but to say it s not uncommon for an uncle to help initiate his nephew into such mysteries. I will speak to him, but it is not the place of a wife . It is the place of a mother to protect the soul of her child. He is not a child, Mary. He enrolls in the militia this summer. He will be a tithable. You don t want your baby to be a man, but he is. He s been moping around here for months, acting surly. Maybe now that he s experienced manly pleasures he ll act as a man. Those pleasures are reserved for the married state! Her voice rose. You want him married at his age? I think you do not! If I d had an uncle to sponsor me at his age, I d not have jumped into the marriage bed so quickly! James and Stephen heard something fly into the dried branches of their hut s walls. They hurried away as their father stepped outside. James hurried back to his work site, but Stephen waited and then went into the hut. His mother was spreading fresh straw in the corner sleeping space he shared with his brother. She stopped crying when she saw him, but said nothing. I know I ve disappointed you, Mother. I wasn t thinking . No, you were not thinking. You have sinned! In my mind I see you roasting in the fires of hell and I can not help. You are becoming a man and I can t protect you from the evil temptations that face a man. Her crying resumed and Stephen went over and put his arms around her, towering above the tiny, graying woman. Her fears infected him, and his thoughts went to the
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Becoming Americans picture she d painted. God would punish him for his act of sin and for the hurt he d inflicted on his mother. Pray for me, Mother, to be stronger. Mary sank to her knees on the straw pallet and pulled her son down with her. She prayed for Stephen, and the vision of his tortured soul in hell banished the exciting memories of his night of revelation.
A fortnight after the trip to Norfolk Town, word came to the Williams men that the John was anchored at the mouth of Deep Creek. Work stopped and cheers went up from the mill and from the house. Joseph and Richard drank a toast in celebration, and hurriedly paddled downstream to the waiting ship. They called up to the deck, announcing themselves, then climbed the rope ladder that was lowered. Edward Williams had died on his return voyage, the captain told them, just days after meeting with his cousins at Goodwin s Coffee House. The shipping business fell to Howard Williams, his youngest and only surviving son. Howard Williams had known little of his Virginia kin, and had decided not to extend the hefty credit to them that was necessitated by their order for sawmill equipment. He had, though, sent the grinding stones for a grist mill. Everyone at Deep Creek was stunned and disappointed. Even Stephen was sad for his mother and his brother. Oddly, his Uncle Richard seemed the least upset. It is God s will, was all he said. No, his brother said defiantly. Mayhap it was God s will that Cousin Edward die, but it is stupidity and greed that rules the son. This Howard does not know us! How dare he alter the business of his father! It is his business, now, Richard said calmly. And what are we to do? Joseph asked. Our lives are controlled by ignorant and greedy men in London and Bristol! Richard puffed on his pipe. For some time he had been uncomfortable in the partnership with his brother. It had begun as an exciting venture, but with time and renewed exposure to his sister-in-law he had come to regret his promise of support. BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Without the prospect of a water-driven sash-saw his incentive to remain was gone. Within days after the arrival of the John he had bargained with Thomas Biggs to assume his interest and obligation to the mill, and he was planning his return to Chowan. Stephen saw this as an opportunity to escape the tyranny of his father and the controlling disapproval of his mother. He knew, too, that there was no chance, now, of winning Nancy Manning. He could make a life in Carolina, where his family had connections and no shadow hung over him.
Stephen s father shook his hand, as did his brother, while his mother sobbed and held her swollen belly. His grandparents stood by silently, watching Sister Mary swing Jimmy in wide circles. Willy Biggs leaned on his ax. Dick Harbut held his arm around Ann s shoulder as Stephen climbed into Thomas Biggs s boat and stood beside his smiling uncle. It s only Carolina, Stephen said. I ve been there before. I ll be back to visit. He pushed the boat away as firmly as possible. He was eager to be gone from this. The boat drifted into the stream as the crew clamored with the oars to turn her and head downstream to the Elizabeth River. In late afternoon they tied up to Scuppernong s shaky dock. Robert Fewox rushed down to welcome them. Richard! It s been half a year! How are you? Welcome. And Thomas. And young Stephen. Welcome, all. Mother will be most happy. Robert! It s good to be back in Albemarle. Richard embraced his step-brother and patted the two dogs that were with him. Thomas s men secured the boat and went to rest in the shade as the family members went inside to see the mother. Anne Fewox was seventy years old, with a face that was browned and wrinkled by the sun, but her eyes showed life and humor as she greet her brother, her son, and her grandson. Richard held his mother for a long time; ashamed again that he d neglected her. Stephen looked about the house. It was the same house that he remembered from his visits as a child. It had been built in haste and was showing signs of decay. The smell BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans of grease and smoke had sunk onto the log walls even though gaps in the mud caulking let in air. A catbrier vine poked through the wall and reached out, searching for light. Tiny spots of light flickered through the roof and Stephen knew the rain must find those same holes. Catherine Knight tells me that Thomas Carman is alive, Anne said. He looks terrible, she said. Anne laughed and the others who knew Carman laughed. His looks were no news to them. He was ill-favored, but he loved my Edy, Anne said. I ll always love him for that. He was good to me, he was. Anne was alert to everything, and she was very glad that her brother, Thomas, was in partnership with her son, Joseph. She fretted about Stephen leaving home, but expressed relief that he was in the hands of the youngest son, Richard. Richard takes after his father, she said. He can take care of himself. When told about the house in Deep Creek burning down, she was nonplused. It wasn t a good house. Just thrown together and added on to. Our first house was a good house. It was a rushed visit not worthy of the name, Anne said because Richard was in a hurry to get back home. He had neglected Pathelia, too, while pursuing an illconceived plan. So, early the next morning, they sailed north across the Albemarle Sound and entered the Chowan River, passed the growing village on Matencomack Creek, and passed the house of Edward Moseley. The river and the countryside were familiar to Stephen; he felt at home already. Pathelia Williams had cut her foot while trying to extract a bee sting. She sat in the shade on a stump that she d placed by a tree. Her foot was propped on a log as she leaned against the tree repairing tears in a small pile of clothes. She tried to rise when her husband appeared, but she tottered before Richard caught her and lifted her to his height. Welcome back, Stephen, she said. And Thomas. Welcome. I m sorry I can t properly attend to you. Jolly! She called to the slave that she d had for many years. Jolly, fetch our visitor some cool cider. The old black man went to the root cellar and returned with a damp earthenware jug for his thirsty master.
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Becoming Americans Pathelia hobbled about, supervising the preparation of a suitable meal to welcome back the master and his kinsmen. Richard relaxed, relieved to be under his own roof, with his wife, among the things and slaves that were his own. Richard only had three slaves, and one of them was old Jolly. The other two were strong, grown men that had cost him dearly. He d taught them the ways of extracting and preparing tar and pitch, but it would be years, he knew, before his investment would pay off. He couldn t do it on this small patch of land. Neighbors had arrived by dark, and they feasted on roasted goose and broiled fish, roasted pig, peas, dried corn, squash and bread pudding. When most of the guests were gone or sleeping, Pathelia fell asleep, herself, before the table had been cleared. By morning she was wet from fever and was talking gibberish. Throughout the day neighbor women bathed her with cool cloths. Some prepared poultices and brews. For two more days they watched as a red line started at her cut toe and grew in length. Some time around dawn on the third morning, Pathelia Williams died. Thomas Biggs sailed to Scuppernong and returned with Anne and Robert. Anne tried to console her son, but it was too soon for consolation. You d think it would be easier, the second time, he said to his mother.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Twenty-two
It was early winter before Richard was able to leave the Chowan plantation and return to the Machapungo. The house still stood, but pine saplings and weeds were reclaiming the cleared land around it. The burned-out forest was rank with pine saplings, too, and the unburned acres were waiting to be tapped. The shallow graves of his wife and child had caved in; his daughter s bones were visible. There was ample evidence that the house had been occupied. Empty, broken wine casks lay about. Unfinished food was on the table. Bedclothes were left, stained and ruined. Richard remembered his sister, Sarah Alice, sitting on that bed with his wife, Jean. Old friends who d survived the Tuscarora War came to visit when they saw smoke rising from the Williams chimney, and Richard soon found able men to clear the fields, tap the trees, and guard his slaves while he and Stephen went to Bath Town. The town was prospering, and had already recovered from the upheavals of a few years earlier. Governor Eden resided here, as did other members of his government. Tobias Knight had recently been named Chief Justice and lived in a fashion that suited his high office and displayed his years of power and accumulated wealth. Stephen went with his uncle to visit the Knights on a crisp morning in November. Little black boys were raking leaves in the front yard, their mothers washing clothes behind the house in a steaming kettle they stirred with long paddles. Thank you for the hams, Williams. Your mother s hams are the best in the colony. It s the spices. He winked at Richard. Of course, old Fewox always had ready access to spice merchants. Stephen wondered why they laughed. And thank you for sending Captain Teach, the Chief Justice said. He served his king well during the late war with Spain, and I think he ll do well by the residents of Carolina. Certainly, he can provide service to us that we might not have, otherwise. He has recently brought merchandise to our port of which we are sorely in need. Mister Knight took a pinch of snuff from his jeweled snuffbox and quickly sniffed it up his nose. He sneezed and seemed greatly relieved by that action. I understand you ve returned to your seat here in Bath, Williams. You suffered greatly from the Indian unpleasantness, I m told. And you ve recently lost your second wife. You ll find another, no doubt. And this young man is your nephew? BOSON BOOKS
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Richard introduced Stephen to the Chief Justice, pointing out that Captain Teach had met the boy and invited him to join his crew. Well, if my friend Teach thought so highly of you, Boy, maybe I can find something for you to do, Knight said. Thank you, Sir, Stephen said. But I ll be working with my uncle. Very well. The offer stands. Catherine Knight came into the room and stood by the door. Richard. It s so good to see you. I head the cruel news of your loss. I am so sorry. Richard and Stephen rose from their chairs Thank you, Mistress Knight, for your kind thoughts. May I present my nephew, Stephen? He s the youngest son of my brother, Joseph. Your mother has mentioned him, I believe. Welcome to Bath, young man. And how is your mother, Richard. I think of her often. Before Richard could continue pleasantries with his mother s friend, a liveried servant of Knight s appeared in the doorway and stood, waiting to be recognized. Yes, Enoch? Knight asked. A runner come, Sir. Say Captain Teach arrive by the dock. Tell the man that we ll await the captain for dinner, Knight said. Stephen was surprised that a man like Captain Teach would be welcome at the table of the Governor s Secretary and Chief Justice. Knight was a powerful man. Captain Teach must be a powerful man. But, Stephen remembered the stories he d been told about Mister Lawson. Lawson had entertained Carman and his Aunt Edy. That would be impossible in Virginia. He tried to imagine his Grandpa Bourne in the Governor s Palace with Governor Spotswood. In Carolina, the gentlefolk and the people weren t so different. They walked from the Knight house to Hannah Lawson s. A dozen houses faced the river where half that many large sloops were anchored. Stephen thought it was like a BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans small Norfolk Town, with a mill, boat builders, ordinaries and taverns and merchants who thrived on commerce legal and illegal. I could not forgive God, Richard. Not for a long time, Hannah Lawson said. John was a friend of the Indians and they repaid him so cruelly. Did you know that they stuck pine splinters hundreds of them! stuck pine splinters into him and lighted them. I was very angry with God. You are no longer? Richard asked. No, she said. When the government put the few Tuscarora who remained in a reservation up the Roanoke, I felt revenged. I sleep, now. Do you sleep, Richard? She looked at him with concern. If I drink enough, he said, then laughed. And I m heading, now, to the tavern, Mistress Lawson. I wanted to pay my respects to you first, before I started. Hannah Lawson laughed. I have fond memories of many a cup taken here, Richard said, and bowed. Good, she said. I ll expect you and Stephen here for a cup before dinner. And I expect you to stay the night. Marcus will see to your needs. Stephen had said little in the Lawson house. He sensed right away that his uncle and Mistress Lawson were thinking of happier days, before both of them had seen so much death. Watching Bess die in the fire and his Aunt Pathelia pass away were his only experiences with death. He knew he d been lucky.
Harry s ordinary smelled like any other. The voices sounded the same, a loud mixture of accents and tongues. The men were as rough a sort as Stephen had seen. Men with broken noses or no noses, eye patches or none, pegged leg-stumps and not. The prices were higher here than in Norfolk, but there was as much choice of drink and smoke as there. Some of the cleaner patrons were dressed as well as those in Norfolk, and some of the dirty ones were dressed well. There was a steady jingle of coins.
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Becoming Americans Captain Teach entered the establishment and many of the patrons banged their mugs and noggins in recognition. He bowed to Harry and said, Fill up the cups! Everyone banged a mug. Captain Teach was dressed like a lord. His blue coat was trimmed with gold thread, and matched his cocked hat. The great mass of black hair on his head and face framed unnaturally blue eyes that illuminated the mood of the man. Pride in his successes gave them an intense sparkle. Teach sat at a table with men who were obviously not of his crew. Richard recognized them as merchants with whom Carman had dealt in past years, and rose from his table, telling Stephen to wait. Richard pushed his way through the crowded tavern to Teach s table and tapped him on the shoulder. Before anyone could move or speak, Teach had risen and knocked Richard to the floor and was standing over him with a sword in his right hand and a pistol in the left. The sword was already at Richard s throat before Teach recognized his friend from the swamp. Careful, Williams. I ve killed friends for less, Teach said. I ve no doubt, Captain, Richard from beneath the sword. You re quicker than lightening. Stephen went to his uncle and helped him from the floor. Drinks, Harry! Teach called out. Drinks for Williams, here, and for my young friend, Stephen. He turned to Richard. I ll join you soon. I m talking business. Richard and Stephen returned to their table, greeted with cheers and laughter as they pushed through the crowd. A man leaned over and whispered. Are you a mad man, Mate? I seen Blackbeard cut down blokes for touching him. Shot his man Israel Hands in the knee under the table! while they were playing cards! He s a dangerous enemy and a dangerous friend, Blackbeard is! Blackbeard? Stephen asked.
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Becoming Americans Blackbeard is what some s calling me. Captain Teach stood by the table. You asking me to sit down? he said to Stephen. Yes, Captain Teach, Stephen said, and offered him his seat. The man who d spoken offered Stephen his seat, then hurried from the tavern. I talked with Mister Knight, Captain, Richard said. He is pleased with your visits to Bath. As is everyone, it seems. Very hospitable, they are, Teach said. I m thinking of building a house here. You come to get in on the action, have you? I m hoping to find profit here in Bath. I ve come to cook tar, and I offer you the hospitality of Machapungo, Richard said. I ve already enjoyed your hospitality at Machapungo, Teach said. That was before I met Mister Knight and was welcomed in the town. Did you not find the token of gratitude I left? I did not, Sir, but no gift was necessary, Richard said. Look beneath the boards by your hearth, Teach said, then changed the subject. Carman, your brother-in-law, no longer sails with me. I put him on Captain Bonnet s ship with Richards, my lieutenant. Carman should be on the Machapungo now. Bonnet s Revenge is waiting for me there. Teach went on to brag about his successes in the few months since he d left Richard and Stephen in Chowan. He and his old captain, Benjamin Hornigold, had sailed to New Providence, in the Bahamas. There, Governor Woodes Rogers a former privateer was pressing King George s proclamation of amnesty to all pirates who would swear an oath of reform. The now-wealthy Hornigold accepted amnesty, but Teach had not. He d re-christened his new command the Queen Anne s Revenge, armed it with forty cannon, and set to sea. With that power he could attack the largest and best-armed merchant ships. The first was the large, rich Great Allen. The news of its capture spread quickly, and the Scarborough, a thirty-gun warship was put out in search of the Queen Anne s Revenge. It was the Scarborough bad fortune to be successful, Teach said, for after BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans several hours of exchanging broadsides, the battleship was forced to withdraw and limp to the nearest port in Barbados. With this impressive victory, Teach s name was more feared than ever. But it was the name Blackbeard, that was being spread and feared. He caught his next five prizes without firing a shot. As the Queen Anne s Revenge neared and raised the Jolly Roger, crews lowered boats and fled. Captain Teach roared with laughter when he told of those encounters. Fear s my best ally, he said. A man with good sense can sometimes save his life if he listens to his fears. Captain Teach s eyes transformed into an evil glare that sent cold shivers up Stephen s spine. Prudence is a good word for it, Teach said, his eyes now twinkling to match his smile. Stephen wondered if the devil were at work in the man. He d never been around anyone so exciting. You spoke of Carman, Richard said. Carman s old, but he has knowledge. That s what was needed on Bonnet s ’Revenge.’ I decided that a gentleman such as Captain Stede Bonnet need not trouble himself with commanding a ship. When we met up at the Bay of Honduras I found out what his crew already knew. Bonnet was a rich landlubber with a fishwife, running off from home! He had no experience with a ship and his crew were getting nervous. They were close to mutiny. So my Lieutenant Richards, with the help of Carman, commands the Revenge. Captain Bonnet sails in comfort on the Queen Anne s Revenge, under my protection. We are a fleet, now, of four ships and one hundred and forty men! Is there a place for me, still? Stephen s question was abrupt and unanticipated. Would you desert me, Stephen? I need your help at Machapungo. Richard s voice was calm but firm. He couldn t allow his nephew to be so foolish, even though he shared the boy s urge and inclination. The boy was his responsibility.
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Becoming Americans You might find place on deck to hang a hammock, but I don t steal boys from their families, Teach said. Find me when you can make up your own mind. A score of men arrived from Teach s ships and tried to find a place to sit or stand in Harry s. They d finished loading the ships and were ready for drinks and wenches before sailing with the tide at midnight. Teach s attention turned to focus on his men, so Richard grabbed Stephen by the arm and led him out the door.
Edward Moseley shared their table at Mistress Lawson s. He was as powerful a man in Carolina as Mister Knight, being Speaker of the Assembly and Treasurer of the colony. Richard Williams was known to Moseley as a fellow resident of Chowan and a fellow landholder in Bath. He, too, was a long-time friend of Richard s mother and had been a close friend of William Glover s. Richard knew his Moseley kinfolk in Princess Anne County. I saw the pirate, Blackbeard, on the street, today. The people treat him as a hero, Richard said. He s only one of dozens," Hannah Lawson said. Is there any wonder the people love them? How recently have we been freed of the Indian terror? Now, there s life. There s sugar to buy. There s fabric and ribbon. And there are jeweled snuff boxes and gold buckles to buy officials with, Moseley said. He was no friend of Knight s and he made no secret of it. Aye, but who would begrudge a man his snuff box if Mistress Lawson has sugar to prepare such sweets as these? Richard popped another sweet-meat into his mouth. I would grant Mistress Lawson her heart s desires, Moseley said, but there might be other ways to bring her sweets." From Virginia? she asked. Edward?
Are you trying, still, to seize part of Virginia,
It is an old song to you, Madam, but no less sweet, Moseley said. If ever we can have the line surveyed and prove that the Nottoway River begins in Carolina and not Virginia, we will gain access to the Chesapeake and to the sea, unencumbered by Virginia laws.
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Becoming Americans Is it possible that the line would run so far north, Sir? Richard asked. Very possible, Moseley said. I was a member of the failed commission set up to survey the line in 1710. Many of us hold to that view. When will the line be surveyed, Sir? Stephen asked. My family lives on the northern edge of the swamp. Will we be in Carolina? Not that far north. But the line does run through the swamp, that s for sure, even though some of your colony would hold that the line runs through the Albemarle Sound! Moseley then went on to denounce the aristocrats of Virginia who scorned Carolina as rogues harbor. Sadly, we do our best to prove them right. Harboring pirates. Flagrantly. Openly! Officials of the government spoken of as accomplices. In Charleston and Williamsburgh they speak of us all as thieves! Stephen smiled at Mister Moseley being so upset. The rumors were right. That, he knew for sure. Chief Justice Knight was working with at least one pirate. He d heard that Governor Eden, too, was paid to keep a blind eye. It all seemed so much rich men s hypocrisy, to him, and his mind wandered. Again, Teach had expressed willingness to have him join the crew. Stephen had surprised himself when he d voiced interest, but the exotic place names that the Captain mentioned had made him dream. Barbados, Cuba, the Bay of Honduras, and the Bahamas were sunny places of sugar, spices, rum, and talking birds. A pirate s life was one of wealth and freedom. Wenches were to be had at every port with no one to gainsay the rollick. There could be little danger if the prey jumped ship and left their prizes to be had. He d heard few men speak ill of the pirates. Captain Teach was the most feared and honored of them all, and he d called Stephen, friend. If he were man enough to be called friend by such a one as Blackbeard," he was man enough to make his own decisions. Richard and Mister Moseley sat by the fireplace, smoking and drinking, until the Speaker decided it was late. They all bid Mistress Lawson a good rest, and stepped out into the cold November night. Moseley s horse was waiting for him and he said goodnight to the Williams men who then walked around back to their sleeping quarters. Richard stumbled onto the pallet and pulled the rug over him that Marcus had left. Stephen lay down and covered himself, too, but he wasn t sleepy. The sound of bells ringing on the ships, and distant voices laughing and calling out kept him awake. In BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans the cold moonlight, he could see his breath, and he wondered if Bonnet and Blackbeard s sailors would still be able to see their breath tomorrow night. By then, they d be into the warm waters of the ocean. He listened to his uncle snoring and he thought of his uncle s reactions to the possibility of his sailing with Teach. Uncle Richard had not been angry; he d not said it was wrong; he was even half-hearted in his denial. Stephen decided that his uncle didn t really object. Maybe, it was a test to see if he were man enough to make the decision and do something about it! Stephen got up quickly and left the shed. He circled back through the Lawson garden to Water Street, then ran up the street to where a ship s boat from the Queen Anne s Revenge was tied up. When Captain Teach came from his dinner with Tobias Knight to return to his ship, he saw Stephen. The dark colossus didn t speak, but motioned for him to get into the boat. In the early hours of morning, the Queen Anne s Revenge lifted anchor and headed for the Pampticoe Sound. Stephen stood by the rail as the sailors waved farewell to their women. He looked at the Lawson house as they passed, but there was no activity. Everyone still slept. Soon they reached the mouth of the Machapungo, where another ship was anchored. A boat hovered near the current of the river and came to the Queen Anne s Revenge as she neared. Stephen stood back, not speaking until he was spoken to, but he could recognize Carman, come to confer with Captain Teach. After an hour, Stephen was called into the Captain s cabin. Carman was surprised, and he objected, at first, but he was silenced by Captain Teach. Lieutenant Richards was to take Stephen aboard Bonnet s Revenge, and Carman was to find use for him there. By sunrise, the two ships had crossed the Pampticoe Sound to rendezvous with the two of Blackbeard s fleet that waited at the captain s hideaway at Ocracoke. Thomas Carman was determined to punish and discourage his nephew and he put Stephen to work in the hold counting and guarding supplies. Stephen checked and rechecked that all the hogsheads and barrels were secure. Carman made him count turnips and onions. He worked alone and in the dark as the ship rode the heavy waves of the Atlantic. He d not anticipated such work or such illness. His second day was miserable as he lay in the hold retching into a piggin.
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Becoming Americans On the morning of the third day he was weak, but his stomach had calmed. The rolling of the ship was less bothersome and some appetite had returned. Carman came to look in on him and, feeling pity, allowed him to go up on deck for fresh air. Stephen emerged to bright sunlight that forced his eyes closed. He gasped and sucked in lungs-full of salt air. He leaned against the rail for a moment with his eyes closed, just breathing, clearing his head. He realized that it was warm. He peered through the slits between pressed eyelids and saw the clear, blue sky. The ocean was green and clear, sparkling with the morning sun. The Queen Anne s Revenge led their armada of four ships, a rolling wake of white foam plowed by her bow. The mist thrown up by the Revenge refreshed his face as he adjusted his eyes, listening to the creaking of the ship and the swish and slap of the parting waves. The Revenge had undergone several changes since she became a pirate ship. The deckhouse had been cut down flush with the deck to lower her silhouette upon the open sea, and to lessen the danger of flying wood splinters during battle. The railing along the sides had been built up for protection and concealment. Stephen s heart pounded. This was what he d wanted. No land was in sight and it was springtime, again. The sun rose on his left as the ships headed south, towards exotic lands, wealth, and adventure. By the fifth morning out, Carman relented from his harsh disapproval. He allowed Stephen on deck and thrust a broom and a piggin of water at him. Stephen went to work as the crew stared at him and made catcalls. The crew of forty men knew each other from earlier cruises with Captain Teach or with other captains. In his isolation, Stephen had met very few of them. They looked alike, to him, one as scarred and dirty as the other. He d seen three fights, already. The five days out had been easy sailing and the crew was restless and bored. He d noticed that the pirates showed no reaction to pain, even when inflicted with the heaviest blows. They were a vicious lot, and Stephen noticed that two young sailors his age had become the brunt of teasing and harassment by many in the crew. In the early afternoon, as most of the men lay about the deck in the warm sun, or leaned against rails and ropes to smoke a pipe, Stephen put down his broom and went for water. As he passed an open hatch, a hand reached up and grabbed his ankle. Stephen tumbled through the hatch to the deck below, catching his fall by the bottom rungs of the ladder. A massive hand grabbed him from behind and covered his mouth. He struggled as the stranger forced him to the armory and threw him over a powder barrel. Stephen punched with his elbows and kicked back at the attacker s shins, but the resistance was futile against a man even larger and stronger than he. A scream of protest was caught in his throat as the man pulled and ripped at the back of his pants, tearing them away. BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Stephen managed to open his mouth enough to bite into the pirate s fingers, but a blow struck his head that left him unconscious. When Stephen awoke, he was in a cot next to Carman s. His head was bandaged and he wondered if his jaw were broken. Two rear teeth had been broken, he could tell, and his jaw ached and burned. Soon he felt the pain that throbbed inside him from behind. He suddenly remembered, and reached around behind to feel where the man had entered him. He felt dried blood caked to his cheeks. For the first time since he was a small child, a tear ran down his cheek. His jaw was swollen and he couldn t speak. He was glad of that. What could he say? For two days, he lay on the cot as Carman and Louis, the cook, nursed him back with beer and chicken broth. Lieutenant Richards came to speak to him once, telling him that he d live, but suggesting that he learn to take care of himself or stay out of harm s way. He ordered Carman to supervise his nephew. He was disgusted that the lubber had fallen into an open hatch. Stephen thanked God that that was what they thought had happened. On the morning of the eighth day, Stephen was cutting turnips and carrots into a large wooden bowl when he heard the man in the crow s nest call, Ship ahoy! He heard feet running to starboard, then more crying of, ship ahoy! The crew shouted up cheers and then hurried to trim the sails as they followed Lieutenant Richards s calls to set course for the prize ship. He grabbed onto the cot while the Revenge heaved to port in response to full sail and a hard rudder. He lay there, waiting for the cannon shot, hoping the pirate who d done this to him wasn t killed before he could find him out and kill him himself. The men rushed about, above and below decks, like dogs that had finally caught scent of a bear. Guns and swords rattled and clanked as the men readied for battle. More cheers greeted the boom of the cannon. The muffled sounds of the ship s boat being boarded and lowered were followed by the silence of anticipation. Another, smaller cheer of approval came from the men remaining on board when the intimidated ship was taken. It had been too easy, Stephen thought. There d only been the one warning shot from the cannon. He was anxious to be well so that he could use his strength in a melee. Two more merchant ships were taken as easily before Stephen was up and back to work with his piggin and broom. He kept his eyes alert at all times, looking for a man who might have been his attacker. He became suspicious of everyone whose eye he caught, but everyone looked at him with a knowing look, he thought, and when a sailor made a suggestive clicking sound one morning, Stephen swung around and knocked the man to the deck. He jumped on top of him and pounded the man with his fists until he BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans was unconscious. A dozen men stood around cheering, until Carman and Lieutenant Richards came and pulled him off and dragged him away. Carman swore at him and ordered him below. As he sat below waiting for Carman, he heard the familiar call of, ship ahoy! Soon the cannon fired its warning, but this time was answered with returned fire. A battle raged, and the crew worked smoothly together, manning the cannons and the sails with expertise and precision. When quiet returned, Stephen knew the battle was over. Carman had never come below, so Stephen went up to see what was happening. Gunsmoke clouded the horizon and the smell of powder burned his nose. Cannon balls had ripped sails and shattered the top deck near the bow. Gunshot had poked hundreds of holes in the sails and peppered the deck. Three men lay dead on the deck, piled atop one another by their shipmates. Stephen studied them for clues. Blood soaked their clothes and their insides had spilled out. Two of them were smaller than he, but the third was a giant who d been killed when something had torn half of his face away. Stephen saw that a finger of the man s left hand had been bandaged before the battle. He knew it was his attacker, and he kicked the dead man in the gut, angry that the man was dead. He kicked the man again and again, until the force of his blows re-awakened the pain in his jaw and blood was spattered onto his pants. The Queen Anne s Revenge had taken the prize, and Teach s crew had already grappled and boarded her. Stephen watched Captain Teach standing by the defeated Captain as the crew transferred the cargo of sugar and ten slaves. Teach yelled commands to his men and ran to a captured sailor who had dropped his end of a chest. He picked the man up with one hand, held him above his head for all to see, and then heaved the sailor into the ocean. Stephen saw the great Blackbeard that was feared by friend and foe, alike. Smoking matches of twined hemp stuck out from under his cocked hat. His beard was plaited into little pigtails and tied with bright, colored ribbons, some of them pulled back behind his ears. He d shed his coat for battle, and across his shaggy chest he wore a bandoleer which held three brace of pistols, all six of which, Stephen knew, were primed again, cocked, and ready for firing. The belt around his waist held more pistols, daggers, and the sheath for the cutlass he was holding. He was an awesome sight, and Stephen felt a little shudder, wondering if he were looking at the Devil, himself, as many thought Blackbeard was. With their holds full of captured cargo, the Revenge and the Queen Anne s Revenge put into the port of Havana. The best of their goods were often disposed of in Havana, and Blackbeard had one of his many wives there. Many of the men had women in Havana, and the others could find one there. BOSON BOOKS
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Stephen was among the crew that carried empty water casks ashore for filling. He was promised a woman by his mates, and they were all well-drunk by the time they found a tavern that they liked. He was barely able to stand when they were all led upstairs where the wenches were paraded before them. The women were dark and enticing, but they were all as used and dirty as the wench he d had in Norfolk Town. The man selling the women spoke no English, but he understood that the young Englishman wanted better. A frightened girl, younger than he, was brought to Stephen, and after crude bargaining with her owner, he pulled her to a pallet in a corner. The girl was beautiful and clean, but it never occurred to Stephen to wonder how she got there. He looked into her frightened eyes and they excited him. He reached for her breast, but she said, no, and slapped his hand away. Stephen slapped the girl hard in the face and said, yes! He grabbed her with both hands and pulled her to him. Again she screamed, no, and slapped him with her free hand. The blow jarred Stephen s head and brought back the pain. He ripped away the front of the girl s dress and threw her on the floor. He held her down as he forced himself into her, hearing her scream just as he d screamed two weeks earlier when it was done to him.
A gentle snow was falling as the Revenge dropped anchor on the sound side of Ocracoke. Stephen wandered away from his celebrating crewmates and walked to the ocean side of the island. It was a strange sight, snow covering the sand up to a line cleared by the waves. It was winter again, and he d been gone for less than two months. Nothing had changed in Bath, he knew. He, too, would have been the same had he stayed. But he had changed; he was one of Blackbeard s crew; no better, no worse. His solitude was interrupted by Thomas Carman, who d come upon him without warning in the silent snow. We re going to Machapungo, Stephen, he said. I have no need to go to Machapungo. Teach thinks you have a need, so you do. He wants the ’Adventure’ keel hauled. Didn t do it last trip. If we do it now, it ll last till summer.
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Becoming Americans Stephen didn t want to go to Machapungo. He didn t want to see his Uncle Richard. His uncle would be angry, and there d be questions that Stephen didn t want to answer. Carman was out of patience, and let him know there was no choice. Stephen had taken what he d been allotted as prize money; he d do what he was told to do. The sailed across the sound in near silence, the thick curtain of big snowflakes muffling the ripples of the smooth water. Only the slow creaking of the ship intruded on the quiet. Lieutenant Richards s skill and knowledge of these waters got them to Richard Williams s dock in little more than six hours, and they dropped anchor in mid-afternoon. Stephen asked that he be allowed to go on shore alone, at first. He knocked on the door and was greeted by a strange woman. She let him in and Stephen saw his uncle standing by a bowl of snow in which he was mixing cream and sugar. You made it back alive, his uncle said. I m sorry, Stephen said. Sorry that you re alive, or sorry that you went? Both, maybe, Stephen said. Come, in, Boy. You look cold, but you re brown as an Indian. Sinfully brown, Mother would say. I guess you got to those places you wanted to see? Stephen didn t say anything, he just sat by the fire and warmed his cold hands. Your Grandmother Fewox died while you were off on your grand adventure. The roof at Scuppernong fell in on her and broke both legs. She asked me and Robert to shoot her. Took her a week to die. Did you have a good time? Stephen still said nothing. He didn t know what to say. His grandmother was almost as old as Virginia, but people died all the time. He was filled with regret and shame, but his mind was frozen with the things done to him and the things he d done; things he couldn t speak of. His uncle wanted apologies, coupled with tales of adventure, but he could give him neither. He just stared into the fire. My mother died, and your mother gave birth to twin girls. But, I guess you re not interested. Stephen couldn t answer. Blackbeard, Uncle, BOSON BOOKS
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This time, it was Richard s turn to be silent. He and his men wouldn t let me go, now, after what I ve seen. Stephen’s eyes revealed his desperation. Richard had never seen the look before. They were not the eyes of a boy who d run away, they were the eyes of a condemned man. What did you do, Stephen? What s happened to you? Richard left his bowl of melting snow and went to sit by the fire with his nephew. I am become a dangerous, evil man. The Devil has taken over my body, and he haunts my dreams. He s made me do things . I can t trust myself. If I go back to sea if I go to Bath Town I ll do awful, evil things! Evil spirits have entered my body! The woman stranger chanced a run for the rope of garlic that hung by the fire, and wrapped it around her neck. She started chanting verses from the Bible and protective incantations that she knew. Richard realized that his nephew was serious, that something awful had happened. Can you tell me ? No, Stephen said, staring into the fire. Shut up, woman! Richard said. I can t think! Stephen and the praying woman would take her small pirogue and row under cover of the thick snow to the western shore of the Machapungo River. There, at a point opposite Richard s land, began a path that led to Bath Town. Stephen could rest at Cary s Romney Marsh, borrow a horse, ride from there to Bath Town, then up the Bath Town Road to near Scuppernong. Robert Fewox would hide him.
Six months later, Blackbeard was at the height of his power, while Stephen Williams and the devils in him hid in the pine forests and swamps at Scuppernong.
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Becoming Americans Robert Fewox took him into the propped-up cabin and saw that he was fed. For weeks, Stephen feared being found by vengeful pirates. Robert tried to reassure him that Blackbeard s men had more pressing things to do than look for him, but Stephen felt pursued. On good days he would work at scoring Robert s pines or trapping furs for him to sell, but on most days he wandered aimlessly through the woods or sat by the river with a jug of Robert s plentiful scuppernong wine. He avoided the occasional visitor, seeing only Robert and the other two men who worked the small plantation of pines. Twice, during the next year, his Uncle Richard came to visit and tried to draw him out of the woods. But, Stephen had lost interest in the world, and he spent more time with his jug of wine than he did with people. In June, Teach s ship had returned again to North Carolina from a very successful raid on shipping off the port of Charles Town, even blackmailing the citizens and government of that town for medicines and money. His ships sailed back to Topsail Inlet where he had two of them run aground. He replaced Bonnet in command of the Revenge, and confided that he intended to take advantage of the king s extended offer of amnesty, urging Bonnet to do the same. Bonnet left immediately for Bath. As soon as he was gone, Blackbeard loaded all of the amassed booty onto the Adventure and set sail with only forty men. Some of the other men fled, some he marooned on a deserted island with no food or water. When Bonnet returned with his pardon, he found the Revenge stripped of food and equipment. He re-supplied the ship as best he could, and with an irate crew set out to find Teach. Having no luck with the search, he renamed his ship the Royal James and himself, Captain Thomas, and started pirating again. Blackbeard had successfully double-crossed the gentleman pirate, Bonnet, and now sailed into Bath, himself, to Governor Eden s friendly welcome and the offered amnesty. Captain Teach declared himself retired from piracy and settled comfortably into Bath society. He socialized often and openly with Governor Eden and his secretary, Tobias Knight. Many people were still saying, privately, that both officials had been accomplices of the pirate. Teach built a lavish home, and acquired another wife, the ceremony being performed by Governor Eden, himself. He made friends with neighboring planters by bestowing upon them gifts of rum and sugar. When his lavish spending had depleted his wealth, he resorted to small-time piracy on the inland waters then, again, to the open sea. Bonnet s lone cruise brought him ten ships, but the Royal James was badly in need of repair by September. He entered the Cape Fear River and started the work, but news of his presence spread to Charles Town. By the end of the month, he and the crew were captured and jailed in that city. By the end of November, his crew had been hanged. BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Bonnet, himself, was hanged in December. A year after Stephen s pirating adventure was over; he learned that his Uncle Thomas Carman was dead and rotting on the gallows. Out of retirement, Blackbeard entered the Atlantic from Bath, this time with only the eight-gun Adventure. That was enough to capture a French ship, richly laden with sugar, cocoa, and spices. He returned with the ship to Bath and reported to the governor that he d found the ship drifting at sea, with no sign of life on board. A court was convened by Governor Eden with Tobias Knight sitting as judge. The French vessel was condemned by the court and the pirates given permission to sell their cargo. It was rumored that the governor received sixty hogsheads of sugar and Tobias Knight twenty as their shares of the loot. The government of Virginia was less forgiving of Blackbeard’s relapse. A former quartermaster of his was captured and tried in that colony, confessing that Captain Teach had, indeed, returned to piracy since his pardon by the king. Governor Spotswood was determined to capture Blackbeard and, with his own funds for privacy’s sake, hired two small sloops for that purpose, which he dispatched to the waters off the coast of his southern neighbor Just days after Carman was hanged in Charles Town, Blackbeard the pirate was killed during a battle with the Virginia sloops. His head was cut off and displayed from the bowsprit of the victor s boat. The people of Bath had stared at it in disbelief. Stephen stood in the edge of the woods as a visitor told the news to Robert.
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Stephen seldom left the woods; the evil spirits that lived in him were excited in the presence of other people. He didn t miss the noisy life at Deep Creek and he didn t miss the ordinaries and the brothels of Norfolk Town. He did miss his mother, and he missed James. He wondered about his new twin sisters. But returning to Deep Creek even for a visit was not possible, now. His mother would see into him and know that he d done evil things. She d insist that he talk with a minister to be freed of his devils, but the church would have no interest in his demons and his soul; he had no money. He thought of his Uncle Richard and regretted his behavior toward the generous kinsman. Robert Fewox had married for the first time shortly after the death of his stepmother, Anne. The young bride s dark eyes and black hair reminded Stephen of the girl in Havana. Being around her aroused the terrifying, lustful spirits in him, so that Scuppernong was no longer a refuge. With his gun and powder, Stephen moved deeper into the forest. The restless spirits moved him on, not caring where he went. In winter he trapped beaver and stretched their skins to dry. He sold furs to the Indian traders for rum and ammunition, and he ate well from the food he killed and the corn and peas he stole from unguarded fields. He seldom heard a human voice. Sometimes he sang loudly to himself as he sat by his fire at night. On such a night the desire for human contact conquered his devils and led him to the town on Matencomack Creek now called Edenton during the Christmas celebration of 1727. With his few coins he made a rare trip to a tavern. He was pleased to see that little had changed. He stopped at the ordinary on the edge of town where his rough appearance wouldn t be noticed. The talk around him was about the transfer of North Carolina from the Lords Proprietors back to the Crown. A revolution in South Carolina had effected that change in 1719, and the people here were ready for it. The people resented the Proprietors for their too little and too late help during the Tuscarora War, and lately converted for the scandalous conduct of the governors and officials who had profited with the pirates. For their part, the Proprietors were tired of their whining colonists and a losing business proposition. Transfer to the Crown would be soon, and everyone seemed pleased with the prospect except the worried majority of residents who lived in the disputed territory between the Albemarle Sound and Virginia. They were afraid they might be confirmed as Virginians; a very few were afraid they would not. A survey was to be made in the Spring, it was said, and men were needed to carry the line through the Great Swamp.
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Becoming Americans The drinkers listening to the news burst into sardonic laughter. No man had ever traversed the swamp, and it was unlikely that one would. It was unlikely that a man could be found who would try! Stephen felt an excitement building in him that he hadn t felt in years, a strength and determination that kept his devils at bay. Samuel Swann was the man to see, they tavern owner told him. He lived nearby, in Perquimans County, and his uncle was the Surveyor General, Edward Moseley. Swann was going with his uncle on the survey.
On the afternoon of the designated day in early March, two of four Carolina Commissioners arrived at the north shore of Currituck Inlet. Chief Justice Christopher Gale and Surveyor General Moseley had with them Samuel Swan, the young and newlywed Carolina surveyor who was to assist his father-in-law, Mister Moseley. Stephen and nine other men paddled the large pirogue that carried them and their supplies. Waiting at the shore were the men who represented Virginia s interests. A Mister Fitzwilliam and a Mister Dandridge were the Virginia Commissioners, along with the famous and wealthy Colonel William Byrd. Stephen hadn t seen such finery since he d visited the Harrisons in Williamsburgh as a child, and he delighted in the prospect of seeing Virginia velvet torn to shreds by swamp briers. The Virginians groaned when they realized that the other two Carolina Commissioners, John Lovick and William Little, were not aboard. The Carolina men set to work preparing a meal for the twenty men while they waited for the others to arrive. The Virginians tried to hide their frustration. The 1710 attempted survey had fallen apart after disagreements between the two colonies representatives. Beer and rum flowed freely that night and Stephen felt glad to be with comrades again. Voices awakened him in the darkest of night and he watched the surveyors take bearings by the bright North Star. It was already mid-afternoon of the next day when the two missing Commissioners arrived, making excuses for their lateness, but smelling of the entertainments they d stopped for at several places along the way. The gentlemen went to the sheltered side of a clump of myrtle and began the ceremony of exchanging documents. Soon their raised voices were heard in argument over the beginning point. Where was the true location of the north shore of the Currituck Inlet, as designated in their Commissions? BOSON BOOKS
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Currituck Inlet had changed greatly since Stephen saw it first. A hurricane had opened another inlet five miles to the south in 1712. The old Currituck Inlet was nearly closed, too shallow for ships of any size to pass. Waves slammed across the sand in loud collisions, and threw themselves high into the air. From the north, a spit of sand ran southeastward from a bluff of high land. From that, said the Virginians, should the survey line westward be run: the true north shore of the inlet. Carolinians objected, saying that this spit of land migrated, and that the survey should begin at the bluff. The argument raged on for hours, and still was not resolved by morning. In a peacemaking-attempt, Mister Moseley finally agreed to the Virginia proposal, but, at the last moment, two honest witnesses appeared who swore that, indeed, the spit of land had moved considerably over the last few years. The high point of land was agreed upon and a cedar post was driven into the sand at that point. Stephen volunteered to join the first team to accompany the surveyors. It began as easy work, carrying the chained poles to measure across the flat sand of Dosier s Island, then, after the line was sighted across a narrow arm of the Currituck Sound, onto Knott s Island. There the group made camp in a pasture with enclosures of cut cedar branches. The next morning, Colonel Byrd and the other Commissioners took the smaller pirogue to search for a way around Knott s Island, while the large canoe and baggage went around the south end and back up to North River, where the surveying party was to meet Colonel Byrd. The men carried the line for half a mile over the firm land of Knott s Island, then waded through two miles of marsh, rowed across an inlet, and waded through three more miles of marsh to the high land of Princess Anne County. No one complained. Instead, the men made jokes of the discomforts and, by the time they did reach dry land, were in high spirits. Disasters were turned into merriment. People from the countryside flocked to the camp that evening. They looked on the men as knights-errant, they said, who were running great risk of their lives for the public good. Some thought they must be criminals doing dirty work in payment for their offenses. But, what puzzled them all was how the men could be so light-hearted doing such drudgery. You have little reason to be merry, one of the visitors said. Tomorrow will change your attitude, I fancy. If you have any worldly goods to dispose of, my advice is that you make your wills this very night, for fear you die intestate tomorrow. Stephen lay that night looking at the stars. He was tired but smiling, still. The next day started early and they passed the line over firm land to the banks of the North River. They crossed over and landed in another mile-wide marsh, then onto BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans high land to the pocosin they d been warned of. It was a quagmire of mush, beaver dams, and otter holes that left the men barely able to drag their legs after them. Sunday followed, and very opportunely. No one worked but to cook. They rested in their filth as visitors came to stare at them. Monday started early and easily; three miles of high, dry ground. Then came two miles of quagmire as bad, or worse, than what they d passed. No one complained, but the jesting was gone. When one man sank to his waist, no one laughed. A heavy rain fell that night, sending everyone to crowd into an old house for shelter. But the house had recently been a pork storehouse, and the moisture of the air dissolved the salt that lay scattered on the floor, making it as wet inside as out. Stephen was awakened before dawn from his deep sleep in the mud by the loud and furious cursing of Colonel Byrd. During the night, men from the pirogue had stolen the meat from the cooking pot, causing all to wait for breakfast to be cooked. The morning hours were spent drying bedclothes and supplies. Everyone s spirits were lifted again by the sun, and by noon they d returned to pocosin and marsh. Landowners came to watch as the line cut plantations in two, leaving part in Virginia and part in Carolina. Another clear night gave restful sleep. Early the next morning, the chaplain arrived with men Colonel Byrd had left behind. They were to relieve those who d labored since Currituck Inlet. Stephen and his now-friends objected. They had come to be proud of what they were doing and wanted to be the first men to venture through the Great Dismal Swamp, as Colonel Byrd was calling it. But the newcomers were equally ambitious and the decision was made by drawing lots. Stephen drew a lot that entitled him to continue and, like the other lucky men, was offered money for the opportunity. No lots were sold. All but the twelve men were dismissed to wait on the Carolina-Norfolk Road for Colonel Byrd and the Commissioners. These twelve men sat with the Commissioners and surveyors that night as they listened to the borderers of the Dismal who d come to give advice. No one knew its width, or little else of it, even though they d lived within smelling distance of it all their lives. Stephen listened in amusement as he old timers told tales of the lions, panthers, and alligators they were likely to encounter. He d heard such stories in his youth, and more. Early in the morning, the provisions, bedding, and other necessaries were made up into packs for the men to carry. Enough food for eight days was allowed; it was certain that would be enough, and they couldn t carry more. As one of the strongest men, Stephen s pack weighed nearly seventy pounds. With these heavy packs, the men were to carry the chains, measure the distance, mark the trees, and clear the way for the surveyors every step they went. BOSON BOOKS
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The men were cheerful, ready for the test. Mister Irving, a Virginia surveyor, was the only man of the group who seemed unenthusiastic. For his comfort, he had the men carry his bed and several changes of clothing. By ten o clock in the morning, they had entered the Dismal. The reeds were tall and thick like Stephen had seen before. The ground was wet and spongy like he remembered. He and a Virginia man pushed ahead and used their tomahawks to clear an opening for the surveyors. In three hours they pushed forward half a mile to a small area of firm land. They put down their packs and rested, passing around the jug of rum. After an hour s rest Colonel Byrd made a rousing speech and the surveying party continued into the reeds as Colonel Byrd and the two other Commissioners with him turned back. In the stifling heat of the reeds the party made one more mile s progress that day. Another day in worse reeds and briers than before ended amidst a tangle of great cypresses which the wind had blown down and heaped upon one another. The limbs were sharp snags, like pikes, that were hard to avoid. Less than two miles were made on this day as the jug of rum moved around, mixed with the dark water that bubbled up from any depression. Stephen lay strips of bark on the ground, and put his blanket on top of that. He lay awake for a few minutes, knowing that by now Colonel Byrd and his party would have passed through Deep Creek on their way to greet the surveying part when it exited the swamp on the western side. He thought of his mother and fell asleep. Another day of edging through and over fallen trees followed. Making it worse, the bad water had brought on fluxes among the men, many of them soiling their breeches. Mister Irving stopped to change clothes twice. They all chewed the rhubarb that Colonel Byrd had issued to them, and the malady was controlled. Early in the evening a hard rain started. As the trembling ground they stood on turned into a pond, the men had the good fortune to come upon firm ground and raised a shelter of branches to be safe and dry. Mister Irving looked about for snakes that might be seeking high ground from the water, but Stephen reassured him. The Commissioners had been wise to choose this time of year, before the snakes came out. They rested on the high ground for another day, Sunday, until the water dropped. Monday was clear and the line passed over better ground. They covered nearly three miles until stopped by an impenetrable cedar thicket. Tuesday, the nineteenth of March, was another day in a miry cedar bog, with more fallen trees and trembling ground. They worked in silence. BOSON BOOKS
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Wednesday was more cedar bog, where the trees were smaller and grew in a thicket. Provisions were getting shorter and the work was getting harder. They began rationing the food, and lay down to bed hungry. Some humor did remain, and the youngest fellow of the group, who was plump and healthy-looking, was threatened with the cooking pot if things got worse. He was glad to be of service to such good friends, dead or alive, he said, but was the last to fall asleep. On Thursday morning, the remaining provisions were distributed among the men to eat when they saw fit. The prospect was bleak so, with all consenting, they decided to abandon the line, for present, and set off very early with their compass in a direct, westerly course. The struggled through the cedar swamp until dark, covering about four miles. All food was gone by night, and most of their hopes, until they heard the sound of cattle lowing and dogs barking. At sunlight, they started off again towards the west. They saw the good omen of crows flying overhead and, after an hour s march over marshy ground they began to find themselves among tall pines that grew in the water. Stephen knew they were out. It was wet, but the ground was hard beneath. About ten o clock that morning they reached dry land. Their good luck took them to the house a Mister Brinkley, just south of the line, who began a barrage of questions. We have no spirit to answer questions till after dinner, Samuel Swan told him. But, pray, gentlemen, answer my one question at least: what shall we get for your dinner? Swan answered for them all No matter what, provided it be but enough.
Stephen heard himself groaning and woke up. The pain in his foot made him yell and he reached down to grasp his ankle. He d stepped on a cedar spike as they scrambled to get out of the swamp, but didn t know how baldly he d hurt himself till then. Samuel Swann lay next to him and woke up in alarm. What is it, man? My foot! Stephen cried. BOSON BOOKS
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Swann untied the stocking and pulled it off, over the swollen foot, stiff with dried blood. My God! Swann said, and handed Stephen a flask of kill-devil rum. Swann went to get Colonel Byrd as Stephen drank from the flask and moaned. The spike had driven to the bone and the wound was dirty from the swamp. Colonel Byrd had one of Mister Speight s servants wash the foot, then he bound it tightly after applying a salve that he made from ingredients he carried with him, mixed with herbs that Mistress Speight grew in her garden. The salve gave some comfort, as did the rum, and the celebrity that came with their exploit was a diversion from pain. It was so for Stephen, but nothing was solace for George Tilman who was exhausted with the flux and who lost nourishment and liquid faster than he could take them in. Stephen Williams and George Tilman were done with the survey. In short time both men were satisfied for their services. Mister Moseley, in his cups, called Stephen a martyr, and paid him handsomely for the dirty work. Mister Dandridge settled well with Tilman, though the man was still too weak to know the difference. Their comrades paid them honors, and the men waiting to take their places treated them like munificent benefactors. Word spread quickly of the men s escape from the swamp, and people began to come. Many of them brought food or drink, and a fair celebration was held. The next day was Sunday and more people came to hear the chaplain s sermon or to have their children baptized. Stephen was carried to a high-wheeled cart among the men where he could lie to hear the pastor and to see and be seen by the crowd. He saw Nancy Manning, from Deep Creek, in the throng. She was much older, to his surprise, and stood with a man and three children. She looked at him and smiled in recognition. Nancy Ruffin, she told him later, the wife of Charles Ruffin, to whom she introduced him. They had but little time to talk. Mister Ruffin was anxious to be presented to Colonel Byrd by his friend Speight, and Nancy had lost track of her girls. Before leaving to return to their plantation on the Blackwater River she came back and interrupted the group of young people who had gathered around him.
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Becoming Americans I m glad you re doing well, Stephen, she said. You re looking well. The last time I saw you was at a church service, too, you remember. Your actions, then, had chased away the girls. Not like today. Her eyes traveled over him in a scandalous way as she held his hand in farewell. For the next five days Stephen stayed at the Speight plantation as his former comrades returned to the swamp to carry forth the line. Mister Speight, who had nearly exhausted his supply of laid-up pork and beef, was plainly relieved to be near the end of his hospitality. Colonel Byrd and the other Commissioners, along with their porters, servants, and extra men, had drained his reserves of graciousness as well as those in his smokehouses. His daughter, and the female servant assigned to tend Stephen’s wound, were more compassionate. Although they were unduly pale, with custard faces, as he heard Mister Dandridge say, from the Carolina diet of port, Stephen found their attentions to him flattering and arousing. By Thursday, he had bedded the nurse and one of the Speight daughters. This activity made his foot bleed anew and caused a jealous reaction from a second daughter, which threatened to expose the household s methods of treating a wounded hero. On Friday, after bringing the line onto the high ground and causing signs to be raised alongside the road, Mister Swann was allowed to depart from the survey party so as to return home to his bride. He led the cart that carried Stephen down to Edenton, passing happy people all along the road. All of the disputed land was now officially recognized as being in North Carolina.
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There was celebration when Stephen and Swann reached Edenton, and when Samuel Swann rode out the next day to join his bride at their plantation, Stephen was left as hero of the hour. Traversing the Dismal Swamp was a trek worthy of Marco Polo. Never before had man ventured into that morass of evil spirits and sickly humors to emerge alive on the other side. Some said that the explorers lied; some that they were allies of Satan, who lived in the Swamp; some that they were specially protected by God in their labor of community spirit; but all were thankful that the boundary dispute was settled, and all were eager to be in the company of a dismalite. Stephen paid for no drinks, even though he had ample cash to supply himself. Doors were opened to him, and the hospitality of Edenton offered him a fresh bed every night for weeks. Men rushed to be his friend, and many came with schemes for quick wealth and position. Women approached him on the street, and his thoughts moved from forest brooding back to the motivating ponder of sensual pleasures that had filled his mind when he was younger. He basked in the attention, and it warmed him to the company of society. The years of solitude and despair faded in his memory as he listened to the words of praise for his daring and sacrifice. He enjoyed the moment and gave little consideration to his future. Carolina had changed in the years since he d gone into hiding from Blackbeard and from the evil spirits that had haunted him. There seemed to be people everywhere; people were moving to the colony in ever-greater numbers. Some said there were thirty thousand souls in North Carolina including the bondsmen and slaves. The manufacture of tar, pitch, and turpentine had become a valuable resource for the British Empire. With the export of these commodities, along with the great footage of lumber, staves, and rows of barrels, many folks were growing wealthy. Many more, smaller landholders were able to provide for their families and live an easy life in the land of plenty. A tide of new Europeans, mixed with the influx of Virginians, pushed past the falls of the rivers towards the hill country of their sources, some already seating near the mountains. Bertie precinct was created from Albemarle County, and Bath County had been subdivided into Beaufort, Hyde, and Craven precincts. Carteret precinct was created to the South, and New Hanover in the area by the Cape Fear River, where settlers were arriving from Barbados and from Scotland. And talk was current of subdividing from New Hanover, an Onslow and a Bladen, and from Bertie, an Edgecombe precinct. The political situation appeared to have changed, but it was merely some of the players and their titles that were different. Mister Moseley remained a power, and when BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans he returned from the interrupted boundary survey in April, he re-entered the struggle for a people s party in the government, fighting to hold off the arbitrary use of power by the executive, be he a proprietary or royal governor. The attitudes of the soon-to-be-royal colonists were unlikely to change, all agreed. Royal and Parliamentary authority would be more direct, with the change, without the middlemen of Proprietors and their appointees, but the tradition was well established of an aggressively independent populace. The political influence of Quakers was gone. Oaths of qualification had weeded out that faction, although dissenting sects still abounded. England s Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts was occupying itself with the spiritual needs of Rogues Harbor, but churches were rare and the ministers set poor examples. The times were unfettered by moral constraints. Fear of the church, itself, no longer sufficed to curtail the sensual appetites of the people, and name-calling, profanity, and violence were the usual tools in disputes among all layers of society. Unwed mothers were not uncommon. In this milieu, Stephen no longer felt hunted, but liberated. With his reputation as a woodsman well established, and his curiosity about the wilderness piqued, Stephen accepted an offer of partnership with the merchant trader, Peter Michie. Michie was a small trader who poled the inland waterways and rivers to the falls, and followed the paths and rough roads that connected them. Most Indian traders were based in Virginia or in South Carolina since most Indians, by this point, lived far to the west. There remained the Tuscarora Town up the Roanoke, and the Meherrin Indian Town north of that, near the Virginia line, but the eastern tribes and nations had largely been slaughtered or transported after the great Tuscarora War. And, since the great rivers of North Carolina flowed from northwest to southeast, commerce from the Albemarle required too many dangerous crossings or extended detours. Michie s trade was with the farmers and tar men who d moved westward to the falls, claiming the farms and houses and outbuildings that had been deserted by owners who wanted larger claims for their cattle and hogs. Immigrants and freed bondsmen moved to the deserted holdings, or the small, individual holdings were bought and amassed by Virginia planters who found that an easy, inexpensive way to avoid the supposed limit of 650-acre grants. Michie s flat boat or his mule train were welcome sights to the old and the new settlers because he brought the sugar, salt, ammunition, and luxury items they craved. In Stephen Williams, Michie supplied an adventurer for them to see up close; a storyteller to gather crowds, open doors, and loosen purses. Stephen felt alive, again. Those years alone in the woods were forgotten, and he decided that either the evil spirits had fled him, or that conversation and people kept them quiet. He never talked of his past, except to remind his listeners that he came from Norfolk County. Many of the colonists of Albemarle, still, came from Norfolk or BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Nansemond, or Princess Anne and his connection lent credibility and trust to newcomers who knew or knew of his family, or were acquainted with names he dropped. The two traders were warmly receive by the isolated settlers they searched out. Every house had its hills and rows of tobacco, which were lovingly tended, whether as a cash crop to be rolled or floated to market, or as the family supply of smoke, chew, and snuff. Michie, the Scotsman, carried his own rapee snuff, ground from Spanish leaf he d traded for, grated on his little rasp, and carried in a pouch close to his body. Most of the isolated planters welcomed them with a home brew made from fruits of their orchards or from native grapes, cherries, plums, or persimmons. While Stephen drank with the men, regaling them with tales of the Great Dismal Swamp and sometimes lapsing into remembrances of the great Blackbeard, Michie talked to the mistresses of the household, showing them his collection of buttons or bottles or pins. It wasn’t work, to Stephen, but a continuation of his celebrity in Edenton, spread out to the distant precincts. Michie and Stephen pushed up to the head of the Cashie River, up the Roanoke River, past Tuscarora Town and the settlements that dotted the river above the marshes and islands at its mouth, up to its first boulder-strewn falls. They lugged goods up the road to Virginia that Stephen had traveled down with Swann. They poled up the Chowan and its tributaries into Virginia, carrying small packets of tea, ribbons, and flower seeds. They carried candle molds and wicks for making quantities of candles for housewives who had hoarded tallow and bits of old ones. Stephen had become adept at making candles by watching his grandmother and Sister Mary, being careful not to get the wax too hot, for fear of it s not setting, nor when it was cold, which made the candles lumpy. Making candles gave Stephen an opportunity to tell his tales to the women and sometimes make amorous conquest of a daughter, widow, or lonesome wife. Nancy Ruffin was widowed and living with her brother-in-law, Benjamin Ruffin, when Peter Michie and Stephen Williams arrived to peddle their wares in the summer of 1729. Her husband’s estate had been consumed by his debts and Nancy survived on the generosity of her in-laws. The Ruffin plantation was the last stop of what had been a successful summer and Stephen convinced Michie to accept Benjamin Ruffin s invitation to linger for hospitality. An old, forgotten feeling filled Stephen when he saw Nancy again; a feeling accompanying lust, but one that made him speak gentler and softer than was his custom. When all the brandy had been drunk and Stephen walked Nancy by the river in hope of catching a cooling breeze, her reaction to his solicitous attention was hunger and surrender. There was nothing to restrain her, as she lay back on a bed of grape leaves and lost herself in an ecstasy that changed her life. BOSON BOOKS
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Nancy Manning Ruffin had never forgotten Stephen Williams. She’d turned her thoughts from him when he left Deep Creek, but she’d not forgotten. Her mother had refused to hear his name mentioned, and Nancy, herself, was too preoccupied with her own ambitions to dwell on the non-productive passions that flushed her skin when she saw him. He was but the son of a prospective miller, she’d decided, and a second son at that. Still, those distracting thoughts did come to her, at times, although she’d always, and easily, deflected them. But, on the occasion of the family visit to the Speights’ the previous year, she’d seen Stephen of whom everyone was talking! lying on a highwheeled cart, his fair skin browned dark as sin, needful in his pain, and breathtakingly handsome. Her feelings were almost suffocating, and she pretended to lose her daughters in order to flee the intensity. When Stephen had left Deep Creek in disgrace she’d set her sights on James, his brother, but she’d quickly lost interest in James and focused on one of the Etheridge boys. That was for naught, too, because her father had decided on Charles Ruffin, a man already in his thirties. Her marriage to Charles Ruffin was a profitable one. Charles gave her all she could reasonably hope for in lower Isle of Wight County. He spent lavishly on construction of their house, she was allowed two slaves for inside duties, and he imported enough furniture and clothes to keep the servants busy polishing and mending. Nancy was a dutiful and obedient wife. She gave him two beautiful, adoring daughters, but she’d not given him a son and heir. Still, there’d been no pressure of disappointment from Charles; she was only twenty-nine years old, he said. That was how old she was when she’d seen Stephen at the Speights’. When the Ruffins returned to their Black Water home from the Speights , Nancy had changed. She didn’t know how or why, but she was vaguely discontent. Her daughters were no comfort to her. The servants kept themselves busy out of her sight and Charles was kind and forgiving of her slights, but his touch had become overpoweringly distasteful, and she was sleeping in another bedroom by the time Charles and the girls became ill. Guilt and confusion plagued her as she fought for their lives, but tears and prayers and costly doctors weren’t enough. As she shuddered after making love with Stephen, she felt free and cleansed. The passion that shook her had been foreseen in the feelings she’d suppressed when thinking of him over the years, and she’d never known a power so shattering and compelling. Then, guilt, confusion, and fear erupted in tears and shattered her idea of who she was and had been. She’d not been a good wife to Charles; maybe she had let him die! And, she became afraid, afraid of what passion had led her to do; afraid of what that emotion might make her do. When she yielded to Stephen there was a madness, a heat inside her that was unholy. When he touched her, she became something alien to herself, something carnal. BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans A power outside of herself took over. When Stephen left her to go back to Edenton, Nancy thought of him and shuddered as she had with him there, knowing that the power that shook her was unhealthy and unchristian. Nancy sent word to Stephen when she was nearing delivery of the child they created on that night. Stephen was shocked and suspicious, at first, but when he accepted his paternity he rushed to the Ruffin plantation to collect his family. There was no minister available to them and Nancy was too ill to travel, so the child was born, in the Spring of 1730, outside the sanction of the church or of the law. Stephen, Junior, was named by his father, after himself, to declare that a new dynasty of Williamses would start with him.
Solomon Wilson, the county clerk, read the will. In the name of God, amen. I, Joseph Williams, being sick, etc., do make this my will, etc. Imprimis, I give and bequeath to my loving wife Mary Williams free privilege of my plantation and land, and the half of my water mill during her widowhood . Stephen studied his mother. She was calm and composed. She looked like the wife of a successful miller; no trace of her swamp origin showed. The Widow Williams owned a pew in the Southern Branch chapel. Item. I give to my son James Williams, after my wife s marriage or death, my plantation, including with it two hundred acres of land to him and his heirs forever, and one Negro boy called Cush, and after my son James Williams s deceased, I give this Negro boy Cush to my grandson, John Williams, and if my grandson John Williams dies without heirs, then I give the Negro boy to Elizabeth Williams, my granddaughter . Lawyers use a lot of words, Stephen thought, as he looked at James. James was head of the family now. He looked like the head of a family. His tri-corner hat was new, as was his full suit of coat and waistcoat. He and his were being well-provided for. That was as expected, and as it should be.
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Becoming Americans Item. I give to my son Stephen Williams, one hundred acres of land joining to my son James s land, being the upper part, and one hundred acres in the Western Branch joining to Williams Bass, to him and his heirs forever, lawfully begotten of his body, and one Negro boy called Tony and one hand mill, and if my son Stephen dies without, then I give the Negro boy called Tony to my Grandson James Harbut, and his heirs forever, and I give to my son Stephen Williams one feather bed with the furniture belonging to it . Lawfully begotten of his body. The slight was no surprise to Stephen but the smirk of satisfaction on Ann s face was galling. His son, Stephen Junior, would have no need for Virginia land, anyway, Stephen hoped, but the hypocrisy was too much. The Bournes had never wed! Item. I give to my daughter, Mary Williams, one Negro boy called Pompy, one feather bed with some furniture, and an iron pot; and if my daughter Mary dies without heirs, then I give my Negro boy Pompy to my daughter, Ann Harbut, after the death of my wife. What would happen to Sister Mary after her mother died? This item settled that. She d live with Dick and Ann. Item. I give to my daughter Edy Williams, after my wife s death, one Negro boy called Sharper, one feather bed with some furniture, one iron pot. Item. I give to my daughter Sarah Williams, after my wife s death, one Negro boy called Philly, one feather bed with some furniture, one iron pot. Stephen was glad of that. The twins would have something to bring to a marriage when the time came. The Negro boys would grow up and bring good prices if they stayed healthy and were taught to work. Item. I give to my youngest children, Stephen, Mary, Edy, and Sarah, all my pewter, to be equally divided amongst them at my wife s death, and if my wife deceases before my youngest children comes to age, I do give them to my daughter Ann Harbut, and to my son-in-law Richard Harbut, and their portions belonging to them; and I do give all the rest of my estate not here named to my loving wife Mary Williams, within and without, during her life, and at her death to be equally divided among all my children. And I do appoint my loving wife Mary Williams full and whole executrix of this my last will, disanulling all other will or wills made by me heretofore, where I have hereunto set my hand and seal, this 19th day of January, 1734. Solomon Wilson put down the paper.
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Becoming Americans Joseph wrote that a year and one month ago, he said. A difficult year for you, it was, Mary. Joseph was a fine man. I hated seeing him suffer. A distinguished funeral, you gave for him. A cold rain blew against the window. Wilson s man heaved another oak log onto the fire. Thank you, Mister Wilson. My husband thought highly of you and your family. The Clerk spoke to each of Joseph Williams s grieving children and ushered them to the door. He was a busy man. Outside, heads turned as the beautiful, seventeen-year-old twins, Edy and Sarah, walked past, fluttering eyelids in search of conquests as their mother shepherded them down the street, back to the boat. Edy held the hand of six-year-old Joseph; Sarah that of five-year-old William; both girls terrified that they d be mistaken for the boys mothers! James held two-year-old Bess in his arms. James s wife, Elizabeth, lagged behind, slowed by her swollen belly as she waited for their fourth child to be born. He could have been more loving, Stephen said to his mother. My son was his grandchild as much as James s boys! Stephen, we ll not discuss it, Mary Williams said. She slowed to wait for Sister Mary to catch up. You were not wed in the eyes of the church, nor of the Crown. Not even by the laws of Carolina! What difference is there between my son and you? Stephen asked. parents were not wed!
Your
We re not discussing me. It s different with a male child, she said. The church . I m tired of hearing about the church and what it would or would not approve of . Stephen! Someone might hear you! Mary looked around to see if anyone was listening. She took Sister Mary s hand and walked faster towards the river.
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Becoming Americans Stephen. Could this wait? James asked. He looked around. Dick and Ann walked with Little James, himself a young man. Stephen lifted his son to his shoulders. There s nothing to wait for, he said, and galloped ahead to the boat as the boy laughed and urged his father on.
Stephen returned to his father’s grave and stood there, cursing the insulting legalism of his father’s will. His face was twisted and tears glistened in his eyes. "Even from the grave he ignores me and denies his own grandson!" Nancy reached to comfort him but he brushed her hand away. "And you! He insulted you! Ann and James and the twins, he loved. But you, and I, and our son ." "He didn’t ignore you, Stephen," Nancy said. "He gave you land, furniture, like the others." "And his pewter. Things. That’s all he cared for. He bought a pew before he died to insure a place in heaven! Now he lies rotting. He had no thoughts of God. He didn’t believe in anything he couldn t buy. In the old days people used to believe in things. Grandfather Biggs did. They say he went to the James Town jail for his Quaker beliefs. And Grandfather Williams! He was killed doing something he believed in. My father wasn t religious " Stephen stopped. A chill swept over him. He was no more religious than his father had been. His father had paid the church his tithe and repeated the words in church that he was told to say. His father probably died feeling that he was going to some majestic home in the sky, never questioning his right to join the well-dressed, well-fed saints who’d be waited for him. Stephen dismissed such a worldly belief, but had nothing to replace it. He stood at his father’s grave, startled, terrified of his own, eventual death.
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Becoming Americans The large family of Williamses, Biggses, Harbuts, and Bournes had gathered for a meal of fish, oysters, turnips, and corn mush. A hint of springtime was in the air. Willy Biggs was moving to Carolina. He’d heard of deserted farms in Bertie Precinct, between the Cashie and Roanoke Rivers, where friends of his had already gone. His older brother, John, was back from years of study and work in England and discouraged Willy’s move to the new wilderness. But Willy was determined to be off with his own family, eager to find solitude, eager to be away from the watchful eyes of the community of Friends. Willy Biggs wasn’t satisfied with the faith of his father and grandfather. It left him cold and disappointed with himself. When God moved him to speak of his doubts at meeting, he wasn’t comforted by the believers, but surrounded by their certitude and left in silence to find his own way. Stephen listened to his cousin and his own wanderlust returned. It had never been far below the surface, but the responsibility of providing for a family and the luxury of living in a house with a bed, soft sounds, and a soft, warm body next to his had settled him in Edenton. The busy, growing town needed carpenters and laborers, so Stephen hired himself out, foregoing luxuries of the marketplace for the simple luxuries of family life that he’d not had since leaving his father’s hearth. Peter Michie was no townsman, so for most of the year the small family had the house alone. Stephen Williams was no townsman, either, but he wouldn’t leave his wife and child alone. Willy s invitation to join up with him for the move to Bertie stirred Stephen. Over the past five years, Nancy had grown strong again even though she’d borne no more children and Junior was a strong boy who traveled well and shook off his childhood illnesses with little fuss. Stephen looked at Nancy and knew she was reading his thoughts. She smiled. He looked at his mother as Willy talked on, telling of the farmland Stephen had seen more than once. Biggest problem is the trees, Willy said. If a squirrel didn t mind swimming, once in a while, he could go from the sea to the mountains without touching the ground. Stephen knew that, and he knew the large old fields and cleared land that was there, too. Easy living. Mary Williams sat by her father, Daniel Bourne, as he lay in bed, paralyzed from an attack that had seized him a week before Joseph died. Junior stood at the foot of the bed, staring at his ancient great-grandfather. Mary held her father s hand, pretending to hear Willy. Her mother was dead, her husband, too. Her father would be, soon. Her last ambition had been to provide a church pew for her family, and she’d done that. She only wanted to enjoy the fruits of her labor, now. BOSON BOOKS
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Mary was proud of her oldest son. He ran the mill well; he had provided heirs; he did his duty. Her daughters were provided for, even Sister Mary. She knew Stephen would be off again. Stephen was a lost soul. But, if her wastrel son wished to carry his woman and his bastard child to the backcountry of Carolina, it was fine with her. She’d worked too hard to gain respectability for her family to have it blemished by a son who had always refused to do the proper thing. . James sat in his father’s chair, toying with a new silver snuffbox. "Sounds like a land of opportunity for you, Stephen" he said.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Twenty-five
Junior Williams could remember bits and pieces of the move to Bertie. He remembered walking for days through dark woods on a muddy path that was the road. The cart had gotten stuck, weighted down with his mother s cooking pots and the chests with all their clothes and the hogsheads of his father s tools. Finally, the ox got stuck in the mud, too, and it took his father and Uncle Willy all night to free, first the beast, and then its load. He remembered his father saying that the biggest problem with the land was all the trees, and he remembered, although he was only a little child, that he d pulled a burning stick from the fire, one night, and tried to set the woods on fire. He thought he remembered those things, but his parents had told the stories so many times in the last five years that he wasn t sure if he remembered the incidents or just hearing about them. Junior Williams had never been so happy in all has ten years. His father wasn t drunk; his mother had found a bee hive full of honey; his cousin Tom had given him a plug of Virginia tobacco; and Tony had made him two pipes from reeds that grew by the pocosin. Junior sat propped-up in a corner on the packed-dirt floor and blew on the longer reed whistle. He d won a silver whistle from Tom by jumping out of that tall oak tree. He d broken his leg, but it didn t really hurt, anymore, and he wasn t going to tell anyone. He heard a horse coming at full gallop and looked up through the open doorway to look up the road. It was his Uncle Willy. Willy Biggs was red in the face. Junior looked at his father for his reaction. Junior knew his father s cousin was mad before the man got off his horse. Did you get Harris out of the jail? Stephen asked. Stephen, five hundred of us were in Edenton last week to get Harris out. So many men, cursing the king, ready for rebellion . What s wrong? Stephen asked. The governor Willy began. Governor Johnston, again, is it? Come into the house, Cousin, and have a drink to cool off.
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Becoming Americans Tony ran over from his cabin and took the reins of Willy s horse. The two white men went inside and sat down, the guest in Stephen s chair, he on a split-log bench. Nancy brought them beer then went back to building her fire in the oven. We re to pay our quit rents in cash, now. Proclamation money, alone! And where are we to get cash? The rent and tax men take our hogs and cattle for a shilling on the pound, and charge us ten times what the taxes are for their fees! Calm down, man. You ll do yourself harm, you will, Stephen said. He almost laughed at Willy. His cousin let governmental doings get to him and there d been enough turmoil in the affairs of the precinct to keep him riled ever since they d arrived in Bertie. Or, was it finally, Edgecombe? Governor Burrington and his Council had requested that the western part of Bertie Precinct become a separate body, Edgecombe Precinct, as early as 1732, but the governor s insulting and argumentative style had contributed to the hostile air in Edenton and the situation was not yet resolved. Power was shifting to the southern part of the province, to New Hanover and to the merchants and townspeople in Brunswick, on the Cape Fear River. Stephen s Uncle Richard had removed south to Onslow, and Samuel Swann, too, who was now a member of the Assembly, himself. And now we ll have to pay the collector to come collect the taxes! The fees are more than the taxes. They re merely an excuse to charge fees! We re a fountain of coins for the king s friends, and friend s of his ministers. Enough! Enough? Stephen asked. Then don t pay. Many of us don t. Damn the Board of Trade! Willy! Where are your Quaker beliefs? Peace, Willy. No curses. No mobs. Stephen finally allowed himself to laugh. You re not paying attention, Stephen.
They ll make you pay, one day.
Beware. Willy sat back in the chair and shook his head in resignation of Stephen s ignorance. While the sound of Willy s horse faded in the distance, Nancy Williams hummed a tune. She wondered if her son might learn to play it on his new pipe. It had been so long since she d heard music. When she was a Ruffin there were parties with music and
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Becoming Americans dancing. Everybody danced! It seemed so important, then, to be a good dancer. Charles had planned to hire a dancing master for the girls. But, that was another life. She sealed the corn pone in the oven and went back to her loom. She was relieved that Stephen would be gone for awhile. She d use the free time to get back to her spinning. If she had enough wool carded! The oil lamp flickered and she resolved to make candles, too, while Stephen was away. Maybe she could get Junior to comb some wool while no one was here to see him doing women s work. Stephen leaned back in the one chair that they owned. He leaned away from the fire; the summer heat was coming early. He drank from his noggin of plum wine and wiped the dribbled splash from his chin. By the time he got back from driving his cattle to the Nansemond, other fruit would be ripe enough for making brandy. Peaches would be next, and peach brandy was his favorite. There was enough of the plum wine to get him to the town on the Nansemond. There, he d buy some Barbados rum. He hadn t had good rum in a year, and the long cattle drive to the Nansemond landing would be worth it, just for that first drink. Put that thing away, Boy. You can play with it while I m gone. Stephen barked at his son. The boy didn t think. He was still mad with Junior for breaking his leg when every hand was needed for the cattle drive. He puffed on his pipe, but it was dead. Where s my tobacco? he asked. Nancy broke her rhythm and got up from the stool. She walked to the table where Stephen had his feet propped up. She picked up the pouch and handed it to her husband, then went back to the loom. You don t want any? Stephen asked his wife. I have a chew, right now. Too busy for a pipe, she said. You give the boy his medicine? Stephen asked. It won t be long, Nancy said. They both looked at Junior. He was beginning to nod. The wine and Saint John s wort were beginning to work. Junior pulled himself to the pallet he had laid in a corner. He put his face toward the wall, looking outside through gaps in the mud caulking to where his dog, Amos, lay BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans sleeping next to the door of Tony s hut. Cattle were lowing and on the move. Amos raised his head. The moon was full, and Junior blinked his eyes to focus. When he opened his eyes Amos wasn t there, it was daylight, and the house was empty. He reached for his crutch and limped to the door. He pulled it open and dragged it back, deepening the rut it made in the dirt. Six of his father s cattle all of them except the bull, a milk cow, and her calf were gathered in the yard, mixed with ten of his Uncle Willy s. His father and Tony, his Uncle Willy, his cousin Tom, and some hired men of his uncle s were herding the cattle to Virginia. But he didn t see Tom, and his uncle had no men with him. Junior s mother was standing by his father and when she saw him on his feet, she came to the doorway. How s your leg, Son? It s good. Where s Tom and the men? he asked his mother. They re all down with the ague, but Willy and your father have decided to go, anyway. The three of them can handle those few cattle, your father says. Nancy wasn t sure of that. Stephen wasn t sure, either, but he and Willy had been planning this trip since winter. They knew old Henry Williams agent be would be on the Nansemond to buy Carolina livestock, tobacco, and wheat. Carolina s produce brought only a fraction of what a Virginia s planter got from these merchants, but the Carolina men had no choice but to take what was offered. They were isolated and dependent. They got less for what they sold and paid more for what they bought. The injustice existed with quit rents and government fees, too. The landholder s taxes and fees were paid in proclamation money, that was money valued at a rate set by the government and that had no relation to its market value. Many men refused to pay their quit rents, especially those of the old Albemarle County, even though their rates were usually only half that in the more recently settled areas. Stephen hoped that his distant family connection to Henry Williams might bring him a few shillings more for his cattle, but he had few illusions, remembering the man s treatment of his father and uncle when they were building the mill in Deep Creek.
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Well after sunrise, Willy Biggs rode his horse up to the doorway and dismounted. I have em ready. You ready? he asked Stephen. I m ready, Stephen said, and gave his wife a quick kiss. I ll walk with you to the river, Nancy said. No need. We have em under control. Stephen picked up two sticks he d set aside and walked to Tony and gave him one. As Willy started off, pulling the lead cow behind him, Stephen and Tony fell in behind the herd as it moved off, up to where they d cross the Roanoke. The two men and the slave boy were laughing when they climbed out of the river, thinking that the worst part of the cattle drive was over with at the beginning. But, it had rained for the last fortnight and the road was mud, again. The heavy hoofs of cattle pressed it into mire and muck and soon the cattle, even, searched for ways around it. Strays drifted to the edge of the woods and the men were kept on the run chasing them back onto the path. Tony was an agile runner, and a system soon evolved that let Stephen and Willy remain with the herd while the young slave chased strays back to the road. You have a good worker in that boy, Stephen. I wager he s worth a few hundred pounds, Willy said. Stephen grunted agreement. His father had been smart in buying slaves, spending his money on young, strong boys that he could feed and train to be hard workers. He d needed strong backs for mill work, hauling and handling barrels of corn and wheat, then the meal and flour. Stephen did have to thank his father for willing him Tony. The boy had been no trouble. He ate like a horse, but food wasn t a problem. The boy grew his own corn, anyway. Tony was, maybe, five years older than Stephen s Junior, and he d been a good playmate for Junior, back in the country where the nearest neighbor was at least a mile off in either direction. Yes, and that s good since he s my only slave, and probably will remain my only one. The price of slaves is high and people aren t selling the good ones. Not here. You going to buy him a wife? Willy asked.
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Becoming Americans Tony looked towards his master to hear the answer. Stephen chuckled. Can t do it. Doubt he ll ever have a woman. Stephen laughed to himself at Willy s talk. It wasn t thee and thou, anymore. It hadn t been for some time. With no Quaker community around, Willy s speech had lapsed into the style and pattern of his neighbors. Not that there was much neighborly conversation to mimic. There was little occasion for neighbors to get together in this part of Carolina. There was no sense of community, like there d been in Virginia. Court days were an excuse to gather and get drunk, but the taverns were expensive and they expected cash payments. There was no church to gather around; no exciting militia drills. Stephen didn t miss it, but he knew Nancy missed the parties and gatherings she d been used to. Stephen didn t know the answer to that. There was nothing he could do about it. He wasn t moving back to Virginia. William Bass paid him a few pounds rent for the land that abutted his, and James did the same for that next to his. Stephen had used that Virginia money to buy his horse. Much of the road northeast into Virginia was through piney woods and swamp land; good forage for the cattle, but uncomfortable for the men. Tony seemed to be the only one among them who took to the landscape. He was a cheerful worker, and Stephen was glad to have him along. He carried his own knapsack of food and spoke only when the white men spoke to him. The drive was slow and uneventful, so, by the second day, Stephen relaxed early and started drinking from his jug of brandy earlier than usual. He retold old stories of his pirate days and, as they neared the western edges of the Dismal Swamp, he and Willy retold each other stories of the swamp; of what they d seen there, and how people survived. Tony was convinced that humans couldn t live in the swamp, but the men said they had, and both bragged to the slave boy about their survival techniques. On the third morning, the road forked into three branches and, later, when a road leading south from Virginia crossed it, the cattle scattered at the noisy approach of a slave trader. The trader helped them collect the cattle and the two groups stopped to share a noon-time meal. The trader had three blacks and two Indians in chains; the Indians having been bought at the nearby Meherrin Indian town, he said, captives brought to that tribe from allies in the west. He was headed south to Edenton, he said, where a crowd had gathered to hear a traveling preacher named Whitefield. Folks said the preacher drew huge crowds out into open fields to hear his style of preaching, and that he made men cry out and fall down shaking with the power of his message.
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Becoming Americans Willy was curious to see such a scene and to hear the man, but Stephen wasn t interested. He was more interested in the Barbados rum waiting on the Nansemond. That afternoon, the men and cattle eagerly plunged across the Chowan, just south of where the Meherrin River joined it, and by the next afternoon they had crossed into Virginia about ten miles west of where Stephen had left the survey team twelve years earlier, and about ten miles south of the Ruffin plantation. The men and cattle were passed by people returning to their homes from hearing Whitefield. None of the dispersing congregation was alone. They were small groups and larger groups, but everyone seemed within touching distance of another. They walked arm in arm, smiling and laughing, or stopped by the road to put their arms about each other, some of them sobbing, most with wet eyes. Most of them shed tears of happiness. A group stood by for them to pass and comforted a member who was distraught with fear, on his knees pleading to God for forgiveness. Willy was upset that they d not attended the sermon, but Stephen was preoccupied with worldly things. After their fifth day of walking through mud and cow dung, Stephen told Willy they were stopping early. The next day would bring them to the Nansemond, anyway. And, since they d have access to real rum the next day, there was no need to be sparing of the brandy. By nightfall, the small cask was nearly empty and, as Stephen had a far greater taste for alcohol than did Willy, he was far drunker. Soon after he had emptied the cask long before midnight Stephen was asleep, leaving Willy and Tony alone with the peaceful herd. In the middle of the night Willy was awakened by movement in the herd. He could tell in the faint moonlight that some of the cattle were on their feet, lowing softly, but acting nervously. He sent Tony to calm them and tried to wake Stephen. Stephen wouldn t budge; he could not be awakened. Willy waited for Tony to calm the cattle and return, but when heavy clouds blocked out the little moonlight, wolf howls sent the cattle stampeding toward the camp the men had set up. Willy grabbed Stephen by his feet and pulled him behind a clump of trees that were felled beside the road, and lay beside him as the cattle jostled each other in their attempt to flee the wolves. But, there were no wolves attacking and the cattle scattered into the woods. Stephen had been jarred to semi-consciousness and was pulling himself up as Willy quieted his horse and untangled its bridle that was twisted and wrapped around a tree that held it. Stephen saw what had happened and stumbled up to regroup the cattle, calling out for Tony to come help. Willy came to help, but Tony didn t answer.
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Nancy stood up in the garden and wiped her hands on her apron. She took off her hat to fan her face, then put it back on, adjusting the brim to shield the back of her neck. She looked around, then lifted her skirts to wave cool air through her legs. She squatted, again, to pull the weeds from her peas. She should be combing wool, she knew, but she had Junior doing that and the garden needed weeding. She saw that several shoots at the end of rows had been nibbled down and she looked around the fence to find where the hole was so she could fix it. The days weren t long enough. She stood again to ease her back. If she had more children she d have more help. She moved down the row and squatted. It wasn t God s will that she have more children. The sickness that came with the birth of Junior had killed the thing inside her that made children. It was the passion that had killed it, she d decided. With Charles there d been no passion. Union with her first husband had been a sacred act of making children. Or, maybe something had died in Stephen. When they came back from visiting his family in Deep Creek and started preparation for the move to Bertie, Stephen had become more sullen. He spent more of his time and earnings at taverns in Edenton, or sitting by himself at home with a jug of whatever was most handy. More and more often, the drink kept him from work. His quiet drinking was more painful to Nancy than if he d beat her. She was powerless to help him, as she d been powerless to help Charles. At night, in bed, Stephen turned fitfully and snored while Nancy cried in frustration or got up to do needlework by the fire. She worried that Stephen didn t have any patience with Junior s high spirits and had once, in drunken mutters, referred to him as the little bastard.
Junior tapped the last peg flush with the hinge and swung the door back and forth, free of the floor. He was tired of doing chores for his mother and wanted to do men s work. He d chopped the block, and carved the two sets of hinges for the door the previous day. Then he d shown his mother what he d done and convinced her to let him put on the new hinges. He was anxious for his father to see the work. His father would never have fixed the door. His father didn t care if the hinges worked or didn t. Junior loved his father, but he didn t understand him. Junior had asked BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans his father why it was that everyone he knew had brothers and sisters but him. The answer was, One of you is enough! His father didn t seem to want any more of anything and he didn t care about what he did have. Junior had decided that when he grew up he wanted more of everything: more land, more horses, more slaves, more children. His father didn t work the land he had, he didn t work Tony very hard his horse even less and he didn t like children. His father played cards and drank with his friends, Junior knew, but he never seemed to be having a good time. Junior liked having a good time, and that was another thing he wanted more of. He limped to the door of the smokehouse and stuck his head inside, just to get a whiff of the smoked meat and sausage hanging there. He heard Amos barking at a coming horse and latched the door shut to see who was riding by. It was his father and Uncle Willy, riding on the one horse, coming from the wrong direction. Tony wasn t with them. Nancy ran to meet her husband while Junior waited by the hitching post. By the time his parents got to him they were silent. Pa, you didn t sell Tony, did you? Junior was afraid. Tony was his friend and his father had said he d never sell the slave. Tony would be Junior s, one day, he d said, come down from his Grandpa Williams in Virginia. Let me in the house, first, Boy. Willy and I been moving for two weeks. Willy bid a somber good-bye to the Williams family and rode off. They went into the house, Junior s father not noticing the repaired door. The boy shouldn t have broke that leg. We needed more hands with the cattle, Stephen explained to his wife. The rascal just ran off. Run off? But why would Tony run off, Pa? He s happy here. No slave s got it better than Tony has. I bet he was stole, Junior said. It was incomprehensible that his friend would run off and leave him alone with no one to fish and hunt with, no one to talk to. His Uncle Willy kept Tom busy working, so he didn t see him but once or twice a month. Could be he was stole, Stephen said. We ran up with a slave trader that morning, headed to Edenton. That s where we went after Nansemond. Went to the Bertie Courthouse then to Edenton to report him run away or stole. They put out a hue-
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Becoming Americans and-cry in Nansemond, but I don t know. I expect he s in the Dismal. Probably eat up by a bear, by now. Junior rejected that. He was stole, Pa. Tony wouldn t run off from his home. They asked me lots of questions at the courthouse. Stephen spoke to his wife with some concern in his voice. They wanted to know where I lived; was I a freeholder or a tenant. Wanted to know had I paid my quit rents and poll tax. He was all we had, Stephen, Nancy said. She hadn t been listening. All that set us apart from the squatters. She saw their fortunes going downhill. She d had hopes for their new beginning when they d left Deep Creek with a slave. Now, they d be just another set of poor and powerless settlers living in an increasingly distant society of large slaveholders and their blacks. Junior looked up at his parents. They were looking away from each other, both looking sad. He d never seen them looking sad, before.
A runaway slave was a threat to everyone s property. The number of large slaveholders was increasing as abandoned land was amassed by large Virginia planters. One of them, Elisha Battle, had bought ten adjacent farms, three of them touching Stephen s land. With him and his wife he d brought nineteen slaves, but no white settlers. There were too many black faces, many people said, and men worried for the safety of their wives and children should the slaves unite and revolt. Tony s escape was an alarm to all the slaveholders in Bertie and Edgecombe Precincts. Owners came to the Williams house to express concern, admitting that search parties would be futile since the boy had run off in Virginia. The men were united in their indignation and in their determination that it wouldn t happen to them, agreeing among themselves that Stephen Williams had been too lax in his treatment of the slave, and that he d acted foolishly in BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans taking the boy out of the province. Stephen hadn t concerned himself with worrying about slave uprisings, he was more concerned about the large planters moving in, and about the increasing number of Scotch Highlanders and Scotch-Irish moving in from the Cape Fear. Nancy worked in furious silence.
In March of 1744, Willy Biggs rode from the river landing to tell Stephen the news that a big change was happening to their part of the colony. When the Crown bought out the Proprietors in 1729, making North Carolina a Royal Colony, John Lord Carteret recently become Earl Granville, with the death of his mother had refused to sell his one-eighth of the province. In 1742, King George II had commanded that the district be surveyed, and finally that was happening. Earl Granville s portion was the eighth part of North Carolina that was included from the Virginia border to a line about sixty miles south of it, having no western boundary. This private holding included the oldest settled parts of North Carolina, with two-thirds of its population. Granville s agent, Francis Corbin, was already in Carolina to supervise the survey and had opened an office in Edenton to collect quit rents and issue patents, thereby re-establishing some of the prestige to the town that had gone when the Assembly moved to New Bern. Stephen had been sent an offer to join the survey party. Edward Moseley was one of the Commissioners for this survey, too. Edward Moseley continued to be among the most powerful men of the colony and, like many of his class, had moved south to the Cape Fear region as the center of power and of opportunity had shifted there. Since 1739 the former precincts had been made counties and the Assembly had been meeting more often in New Bern than in Edenton. Governor Johnston had large land holdings near the Cape Fear. The competition between the old Albemarle counties and the Cape Fear counties had increased and was growing more bitter. Legislators from the southern counties were determined to lessen the hold of the older region, and were pressing to make a southerly town the seat of North Carolina government. In one small effort to assuage bitterness, Mister Moseley had called upon Albemarle residents to join the survey team. Stephen Williams was a logical inclusion, Willy explained. Stephen was desperate for the wages and was desperate to be away from the silent rage of his wife.
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By the end of 1744, the southern boundary of the Granville District had been drawn from the Outer Banks, through the old Machapungo pines of Richard Williams, to a point just north of Bath. Bath, itself, had never acquired the status that was hoped for it, but Reverend Thomas Garcia, of Bath s Saint Thomas Church, was always ready for a chance to exhibit the church. Stephen sat quietly, his eyes following a line of square paving tiles as they passed his pew, up the aisle to beneath the alter. Two silver candelabra and a chalice sat in shining relief to the rough brick walls of the unfinished church. Reverend Garcia s heavy voice was slow and thickly accented. Stephen understood that duty was the sermon topic, but the voice had become sound without words, but sound with rhythm; a rhythm like footsteps. Walking and cutting, cutting and walking. He looked at his leather breeches and torn hose. Richard Williams nudged his nephew and smiled. Stephen wiped his eyes. It would be no good to snore at Reverend Garcia while seated as a guest in a vestryman s pew. He glanced past his uncle to Samuel Swann, then back. Richard Williams was an old man. He wore no wig, but his long white hair was bound and tied as elegantly as Mister Swann s peruke. Not all of the survey team had stayed in Bath for the prayer of celebration offered by Reverend Garcia. Some of them were in a great hurry to return home, others were alienated from the Established Church by other church loyalties or by disbelief. Stephen had stayed to be with his uncle. He felt this would be his final time with the last of that Williams generation. When the service was over the congregation filed out, stepping carefully around piles of brick and sand that were going into the bell tower over the front door. Men came to greet Mister Swann and to talk of the survey and of raucous affairs in the New Bern assembly, others came around Richard to talk of their land speculations and to swap stories of old times. Some of the men had known him before the Indian war. Stephen felt like an old man, himself, when he d come into Bath. Little was as it had been when he was there before. The church was new; a small but solid structure that might eventually be beautiful. Other buildings were gone or had changed beyond recognition. He wasn t sure if the Lawson house was gone or remodeled. Hannah and her children were gone, he d been told. Old, rotting pilings stood in the creek, and other, new wharves lined the bank.
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Becoming Americans Richard pointed out faces to him in the crowd that were people he d have heard of, but Stephen stopped looking when he saw two faces that made him catch his breath. Two of Teach s men were among the congregation, and the old instinct of flight took Stephen for an instant. The faces of the pirates were different from what he remembered. They were cooler, calmer faces. They were happy faces. That thought was puzzling to Stephen, and he avoided eye contact with the men. When the time was right, the three guests went to an ordinary for meat and drink. Stephen was thirsty and he felt stupid with these men of accomplishment, so he drank his dark rum punch as the other two talked. The rum softened the older man and he spoke freely. Richard wanted Stephen to move south with him. He had sons about the age of Stephen, Junior. They d be a big family. Samuel Swann had become Speaker of the House, a powerful man, the first Speaker from outside the old Albemarle, but Swann was taken back to his younger days by the rum, and the exploits he d shared with a younger Stephen made him speak as if they were equals. The Granville District will be trouble, mark my words. Earl Granville s quit rents detract from the common good, Swann told him. The southern counties, Nephew. That s where you want to be. Boundless opportunity for a man with your experiences. Building everywhere. Traders and merchants tripping over each other in search of help. Surveying! Town lots, grants, wills . Pirates! The King s ministers are robbing us like pirates. Taking what they can because they can. It isn t right! Swann s voice carried around the room. It s more like South Carolina than it is Albemarle. by politics.
Richard was less motivated
If the Crown proclaims that a hundred pounds of my tobacco will bring me ten shillings of Proclamation money, why is it that with that bill I cannot buy over two sterling shilling s worth of sugar on the Brunswick dock? Stephen heard the men talking but his thoughts were elsewhere. Seeing the two old pirates in church had been a surprise. Men who d stolen anything not tied down, who d burned ships, and who d killed others many times were sitting at peace in church, old men with their wives. Something was wrong. They shouldn t look so at peace with themselves, he thought. At their parting Stephen promised Samuel Swann that he d return in March to continue with the Granville District survey. He embraced his Uncle Richard, thanking
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Becoming Americans him for his lifetimes affection and friendship and promising to consider the idea of moving south.
In the summer of 47, the Granville line survey stopped at the Haw River, 200 miles from the ocean, and Stephen Williams rode home to bad news. Nancy s brother, Mathias Manning, had stopped to visit while moving with his family to the three-hundred-and-fifty-acre grant in he d bought in Edgecombe County. Elizabeth, his wife, was ill and had lingered with a daughter, Mary, as Elizabeth Manning regained her health. I m pleased that you re better, Elizabeth, and glad you ve been here to keep my Nancy company, Stephen told her. Nancy and her sister-in-law sat on the bed. Mary and Junior sat on the bench by the table. The women were silent after telling Stephen why the visitors were there. The children kept still, with downcast eyes. Junior spoke up. Mary and I are to be wed. Stephen sat in his chair. He was confused at first. He d spent such little time with his son that there was no immediate reaction. Was he to be angry at the impetuosity of his seventeen-year-old son, or was he to congratulate the boy? His reaction came more as an effort to please his wife and their visitor than from emotion for his son. A beautiful and wise choice, for so young a man, he said. many beautiful grandchildren.
I look forward to
The women blushed and Junior slid forward on the bench. Your first grandchild will come in January, Junior said, then slid back. I see, Stephen said, and glanced at Mary s smooth stomach, counting backwards on his fingers.
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Becoming Americans And when Father Manning returns to fetch his women, I ll be leaving to work his land above the falls, Junior said. I see, Stephen said, and looked around the house. His eyes stopping on the many examples of Junior s work; work that Stephen had seldom appreciated. He felt old, again. He left the house To look about the fields, he said and went to a secluded, sandy opening by a branch that drained his fields into the local Deep Creek, a tributary of Fishing Creek, which flowed into Tar River. Cold water rippled over the sandy bottom of his three-foot stream. He owned fields in two colonies that fed two Deep Creeks. His past. His future. He raised his eyes to see a flock of turkeys grazing for acorn and pine nuts. Two old cocks threatened each other on opposite sides of an opening, their beards flowing on the ground, their two-inch spurs ready for combat. Junior came through the brush and the turkeys flew away, with much noise. Uncle Willy died while you were gone, he told his father. Stephen looked at him for a while. You chased away a flock of turkeys, he said, and looked away.
When Mathias Manning returned for his wife and daughter, he was less sanguine about his daughter s condition that Stephen had been when he was told. Stephen s resignation to the fact was an acknowledgment that the couple was beyond his control, and would have been if he d stayed at home. Mathias made it personal, and in his anger he revealed an attitude of Stephen s neighbors that Stephen hadn t known. The political differences between the counties of Old Albemarle and those to the south had become open, political rebellion, and Stephen was associated with the enemy faction of Old Bath and New Hanover. The Albemarle representatives had defeated a bill in the Assembly of June, 1746 that would have fixed a permanent capital of the province in New Bern or Bath, both points south of the Granville line. Governor Johnston ordered that the Assembly reconvene in Wilmington the next November, a busy time of year and a most distant location for the burgesses from Albemarle. Only fifteen of the fifty-four members answered the roll call at Wilmington, not enough to constitute a quorum under all BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans precedents of the legislative body. But Samuel Swann, the Speaker Stephen s friend declared the presence of fifteen members sufficient for a quorum, and the Assembly of southern representatives proceeded with the business of the session. Two acts were quickly passed. The first declared that only two representatives would be allowed from each county, and gave one each to Edenton, Bath, New Bern, and Wilmington. The second act declared that New Bern would be the site of the courts, although not prescribing that the office of the governor be in New Bern, nor that the Legislature be convened there. In defiance, at the February election, the residents of Albemarle elected five representatives, as they had always done. A new election was ordered, but the citizens of Albemarle simply stayed away from the polls. Since the new Assembly contained no representatives from Albemarle, the people there refused obedience to any of its enactments. Stephen Williams was an associate of Samuel Swann and the usurpers in the southern counties. People who knew him knew that he was, Manning told him. He wished his cousin Willy were alive to help him. Willy had always kept his ear to the ground and he d understood political intrigue. Stephen s interests had been more personal. Willy had talked to him about politics, but he d never paid attention. To Stephen, politics was for town-dwellers. He knew that people were pouring into the county, that the northwestern part of Edgecombe had been made into a new Granville county, and that merchants in the area had laid out a town up the Roanoke. They d named it Halifax, in honor of Lord Halifax, a member of the Board of Trade. But, Stephen had not known the extent of hostility that his neighbors felt toward the southern counties. When the Mannings left for their land west of the Tar River s great falls, Stephen, Junior walked away with them. Nancy bit on her apron. Her only child was leaving and the barbs thrown by her angry brother still stung. There was solace, though, in that her son would be watched over by her brother. His new-found Baptist religion was stricter that her own, and might influence Junior to give him some direction.
Stephen heard a horse s hooves splashing in the puddles down the road. He opened the door and watched the rain while he waited for the rider to get within sight. He cursed Tony for not being here, then ran out to lead the animal to the barn while the stranger stood beneath the eaves of the house and shook out his long cloak. He hurried back to the house to discover who the stranger was. That wasn t necessary, Williams. I won t be long, the man said. BOSON BOOKS
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Sit, Stranger, and let me have you cloak, Stephen said. Corbin told me in Edenton that the survey was over and that I d find you home, the man said. My name is Battle, Elisha Battle, and I own this farm. Stephen didn t understand. He was surprised that Mister Battle would be discussing him with Earl Granville s agent, and wondered what farm the man was talking about. Battle took a paper from an oil skin wrapper and held it out for Stephen to see. This is a copy of my patent to this land from Earl Granville, Battle said. Stephen took the paper and looked at the writing and the seals that made it look official. He stared at it, uncomprehending. There s been a mistake, Mister Battle, Nancy said. My husband bought this farm from Tom Hawkins, who got it from his father, who got it by grant from the King! There is no record of such a sale or of such a grant, Battle said. The patent I hold from Earl Granville is the only grant of record. You may remain as tenants, if you wish, but your neighbors tell me you have connections to the south. You will, doubtless, be much happier there. Battle replaced the paper in the protective oilskin, took his cape from Stephen s hand, and threw it across his shoulders. He bowed to Nancy, and went out into the rain to fetch his own horse. Stephen and Nancy watched him through the open door as he rode away. Now, we have nothing, she said.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Twenty-six
The summer days were shorter but still hot. The corn was dry, and it was dusty from the clouds that arose from the path as horses and wagons and an occasional carriage rode by. The clouds had dusted Stephen s hair, and blended the blonde with the increasing gray. Nancy s skullcap covered hers but the gray hair that fell loosely about her shoulders at night made her look years older than her husband. Her looking glass had been broken long ago foretelling this bad luck and Stephen had never told her of the creases in her forehead nor of the wrinkles by her eyes. Lines above her lips and between her eyes were deepening from weeks of concentration and worry. Stephen s mind wouldn t concentrate. He d ridden to the home of the Edgecombe County clerk to make sure Battle made a mistake, but was told that no, there was no mistake. Battle s grant was the only one of record. At the ordinary where he stopped for a drink, Stephen learned that his case was not unusual. Since the transfer of the Granville District to Francis Corbin s control, many men had found themselves dispossessed of land they thought was theirs. With Corbin as the agent, grants from Granville had been issued to more than one person for the same land, officials had been paid to change names in the entry book, and deeds had been issued to people when others had already paid for them. Even people with secure titles to their land were charged ruinous fees for surveys or recording, or for processioning. And, since these were only landlord-tenant problems, the government in New Bern had little jurisdiction or inclination to become involved, especially with the entire Granville District exempt from Crown quit rents, and the counties in the District disavowing and ignoring actions of the Assembly. There was near chaos in parts of Albemarle; jurymen would not sit, cases were not heard in court, and prisoners were released by armed friends. Stephen returned to Nancy a broken man. His slave, his land, his son were gone. He was too old to start again, and the thought of going back to Deep Creek in such desperation and defeat worked on his mind and churned his stomach.
Stephen and Nancy both heard the horse coming down the road, but neither got up from their seats. They were tired from packing the wagon, and riders didn t stop at the Williams house anymore. There was some comfort in that. No longer did young men come to pull down the fences around Nancy s garden space. The cornfield by the road had already been burned down. She d found Junior s dog, Amos, hanging from a tree limb by the door, one morning. BOSON BOOKS
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When, in fact, the horse did gallop to a stop in front of their house, the aging couple looked at each other in anticipation. They were ill-equipped to entertain. The house had been stripped and their belongings put onto the cart. Alone, the couple had pulled and pushed iron pots up onto the cart, then piled the bed, chests, and hogsheads on top. They sat on a split-long bench and planned their last night in Edgecombe on a pile of pine straw. They did have bread, and the remains of a small turkey that Nancy had roasted before the fire as it turned, hanging on a string. It was Tom Biggs, who d been a stranger since his father died. Stephen and Nancy weren t surprised. Young folks of his generation didn t care about old people. Like Junior, they seemed to care for little other than their own amusements. Mother sent me, the young man said after he d sat down. She sent me to tell you that Preacher Whitefield s coming back through on his way to Georgia. It s the biggest thing since . He couldn t think of anything, and just circled his hands in the air, searching for a comparison. The biggest thing since Tony ran away, Stephen said, remembering the coincidence of Whitefield s last journey through the province. You ll never see so big a crowd, Tom said. They say that thousands come to hear him! He comes, again, Stephen mused, as I return to Virginia. Maybe I should detour, this time, to see him, he said in jest. Maybe it s a command from God. It s not a great detour, Husband, Nancy said. The road is better, you said. That was true, and there was a ferry across the Sound to Edenton. Thank your mother for thinking of us, Tom, Stephen said. We will pass that way, and we ll see her at the meeting.
Nancy rode the horse as Stephen led the ox that pulled the cart. The road to Edenton was busy. People passed them on foot and by riders hurrying to Edenton for business, but most of the traffic was heading to hear Whitefield. Late in the afternoon BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans they reached the grove of oak trees they d slept under nearly twelve years earlier, when they were heading westward, full of hope. After she d fed the ox and horse, Nancy spread blankets beneath the trees and put two Indian baskets in the middle that held bread, turkey, and dried peaches. Other travelers had chosen the same spot for resting, and by dark a friendly group had gathered around the fire, exchanging food and stories. It was the first time in months that Nancy hadn t felt shunned, and she watched Stephen drinking and talking with other men as he had used to do. By noon the next day, the road had become so busy that Stephen had to pull the ox and cart by the roadside to let faster, horse driven wagons pass. Twice, the ox cart got stuck in low, wet ground by a pocosin, but willing hands appeared to free the ox and cart. By mid-afternoon, the busy road had become a ribbon of pilgrims, a moving throng. The pace quickened with an air of excitement. A lathered horse came from a path in the woods, it s riders a man and his wife looking as pressed as the animal. The man reined his horse in and merged with the flow of people. He dismounted from the horse and walked beside Stephen as his wife, and the horse, caught their breaths. I thought we d miss him, the man said. I was in my field at work when I heard he was coming. I dropped my hoe and told my wife to make ready quickly. We ve been ten miles in little more than an hour! Stephen noticed that all the fields were empty of workers. Everyone was going to hear the great George Whitefield. As they neared the road that met the ferry, they saw a cloud of fog rising. The weather had turned cool overnight, an early touch of Fall, and Stephen thought the cloud rose from the river or the Sound. But, as they came nearer to the road, they heard a low rumbling thunder, and soon saw that it was the noise of horses coming to the intersection, and that the fog was a cloud of dust made by the horses. It rose over the tops of trees, and when Stephen s group grew closer they could see men and horses moving in the cloud like shadows. They became one steady stream of horses and riders, scarcely one length behind the other, all lathered in foam and sweat. Our things will be ruined with all this dust, Nancy said. stolen in this crowd!
Our things will be
But Stephen hardly heard her. His eyes had widened, and his heart was beating faster, in anticipation. His throat was tight and he felt drawn to reach the center of the force that pulled him. People walked or rode in silence, no one speaking as they pressed on.
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Becoming Americans Through the pine swamp on their left, Stephen could see the dark water of the Albemarle Sound. Ferry boats and private craft were bringing people over, leaving them and going back for more. The waterside was black with horses and people, and Stephen remembered the stories of a great crowd gathered to watch the witchcraft trial of Grace Sherwood so many years earlier. It was right that God s work should draw multitudes. A platform had been built to elevate the speaker above the crowd so that all could see him, but Stephen and his new friends couldn t get within a hundred yards of the platform and despaired of hearing the great preacher. Other ministers were seated on the platform and spoke in turn, preparing the people for the great man. In bits and pieces, Stephen heard them tell of Whitefield s journey to this place; how he had been condemned by the worldly ministers he had preached against, the unconverted ministry, he called them. He had said the clergy were earthly minded, and had called them slothful shepherds and dumb dogs, the speaker said. The clergy had said about him that he was a raw novice and that his open-air preaching was a reproach and affront to the Church of which he was a minister. The speaker said that the assembled were about to hear words that they should receive as though delivered from the mouth of God Himself. Then hymns were sung and prayers were given as the throng settled into place. George Whitefield came to the stage and the crowd was quiet. He was a slim, young man, younger than Stephen had expected. He was well-proportioned and graceful, moving about the platform and making gestures when he spoke. There was a boldness and power in his voice that made Stephen solemn and afraid. There was no difficulty in hearing him, and the words he spoke were clear, distinct, and practiced. Stephen was pulled by the voice as by a lodestone. He took Nancy s hand and edged through the silent crowd, compelled to be near the man. Slaves stood beside well-dressed free blacks, and the dirtiest of immigrants and derelicts stood with handsome gentlemen and their ladies. Stephen had never seen such a mixed grouping, but in his distraction it seemed a natural gathering. He had pulled Nancy to within fifty feet of the stage when the gaze of Whitefield stopped him. The man had small, sharp eyes of dark blue. One of them was nearly closed in a tight squint, but their focus on Stephen stopped him in his tracks. The preacher was speaking to him. Christ is the only rest for the weary and heavy-laden, he said. Stephen was frozen in the place and time. Mary squeezed his hand, but he was caught by those sharp eyes.
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Becoming Americans and that there must be a new birth, and we experience the pangs thereof; and that you must feel yourselves weary and heavy laden with your sins, before you would seek for deliverance from them Had his sins brought him to the weariness he felt? His losses were, indeed, a burden. Was that what the preacher meant? Those who think themselves good enough, and are pleased that they are not so bad as others, these are not weary or heavy laden. No, these Pharisees are not thus troubled. They think if they do but mean well, and say their prayers, it is sufficient Nancy squeezed his hand, again. He looked at her with kindness in his eyes. His wife was a good woman. while you flatter yourselves you are good enough, and that you are in a state of salvation, you are only deceiving your own souls, and hastening on your own destruction. Come unto Him, not as being good enough, but as vile sinners, as poor, and blind, and naked, and miserable, and then Jesus will have compassion. However you may think of hell, indeed it is not a painted fire; it is not an imagination to keep people in awe; then, then you will feel the power of the Almighty Arm. Then you shall have proof of it. He will exercise in preserving you to no other end, but to punish you forever. Thus you, who please yourselves with being good enough now, who are not weary and heavy laden with a sense of your sins here, will be weary and heavy laden with a sense of your punishment hereafter. Nancy took her hand away and wrapped her arms about herself. Her face was creased with worry. When once you are sensible of your being lost, damned creatures, and see hell gaping ready to receive you, then, then you would cry earnestly unto the Lord to receive you, to open the door of mercy unto you. Stephen looked around the crowd. Some scoffers were smiling and shaking their heads, but most people were still and intent. The sun was going down already. The preacher had been talking for an hour, he realized. Where then must the sinner and the ungodly appear? Where wilt thou, O Sabbath-breaker, appear, thou, who canst take thy pleasure, thy recreation, on the Lord s day, who refuseth to hear the word of God, who wilt not come to church to be instructed in the ways of the Lord? Where will you, O ye adulterers, fornicators, and such-like of this generation appear? Whoremongers and adulterers God will judge, and them he will condemn. Then you will not call these tricks of youth; no, but you will call on the rocks and the mountains to fall on you, to hide you from the fury and anger of the Lord! BOSON BOOKS
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There was low moaning in the crowd. Stephen found himself swaying back and forth with the rhythm of Whitefield s voice. He knew that God had sent this man to speak to him. The sins and weaknesses of himself and his family were brought home to him. Those, my brethren, are not weary and heavy laden who can delight in the sinful diversions of life. Those wasters of precious time, the horse-racing and cock-fighting from whence no good ever came, unless abusing God Almighty s creatures and putting them to that use which He never designed them, can be called so. How miserable will your life be, when all your joys are over? Do you think there is one merry heart in hell? Now you are not weary of your diversions, nor are you heavy laden with your sins, but then you will be weary of your punishment. Stephen began to know what the preacher mean by weariness of sin. He was tired of his burden of sin. How evil his life had been! They who delight in drinking wine to excess, and who are drunkards, what bitter draughts will they have instead of wine and ale? The heat of lust will be then also abated. They will wish that instead of sinning together, they had prayed together, had endeavored to convince each other of the evil of their sin, and how obnoxious they are to the wrath of God, and the necessity of being weary and heavy laden with a sense thereof. God will punish them for their offenses; he hath prepared those torments for his enemies; his continual anger will still be devouring of them; his breath of indignation will kindle the flame; his wrath will be a continual burden to their souls. Woe be to him who falls under the stroke of the Almighty! Stephen s heart was pounding. A voice called out, God I have sinned! I am a sinner! Save me Lord! Nancy was crying, hiding her face in her hands. Hundreds of voices called out for God to save them. Stephen began to sweat, even though the sun had gone behind clouds and a cool breeze was blowing. He fell to his knees and cried in low whimpers. The burden of his sins was unbearable. And God will punish them for their offenses: He hath prepared those torments for his enemies; his continual anger will still be devouring of them; his breath of indignation will kindle the flame; his wrath will be a continual burden to their souls. Woe be to him who fails under the stroke of the Almighty! Nancy raised her hands to the sky in supplication. I would not have you mistake me, and say, I am only preaching death and damnation to you; I am only showing you what will be the consequence of continuing in these sinful pleasures; and if the devil does not hurry you away with half a sermon, I shall BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans show you how to avoid these dangers, which I now preach up as the effect of sin unrepented of. No one was hurrying away. Those who were not already convinced of their sins were showing signs of discomfort. The most skeptical sinners were captivated by the oratory of George Whitefield. You may be said, my brethren, to be weary and heavy laden, when your sins are grievous unto you, and it is with grief and trouble you commit them. When you are obliged to cry out under the burden of your sins, and know not what to do for relief; when this is your case, you are weary of your sins. It does not consist in a weariness all of a sudden; no, it is the continual burden of your soul, it is your grief and concern that you cannot live without offending God, and sinning against Him; and these sins are so many and so great, that you fear they will not be forgiven. Stephen thought of his years of drunkenness, his years of neglecting his wife and son. His years of weariness in the swamp. He thought of his misspent youth and he remembered his rape of the young girl in Havana. He remembered his own defilement. He thought of the pain he d given his mother. God had only begun His punishment with taking his slave and his farm. Everlasting fire awaited him. He sat on the ground in despair. His sins would not be forgiven. I come to show you what is meant by coming to Christ. You must come in full dependence upon the Lord Jesus Christ, looking on him as the Lord who died to save sinners: Go to him, tell him you are lost, undone, miserable sinners, and that you deserve nothing but hell; and when you thus go to the Lord Jesus Christ, you will find him an able and a willing savior; he is pleased to see sinners coming to him in a sense of their own unworthiness; and when their case seems to be most dangerous, most distressed, then the Lord in his mercy steps in and gives you his grace; he puts his Spirit within you, takes away your heart of stone, and gives you a heart of flesh. Stand not out then against this Lord, but go unto him, not in your own strength, but in the strength of Jesus Christ. Stephen s was a heart of stone. His life had been loveless. Maybe he d not truly loved his wife. He d not treated her with love. His son was a stranger. He was weak and alone. He had forsaken the God of love and was truly unworthy of forgiveness. Consider the exhortation Christ gives unto all of you, high and low, rich and poor, one with another, to come unto him that you may have rest. You shall find rest: Jesus Christ hath promised it. Here is a gracious invitation, and do not let a little rain hurry you away from the hearing of it; do but consider what the devil and damned spirits would give to have the offer of mercy, and to accept of Christ, that they may be delivered from the torments they labor under, and must do so forever; or, how pleasing would this rain be to them to cool their parched tongues; but they are denied both, while you have BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans mercy offered to you; free and rich mercy to come to Christ; here is food for your souls, and the rain is to bring forth the fruits of the earth, as food for your bodies. Here is mercy upon mercy. Rain was coming down, but Stephen hadn t noticed until the preacher mentioned it. What say you? Shall I tell my Master you will come unto him, and that you will accept him on his own terms? Come, come unto him. If your souls were not immortal, and you in danger of losing them, I would not thus speak unto you; but the love of your souls constrains me to speak: methinks this would constrain me to speak unto you forever. Come then by faith, and lay hold of the Lord Jesus; though he be in heaven, he now calleth thee. Come, all ye drunkards, swearers, Sabbath-breakers, adulterers, fornicators; come, all ye scoffers; harlots, thieves, and murderers, and Jesus Christ will save you; he will give you rest, if you are weary of your sins. O, for your life receive him, for fear he may never call you any more. Behold, the Bridegroom cometh; it may be this night the cry may be made. Now would you hear this, if you were sure to die before the morning light? God grant you may begin to live, that when the king of terrors shall come, you may have nothing to do but to commit your souls into the hands of a faithful redeemer. Now, to God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, be all honor, praises, dominion, and power, henceforth and for evermore. Amen. Amen. The cries and moans of thousands drowned out the sound of pouring rain. Sinners fell to the ground, shaking with the Holy Ghost. Hundreds knelt in the mud in prayer. Others trudged towards the stage hoping for salvation through the touch of the holy man. Those already saved comforted the new believers. Stephen held his wife as they both wept with joy. As He did with Paul, Jesus has saved us on the road, he said.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Twenty-seven
The road that had taken his father northeast to the Nansemond took Junior and the Mannings southwest to the Tar. Here, they passed the night with relatives of Mistress Manning, Junior sleeping with the horses, and rose in darkness to resume their journey. A dozen houses and as many outbuildings and warehouses were clustered around the southern-shore landing at Howell s Ferry. A clutch of men stood by a fire, away from their horse carts and the river mist, waiting for a boat. Howell s Landing was the westernmost landing for large flatboats on the Tar River and, increasingly, traders brought nails, pins, luxuries and powder up from Bath Town on the Pampticoe River which, where it narrowed, became the Tar. From Howell s Ferry a path led them west another twenty miles to Lamon s Ferry, avoiding the several large creeks that entered the Tar River from the northwest, flowing in the same direction as most of the troublesome water barriers of the province. Within an hour’s walk of Howell’s Ferry, Junior noticed that the countryside was changing. Flat land wooded or open with pocosins or streams of different sizes, had been the only landscape Junior knew, but they d crossed the fall line, that imaginary connection to the falls of tidewater rivers in Virginia and the Carolinas, and the ground began to rise and fall in gentle hills. Junior watched in fascination as the horse’s harness loosened, and then tensed and tugged again on the upgrade. He ran ahead to climb a tree and look out. The sun was still low and threw deep shadows. The land looked soft, like a rumpled bed. By early afternoon, they had reached the ferry on the Tar. Lamon, a thick-necked man, pulled them back to the north bank. Our creek, the Sapony, comes in about another mile up the river," Mister Manning said. "The falls are four or five miles down stream from here. You ll see it all in due time." They stayed that night with a family living by a westward fork off the Halifax Road that ran from Lamon s Ferry. Jonas Pridgen, their elderly host, was a thin man, suffering from the loss of all his teeth the past winter. His large, unwashed wife was as pregnant as Mary was, and very pleased with her condition. They, and four small children, shared an already settling log cabin with two nosy chickens. After two hours of prayers and a meal of corn bread, boiled side meat, and greens, the Mannings slept in the one rope bed, while Junior and the six Pridgens slept on the BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans damp floor of the small log hut. Father Manning had been firm: the young people would repent their sin before God and the community and be wed before they could touch again. This is like our first Virginia house, Elizabeth whispered to her husband. Pray God reward these generous people, he answered, and closed his eyes for sleep. Manning s land was on both sides of the creek, and the north bank, where they arrived, was low and swampy. Two pigs rooted in the mud near the base of a beech tree, but Mathias and his sons, John and William, had hauled dirt for fill, and they d laid a tenfoot-wide causeway of logs to the bridge they d built across the creek. The creek s about ten-foot wide. Shallow, Manning said, but deep enough to float small loads. And the water s sweet. Mosquitoes pushed them faster over the causeway and bridge, through the pocosin to rising, cleared land. Stumps of large trees showed that the sons had been busy. The corn was tall and green, and a house was visible at the top of the gentle rise. The cabin was neater and more solid than many they d passed. Looks like a fine house, Mister Manning, Junior said. Mathias Manning stared at the boy. He still had a hard time being pleasant to the boy who d defiled his daughter. His thoughts and feelings tested his Christian charity and forgiveness, and Mathias was troubled by the dislike he had for the unsaved youth. It is a fine house. Was built by the Scotsman I bought these acres from. McElmore is his name. A Presbyterian believer. John and William Manning came running down to greet them, over the cut weeds that was a path. They stopped when they saw Junior and their pregnant sister.
Stephen, Junior was not a welcomed member of his new family. Mary s father disliked him, and her brothers used and cursed him when their father wasn t there. Her mother, alone, treated him with kindness and she only with anticipation of a grandchild. Junior Williams had dishonored their sister and brought nothing to the family. Particularly, his status as an only child was cause for the Manning brothers resentment. BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Junior brought no sisters to present as potential brides for them, and they were now left without a sister to entice suitors who had their own. The brothers worked him in the field and with the animals. They pelted him with clods of dirt, and they held his head down in the creek. He refused their temptations to fight, but pondered ways to torture them. After the night’s meal, Junior was allowed to sit with Mary while oiling his cooper s tools, and on the first Sunday, after hours of prayer, he was allowed into the woods to look for fallen oak and ashe and hickory for making staves and hoops. A fortnight after they d arrived, Mathias Manning returned from visiting neighbors with news that the preacher was returning. You have until morning to cleanse you body and your spirit. We will see if this boy can be saved, Mathias said. Elizabeth stood behind her husband, her arms folded beneath her ample breasts, her round face smiling. Brother Pittman and Sister Sarah prayed with me all morning about this situation, he said. God is answering us by sending Preacher Parker. He turned to his daughter, unable to speak of the matter to the boy. You ll be married in the Christian way if the preacher believes this boy is convinced of his wickedness and is touched by the Holy Spirit. Then he ll be baptized in the way Jesus was dipped in the river. Then God will sanctify your union. Junior had been wet all over before. That was nothing to be afraid of. He was ready to do that. He wondered if he’d be touched by the Spirit. He doubted if the Manning brothers had been. If so, not very much. It would make the family happy, and make his life much easier. He knew he was sinful, but he’d never worried about it.
Reverend Parker was renewed with enthusiasm for God. He had recently arrived from a journey to Edenton to dispute with Corbin about stolen Granville grants, and had had the good fortune to be there when the great George Whitefield spoke to a crowd of thousands. The crowd had gathered in a field, Parker reported, standing in the rain for hours to receive the news of Jesus. Reverend Parker spoke to a small gathering of believers and the curious at the Pridgen house. Junior had attended church services once, in Edenton, and he had vague BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans memories of a service when he d gone to Deep Creek as a young child, but the visions were of colorful robes and music. He remembered women in dresses of shiny cloth, and men wearing colorful coats and shoes with silver buckles. Reverend Parker wore no robe. Indeed, he dressed no better than his country congregation. Most of his listeners wore rough, homespun cloth, woven from the flax or cotton they d grown, or old clothes that came with them from Virginia and had been patched and altered beyond recognition. Three young couples were wearing new, clean clothes, but the garments weren t ornamented and their wearers were scattered among the small congregation, making no attempt to separate themselves because of the apparent worldly success they enjoyed. The slaves wore tattered cloth from cotton they d grown, picked, seeded, twisted, and woven in their spare time. Their short preacher stood on an oak stump that raised him level with the people and allowed him to confront each listener eye-to-eye. Most of them were young couples with children. Other men were alone, looking for lone females. Junior wondered who all these people were and if he’d ever know them. He looked at the young men who formed a loose knot and saw them staring back at him and Mary. He stepped closer to her, full of pride, but soon became entranced with the words and style of Reverend Parker. Parker’s voice was soft and smooth sounding, as Junior’s had been when he was wooing Mary and, at times, loud and demanding, as his own did when cheering on a favorite cock or horse. "A great many scoffers of these last days will ask such as they term pretendersto-the-Spirit, how they know the Spirit. They might as well ask how they know, and how they feel the sun when it shines upon the body? For with equal power and demonstration does the Spirit of God work and convince the soul." Junior admitted to himself that he was a scoffer. He’d wondered how the Baptist folk he’d met could be so sure that God had come to them, like He’d done to the Prophets he mother had talked of. " and my design from these words is to show the manner in which the Holy Ghost generally works upon the hearts of those, who, through grace, are made vessels of mercy, and translated from the kingdom of darkness into the kingdom of God’s dear Son." Junior was ready to hear that. He leaned on one foot. "If any of you ridicule inward-religion, or think there is no such thing as our feeling or receiving the Holy Ghost, I fear my preaching will be quite foolishness to you, and that you will understand me no more than if I spoke to you in an unknown tongue. But as the promise in the text I read is made to the world, and as I know it will be
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Becoming Americans fulfilling till time shall be no more, I shall proceed to explain the general way whereby the Holy Ghost works upon every converted sinner s heart. The young men standing together laughed loudly. Proceed, one of the called. No unknown tongues! yelled another. " and I hope that the Lord, even whilst I am speaking, will be in many of your hearts."
pleased to fulfill it
More hoots and invitations for revelations came from the scoffers. "First, the Spirit of God convinces of sin, and generally of some enormous sin. The worst, perhaps, the convicted person ever was guilty of " Preacher Parker spoke slowly and threateningly. Junior heard Mathias Manning clear his throat, and he saw Mary lower her head. "He convinces them of some heinous actual sin, and at the same time brings all their other sins into remembrance." Junior didn’t have to think long and far to remember other sins; the lust that gripped him all the time, the jug of brandy he stole from Mister Battle. He’d blinded Jimmy Eatmon in a fight he’d started himself, if truth be known. He felt badly about that. Drunkenness and oath-taking had become regular sins of his before Mary came along. Parker went on, seeming to read Junior’s mind. He stepped down from his stump, and paced back and forth. "Did the Spirit of God ever bring your sins together in remembrance, and make you cry out to God, Thou writest bitter things against me? Did your actual sins ever appear before you, as though drawn in a map?" He stopped and faced his listeners. He examined the Manning family, hesitating on each one of them. When his eyes were freed, Junior looked around, hoping that others weren’t staring at him, feeling heavy with remembrance.
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Becoming Americans "Father, when the Comforter comes into a sinner’s heart, though it generally convinces the sinner of his actual sin first, yet it leads him to see and bewail his original sin, the fountain from which all these polluted streams do flow. The sin that lay with Eve. In Adam we all have died. That original sin from which all these polluted streams do flow." Junior’s heart was beating faster. He no longer looked about the crowd. He was caught up in the message he was hearing for the first time. " which exalteth itself is immediately thrown down and he is made to cry out ’Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?’" Reverend Parker’s voice had risen to a thunder. He was back on the stump, his fist pounding into his hand. He rose to his toes, then stamped his foot on the stump. "You are conceived and born in sin and God would be just if He damned you though you never committed an actual sin in your lives!" He went on until Junior was convinced of the worthlessness of his life, and that a gaping hole of fire awaited him in eternity. "And was this degree of conviction ever wraught in any of your souls? Were you ever made to lie at the feet of sovereign Grace and to say, ’Lord, if they will, thou mayest save me; if no, thou mayest justly damn me; I have nothing to plead, I can in no wise justify myself in Thy sight; my best performance, I see, will condemn me; and all I have to depend upon is Thy free grace?" Parker stood silent, his arm held by his side. Junior’s hands were clasped in the way his mother had taught him to pray. He was helpless, lost, and sinking with his sins. "But there is a sin which our Lord mentions as though it was the only sin worth mentioning. It is the reigning as well as the damning sin of the world. It is that cursed sin, that most of all other sins, the sin of unbelief." At the sound of the word "belief," the young scoffers set up a howl. Baptist dissenters and their emphasis on belief were as humorous to them as the comical display of "dipping" was for baptism. "Perhaps you may think you believe because you repeat the Creed, or subscribe to a Confession of Faith, because you go to church, receive the sacrament, and are taken into full communion. I put this question to you, ’How long have you believed?’" BOSON BOOKS
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One of the young men called out, "As long as I can remember," another, "I never did disbelieve!" "Unless you were sanctified from your infancy there was a time when you did not believe," Parker answered them. "None of us believe by nature. After the Holy Ghost has convinced us of our sins, that we are utterly helpless to save ourselves, and that we must be beholden to God for everything. Including our faith, without which it is impossible to be saved by Christ. ’Dost thou believe on the Son of God?’ is the question which the Holy Ghost now puts to our soul." By then, most were caught up with Reverend Parker. Junior was fixed on the preacher and his words. He knew he was a helpless sinner and that everlasting punishment awaited him. He had come to the service thinking Mathias Manning was only angry about his sinning with Mary, but he saw that his sins were deeper, beyond the law and anger. His very soul was sinful. He despaired of all the evil he’d committed in his short life, and he despaired of the deserving punishment he’d receive in payment. " that is the especial gift of God, and without this special gift we can to Christ "
never come
Junior wanted the special gift. He wasn’t deserving, he knew, but he longed for salvation. and when, therefore, the Spirit places the sinner naked before of a sovereign, holy, just, and sin-avenging God "
the judgment bar
A woman screamed with terror of her judgment, and then another cried out, "Holy Jesus!" and fell to the ground. "Then, then it is, when the sinner’s soul, having the sentence of death within itself because of unbelief has a sweet display of Christ’s righteousness made to it by the Holy Spirit of God " As Reverend Parker held out the possibility of salvation through belief, Junior began to know it: the truth. A sense of freedom came to him; liberty; lightness, the promise of salvation. He believed in the power of God to relieve him of his sins and guilt. The Holy Spirit had descended to him and taken that weighty load from his conscience. His body trembled. " now justified by faith has peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, and can triumphantly say, ’It is Christ that justifies me, who is he that condemns me?"
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Becoming Americans "Thank you, blessed Jesus, thank you!" Junior cried. The preacher continued, but Junior didn t hear. He was on his knees crying, holding Mary’s hand as she, too, knelt in tears. Mathias and Elizabeth stood above them, each with a hand on one of the young peoples’ shoulders. Elizabeth was crying from happiness, and Mathias looked down with satisfaction and wet eyes. The body of believers at the service welcomed Junior’s profession of faith and that of other new believers. They were passed among the brethren for embracing and a kiss of fellowship. Junior would be baptized on the same day as his marriage. Itinerant preachers traveled large areas, and a meeting every five weeks was as much as any location could hope for. Preaching, weddings, and baptisms were arranged so that these Sundays were long, happy days for everyone. For the next four Sundays Parker was to announce the intention of the engaged couple in the meetings where he preached around the county. At the Little Sapony, it was a joyful month for the new convert as he basked in his newfound status in the family and with strangers who came to visit.
Junior was the first, that Sunday morning, and he dug his toes into the sand and pebble beach that edged this favorite spot on the river. He wore a new pair of knee breeches that Elizabeth Manning had made from material she’d brought from Norfolk County. She was making baby clothes from his old breeches, now soft with wear. Reverend Parker prayed, as he stood in the water up to his waist, then motioned for Junior and the eight other new converts to approach. Junior looked up to the heavens. He didn t know what to expect, but surely the Lord would make instant changes in him when he hit the water. His lustful thoughts were still there, and he was hesitant to have them leave. Reverend Parker held him about the waist, the other hand atop his head. With no warning other than the words Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Junior was dunked backwards into the water three times amidst shouts of joy and celebration from the shore. He sloshed back to the riverbank and slipped to the ground on the muddy bank, causing him to cry out, Be damned! People tried to ignore his blasphemy, for the moment, and looked to Mary. Mary wore a dress that had been loaned to her by Nan Tucker, the wife of John Tucker, and a neighbor. Nan Tucker had been sufficiently ample in her youth so that the BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans dress could be arranged to make Mary’s belly less visibly obtrusive. But there was no embarrassment in the crowd for the union of Stephen Williams, Junior and Mary Manning. The couple had realized their sin and God had forgiven them, in His grace, so what could people say of them? Junior wore no waistcoat for the wedding, but he did have on a coat. It belonged to Mathias Manning, and had seen better days. The black material fit closely at the waist then fell away, flaring from the hips. The front skirts curved back slightly, and buttons covered with the same black wool were sewn as decoration at the tops of side vents where pleats were stitched. A folded neckerchief was tied around Junior’s neck and fell down the front of his best linen shirt. He wished his mother were here. Laws of the province didn’t recognize Baptist weddings, but that was of no consequence to those in attendance. The saved and baptized didn’t recognize all the province laws, anyway, and few of its rules of behavior. "Will you, Stephen, take this woman, Mary, to be your wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy state of marriage, to love, honor, and cherish in sickness and in health, in prosperity and adversity, and forsaking all others, keep only under her so long as both should live?" Junior smiled at this first use of his real name, Stephen, and said, "I will." The same question was asked of Mary and she quickly blurted, "Yes," and then, more modestly, "I will." Reverend Parker then took their hands and held them together saying, "These whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder." He then pronounced the lovers man and wife, "in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost." Junior knew that now he was a man, and recognized as such by the congregation. He saw in Mary’s eyes that she recognized it, and the lustful groom was eager to shed his fancy clothes and exercise his prerogative as husband.
The summer continued with slow and satisfying work. Mathias Manning and the other small farmers of western Edgecombe planted little more than was needed for their own consumption. That little extra was used for trading. Much of Edgecombe s land was too weak for good tobacco, and the markets were too distant for most to transport excess corn or wheat. Some men drove their hogs or cattle to Virginia; some struggled with BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans hogsheads of corn, or even of tobacco, but generally, the effort was not worth it. Few of the settlers had need of goods produced in the worldly community, having learned to become self-sufficient and desirous of few luxuries. The excess grain of Manning and his neighbors was traded to Duncan Lamon for his services in grinding their wheat or corn. The barrels and hogsheads Junior made were traded to friends who brought the family salt, fish, or, one time, a goodly length of black satin ribbon for Mary. No one needed for essentials. Anything that couldn’t be bartered for was given away in the community of saved Christians; a community, despite the distances between individuals. Still, Believers came together for meetings when the pastor came, or they gathered for house-raisings or barn-raisings. They celebrated births and deaths with food and prayers. Junior had heard stories of his mother and father’s youth, when there’d been regular gatherings for church, or court, or general musters for militia. He d missed that himself, but as a new Christian, living among the Faithful, his life was filled with joy and daily expectation of great happiness to come, while thinking less of his present wants. He eagerly joined in family prayers and began to love his new family, forgetting his own. The baby was born in December and named Samuel, for Elizabeth Manning’s father. After a wet and confining winter, with much disputing and plotting aimed at Junior by the Manning brothers, John and William, Mathias suggested that the community be called upon to build the young couple their own house. Stephen accepted smugly and quietly. He d begun to think the Manning cabin was crowded too, very crowded. The next November, William was born, named for Mary s and Junior s Grandfather Manning. Mary lost a child the next year, but in 1750 she bore Stephen III, finally a son named for his father. Stephen had lost the intensity of feelings against his distant father, and lacked an argument to the curious. Solomon was born in 1751 and, to the joyous celebration of all, Mary, a longed for daughter, was born in 1752. The children were adored and pampered by their parents and their grandparents. They could do no wrong, and all the boys were singled-out by their father or uncles for separate time and instruction, with patience that the men had never known themselves. At church meetings, the children were comforted, not scolded, when they screamed in terror at the emotional and frightening conversions of new believers. Junior remembered being fed hard spirits to quiten him when he was a child, but a screaming Sam or crying Billy were spoken to as a young vessel of God. When Billy was recovered after running off down the road, Mary had only spanked him, in her tears, then Junior had stopped working to take the boy fishing. When he was a child, Junior had often disappeared, strolling aimlessly about the woods or down a path. His father had beaten him for leaving chores behind, not for concern about his safety. BOSON BOOKS
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In the five years before the birth of little Mary, Junior had become more and more restless under the watchful and censorious eye of his father-in-law. Time was not his own, and Mathias Manning had a condemning word to say about most any detail or action of the young couple’s life. He and Mary began escaping to the fields and woods to be alone and free to make love with the abandon that they excited in each other. At first, they d suffered with remorse and guilt for their lust, for keeping their sinful excursions to themselves, and for failing to confess to them in public prayer. But their love was no sin, they decided, and held their passion closely to themselves. Junior did own up to other weaknesses of the spirit, but he had no more luck in controlling those than he did the weakness of the body. Evil thoughts about his brothers-in-law were other sins he usually held to himself. John and William Manning had married Pittman girls and lived in houses on the far reaches of the farm. Both couples remained childless, and jealousy of Junior replaced the old antagonisms. Junior had voiced his feelings about the brothers to John Tucker, saying he didn t give a damn for the Manning brothers, and he was glad to see them move. In fact, he wished they’d join the movement of some dissatisfied and disheartened further west toward the mountains. Tucker urged a Christian resolution to the conflict, and publicly revealed Junior s sentiments at a church meeting. Although there were apologies and prayers for forgiveness and forbearance, Junior left that meeting with new resentment. The community was too close, even though the members were so scattered. The family and community that Junior had prayed for as a child were suffocating him. He often prayed to God for guidance, but he missed the liberty he d had as a child.
In the weeks after the birth of his daughter, Mary, Junior s thinking was pulled more and more towards the worldly life. Base urges grabbed him, at times, and when a kiss of fellowship was shared at meeting or on visits, lately, his mind might turn to unGodly thoughts. It had been four weeks since he d been alone with his wife, and base thoughts drove him to seek distraction. He rode Manning s horse, Salvation, down the bed of the Little Sapony to where it joined the main stream and spread out into the large pocosin of the Sapony Swamp, then back between its banks before draining into the Tar River. It had taken Junior a fortnight of cutting and sawing that first year, pulling and digging like a slave, to clear the creek and straighten it a bit. Sometimes he d used the chore as an excuse to get away from the noisy family. Sometimes Mary came with him to help pull out limbs that storms or BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans age had thrown across the bed. That was when the lovers had first stripped and bathed in the clear water. The picture of her naked body burned his mind and he forced it away. Manning s part of the creek was clean, as was their neighbor, Pittman s, and Pittman s neighbor, Bryant s. As Salvation splashed down the creek, Junior s thought of the good times he d had on the Roanoke as a boy. He and Tom had raced and brawled and bet at cockfights. Tom Biggs would never rest under the thumb of a father-in-law. Junior wondered why he remained so compliant. He stopped to drink from the jug of brandy he d taken from Mother Manning s chest, admiring the red and burgundy leaves of black gums, and the hand-sized yellow leaves on poplars. The holly trees and pines were still green, but the other trees were turning. Two hard frosts had already hit, and he knew that winter would soon be back, locking him inside the cabin with Mary and the five children. He knew that by springtime she would be pregnant with another. Two squirrels argued in a yellow chestnut and he urged Salvation up the creek bank to the path that followed the river to Lamon s Ferry. Duncan Lamon was a short man with a massive upper body that he d developed in his trade as ferryman. The river was no more than fifteen yards across at his crossing, but five years of pulling at the rope and tackle gave him arms and a chest that looked topheavy above his short legs. Despite his size, it said that he had trouble with his tiny wife, a pretty, redheaded woman who was known to nurse her babies while riding back-andforth on the boat across the river. Any traffic of goods and equipment heading north or south along the fall line of the province had to use Lamon s services. Some individuals did swim their horses over, and some others jumped into the muddy water and swam it themselves. Some crossed at a shallow ford five miles upstream, but Lamon s Ferry was the necessary crossing for commerce on the Halifax Road. As population in the colonies had pushed westward, Lamon s Ferry became an essential link in the movement of people and information. Lamon had been granted a license to operate a tavern for travelers and he d constructed a gristmill made with stones taken from the rocky mount of the falls. He was a loquacious, sociable man who enjoyed the company rough-edged or elegant who passed through on travels, or dropped-in to have corn ground, or for a drink of his choice ales and spirits. Lamon had grown prosperous. Duncan Lamon had arrived in the early rush of Scotch Highlanders. After the rout of Bonnie Prince Charlie in 1745, the vanquished Scots flocked to America, and particularly to North Carolina. Cross Creek, on the upper Cape Fear, was their center, but those who didn t stop there pushed westward. A few, like Lamon, had gone a few
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Becoming Americans miles further north, into the mostly English area. With the eager help of Governor Johnston, a loyal Scot himself, the Scots’ industrious habits brought success to most. Lamon s tavern held three tables with benches and one sleeping room upstairs. Young bucks drank too much and clashed there, on occasions, but Lamon was usually man enough to eject the roughnecks. He couldn t stifle the cursing voices, though, for his clientele was made up of non-saved Episcopals, whose nature it was to fall to fighting amongst themselves in their sinning. That s what the Brethren called it, although most of the Believers had high regard for Duncan Lamon, himself. He was fair and he was honest in the weight of corn or meal he charged for grinding. He was a Presbyterian without a church, and friendly to the Baptists. Junior had gone to Lamon s complex of buildings with Father Manning for the last two years when Manning had had corn ground. He d gone alone three other times, floating barrels down on a little flatboat made of five-foot boards laid over two small canoes. He d never been into the tavern, itself, and for the first time he wondered, why?
Lamon s Ferry became an escape for Junior from the confinement of the Brethren s boundaries. He fought the battles with his soul each time, but by the time he d finished his first drink the fight was over. One barrel made for Lamon bought drinks for himself and friends. At times, when she was angry, Mary questioned if the time and effort Junior spent at Lamon s might be better spent in working for their own piece of land. She reminded him that Father Manning had allowed them five acres of cleared land to tend as theirs to earn the money. But, that would take forever, he’d tell her each time. He was waiting an occasion that would earn him the whole sum in one venture. When he sold barrels to travelers, they paid him in cash. Important folk crossed at Lamon s Ferry, he’d remind her. Where else could he have the chance to meet important people? It was there that he d learned of the death of Governor Johnston and, several months later, of the appointment of Governor Dobbs. He heard details of the power struggle between the Reverend Mister Moir and Governor Dobbs. He heard complaints from other Granville District residents who passed through of growing discontent about the King s rough and grasping treatment of his colonial subjects, and of his support for Granville s thievery. It was at Lamon s that he could meet with John Tucker, recently become a constable, and learn of doings of the courthouse crowd and of local arrests planned by the sheriff. Twice, Junior rode with groups who’d gathered in Enfield to free friends who were jailed. That frightened Mary, but there were things outside the Brethren, he told her.
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Becoming Americans On an afternoon of his sixth year of marriage, as he worked on a barrel at Lamon s, bent over, sweating from the summer sun and the fire that charred the inside of his work, John Manning rode up, he and the horse wet from swimming across the river. Junior took his barrel from the fire and stopped his work to re-tie his heavy hair behind his head. Junior! You must come quickly. horse. The birthing s not going well.
John gasped it out while halfway off the
Mary never had trouble giving birth. She was made for it, she always said. But she s losing right smart of blood, the women say. You best hurry. Take my horse. Junior grabbed the reins from John and mounted, telling him to kill the fire and to go tell Lamon. He walked the horse into the low river and swam it across, then up the road, past the Pridgens and the Bryants , following the worn path to the Little Sapony. Mary was the only good thing he d ever had. His first happiness had come with her appearance at the door of his father s house. She gave him laughing, healthy children. She was a gift from God. And was He now taking her away from him in repayment for his sins? God would not be so cruel. His sons ran up at the sound of a fast horse. He tossed the reins to six-year-old Sam and ran into the house. Elizabeth Manning sat by the bed. John s wife stood by, holding large cloths that dripped with blood. Nora Hodges, the midwife, was at the foot of the blood-soaked bed, sliding fresh cloths under Mary. Elizabeth Manning and John s wife were crying. Junior noticed how hot it was inside the house. The fire was too high and the window was closed. He stepped to the bed and heard a baby crying. There was always a baby crying in this house. Mary was still, and very white. When he d left her in the morning she was large and ruddy-faced. Now she was so small and white, he thought. He stood looking at her, refusing to speak. It s another girl, the midwife said. Junior turned to her, and she raised a screaming little bundle for him to hold.
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Junior spent more time at Lamon s, after Mary’s death. There were women on the farm to care for his children, and he needed to be away from the Mannings and the Believers. His work gave no reason for complaint from Mathias about contributing to family support, but he kept to himself. Still, his drifting from the Community of Believers brought condemnation from his in-laws and visits of concern from neighbors. His heart was closed to the imprecations of family and friends for confession of his willful pride and disbelief, but his heart was closed to God. He wanted his children to be raised within the values and prayers of the Baptist fellowship, but he found no worth or solace in a God that would punish him so severely for minor indiscretions. He ignored the judgment of old friends. At the last meeting Junior attended, Reverend Parker glared at him while speaking against the earthly Episcopal and the non-baptizing dissenters. America has sinned severely for its one hundred and fifty years," he said. "God must punish a nation with scores of prayerless families and an ignorant, vicious generation.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Twenty-eight
The end of summer brought troubling news to the drinkers at Lamon s Ferry. The yearlong rumors of coming war with France proved true. A Major George Washington of the Virginia militia had engaged in battle with French troops at a site called Great Meadows in the Ohio Valley, an area where speculators and settlers were challenging the claims of New France. The Virginians were soundly defeated by the French troops; the survivors allowed to return home. The French had seduced most Indians of the northwestern frontier to their aid, and there was concern about England keeping her Cherokee and Catawba friends. Settlers were pushing at their boundaries, too, and drifting into the mountain valleys of the Smokies. Governor Dobbs had called on the North Carolina militia to go north and aid Virginia in repulsing the French and their Indian allies. That brought loud guffaws from everyone at Lamon s. Edgecombe s militia had no captain, no arms, and no ammunition! And, the same conditions existed across the colony. Only six years earlier, the town of Brunswick had been shelled and taken by the Spanish; the year before they d taken Beaufort; still, the defenses of the province had been ignored. More disturbing to Lamon s patrons was word that some of Carolina s Indians were uprising. Edgecombe County had no Indians, but Bertie’s Tuscarora Town was just across the Roanoke River from Junior s old part of Edgecombe. He wondered about the safety of Tom Biggs. The drinkers traded war stories. One old man had lived through the Tuscarora War, he said. Junior told the story of his Uncle James and his Great-uncle Richard on the day that war began in Bath. We should have killed them all forty years ago! the old man said. Conversation raged against the common enemies, and Junior found himself with pounding temples and racing blood. That excitement didn t come from cockfights and races and drinks that he d enjoyed since Mary s death. He d go fight an enemy he could kill! The Indians, or the French! He wasted little time in thinking about it. The next day he told the Mannings and the boys that he was leaving. The boys asked him to bring them something back, then ran
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Becoming Americans outside to play. Manning told him, "Go with God," then went back to his pigs. The children didn t need him, and neither did the Mannings. Two unpaid gambling debts and three barrels bought Junior an old horse from John Tucker, and he rode off for the Roanoke, retracing the route he d taken seven years earlier.
The settlement at Howell s Ferry had grown and improved considerably, including a new boat to cross the river. Junior re-checked the tightness of his oilcloth purse before jumping his horse into the river, not willing to spend any of his little money on the luxury of ferries. New small and large houses dotted the countryside. This part of the county was very prosperous, being near the navigable stream of two rivers, with large fields and large numbers of slaves harvesting the crops. On horseback, it took Junior much less time to reach the old farm where he d grown up than it had in walking away. The old house was gone, and another built in its place, not much better, but new. He looked for anything familiar, but only recognized their old barn. It had been built better than the old house had. He rode eastward on the road to Edenton, arriving at the house of his cousin Tom Biggs in late afternoon. No one came to greet him, and he knocked on the door. Junior didn t recognize the young woman who answered. She was beautiful, but she looked particularly drawn and tired. Mistress, he said. My name is Junior Stephen Williams, my kinsman, Tom Biggs.
and I m looking for
The woman stared at him and pursed her lips. You came too late, she said. Too late for what, my lady? he asked. You came too late, she said, then pulled wide the open door and stepped back to let him enter.
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Becoming Americans The room looked so familiar and warm that it made Junior smile. Warm memories of Tom Biggs and his family flooded him and he turned, smiling to his hostess. Is Tom not here? he asked. They pulled out his fingernails, then his eyes, then impaled him
she calmly
began. The devil you say! Short, painful sobs came from the woman, as though she couldn t catch her breath, and then a low, painful wail until her breath was gone. Junior cursed himself for being so abrupt and crude with his cursing, but such horror for this beauty! He took the wavering woman and held her in his arms, understanding some of what she felt.
Junior s Uncle Willy had been a hard-working man, unlike Junior s own father. Tom had inherited good land, good servants bonded and bought and a good house with outbuildings when his father died. He d worked it hard, himself, and had limited his adventurous spirit to trading with the Indians and sleeping with their women. Tom Biggs had waited until he was twenty-four to marry, and done so then only because his mother had brought a kinswoman down from Norfolk County that she thought would suit him. He had been taken with this Creekmore girl from Norfolk and wed her in a Church ceremony to please her and her mother. Margaret had lost their first two children at birth, and she was praying for the Lord to bless her with a living child when the Tuscarora killed Tom, with a dozen other men and women, in a week of terror that they claimed was in revenge for insults and unjust treatments. Tom was caught in the Tuscarora Town by mistake, his wife told Junior, making a delivery of prized tobacco to the savages. Young, and with no children to survive him, Tom had also delayed the re-writing of his will, thus leaving his widow with nothing, and the entirety of his estate to his Uncle John Biggs. The widow Biggs was penniless and distraught. Her mother-in-law had died a year earlier and Margaret had made few friends in the county since arriving, being content with the management of the house and servants. Margaret told her story to Junior and he related the tragedy of his own loss to her. It had grown dark before they were aware of it and Margaret called out to one of the bonded servants to prepare a place in the barn for Junior to sleep the night. Lacking an Indian war to fight, Junior proposed to deliver Margaret and her scant belongings back to her parents in Norfolk County. An idea had formed in his mind as he BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans lay down to sleep that night, but it was much too early to present it to the widow. He needed a mother for his children, and he needed a wife to keep him warm on cold nights. Most of all, he needed a woman to fill the empty place in his heart and in his bed. He d forgotten what it was like to sleep alone, left with the drive for physical union that Mary had shared and satisfied.
The cart was light and moved easily over the rough road. Junior unfolded his oilcloth purse and paid for the ferry to carry them across the Albemarle Sound to Edenton. They passed a night in the town with gossipy relatives of Margaret s, then set out the next day over flat land that was thickly populated with people whose families had been in Carolina for generations, their old houses expanded with lean-tos or used as kitchens for newer, grander houses. Large, open fields of corn, wheat, and tobacco were dotted with blacks of different hue, harvesting their masters crops. Junior thought of his old friend Tony, and wondered how many pounds Tony would fetch on the market, now. Surely, enough to buy him land in Edgecombe. His father was a foolish man for losing Tony. Junior left Widow Biggs with her Creekmore family and rode his horse the last few miles to Deep Creek. He d not mentioned a proposal of marriage to her, but he d courted her with kindness and respect on the journey, and he knew her gratitude would stand him in good stead when he returned to offer her his name.
Deep Creek was only vague memories to Junior Williams, but the smell of marsh air and beech trees brought the memories back. He remembered his fascination with the big wheels and machinery of the mill but, as he approached, he saw that the fact was even larger than his memory. Piles of lumber sat on either side of the road, and the smell of sawdust rose from piles that stood above his head on horseback. The more familiar dust and dry smell of ground corn replaced it as they neared, the demand for that use of the wheels being more important than saws were after harvest season. The mill at Deep Creek had become the center of a little village. On the north bank of the creek a cooper had built his shed and then a house. Beside him, a blacksmith had done the same. The mill, itself, was on the north side now, built on a half-acre that had once been Williams land, Margaret’s family had told him, and that James Williams had bought back for three barrels of corn. James had mortgaged heavily for the funds to build the new mill, but it was a successful gamble. A large, solid building held the ponderous BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans wheels that groaned at twisting the grist stone. This new dam was built across a wider part of the creek than Joseph s had been, a hundred yards downstream, and held back much more water when the gates were closed at high tide. At low tide, the sluice gates were open for the water to drain out, over the large overshot wheels. A sturdy bridge crossed the trickling branch that was the head of the creek. Junior s horse clomped across, and he rode down the creek to where the old house sat on a rise nearly opposite the new mill. The house with the gambrel roof was as Junior remembered it, but with a fence surrounding the well-kept gardens of flowers, herbs and vegetables. The stable and the barn were new and much larger than the old one. There was activity everywhere, on both sides of the creek, and children, black and white, played by the water s edge. A black servant took his horse when he rode up to the house, and another told him she would fetch the mistress. Elizabeth Williams was flustered when she realized who Junior was, and she wiped her hands, again, on her apron and dispatched the servants with the news. She ushered him into the house and poured cool wine, then went to work preparing him a plate of food. Her excitement was a surprise to Junior, and he couldn t remember such attention since he d agreed to be baptized. He turned to see his father in the doorway, and hesitated for a moment at the old man s appearance. The hair was mostly gray, thick and wavy, falling loosely to the still-broad shoulders. The coat and breeches were old and patched, but of fine, imported wool. The eyes were bright blue, questioning, and more alive than Junior remembered them. His father didn t have the appearance of an old man. Stephen Williams stood in the doorway for a moment, watching his son eat. The boy had become a man. Junior rose to hug him, but Stephen held his grown child at arms length, then gave the boy a Christian kiss of fellowship. Word had come to Deep Creek that his son was saved, a true believer in the Lamb of God. Already, Stephen was eager to take the boy to meeting with him and Nancy. He prayed to God that his son was of the right-believing side of Baptist converts. Only those who were correctly persuaded had a chance of joining the elect-of-God in Paradise.
James Williams was willing to receive his nephew. The boy looked intelligent and strong. Still, a little work would be necessary to make him look respectable in church, and another concern was word that had it that the boy had been struck by the Baptist contagion, too. BOSON BOOKS
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James and his brother, Stephen, had different ideas about religion. The older brother sat in his pew every Sunday, and he insisted that his wife and children be there beside him, but to James the church served as a buttress against the erratic passions of life, such as those shown by Stephen and young converts like him. James was generous to charities, he was kindly in his dealings with relatives and friends, but the emotional excesses of Stephen and his Baptist brethren made him most uncomfortable. He tolerated Stephen s open prayers for his conversion, but he frowned on his brother s proselytizing around the mill or within the family. James had been happy to see his brother return from Carolina, particularly since the arrival came as construction of the new mill was in progress, and any trusted hand was welcome. He and Elizabeth had clothed the ragged couple, and would have kept them well-dressed, even with their hand-me-downs, but Stephen and Mary were determined to look like beggars, James had decided. When their Uncle Richard had come for a last visit to Deep Creek soon after Stephen s return, they agreed with each other that Stephen always had a penchant for excess and exaggeration. Hardly had the visitor finished eating when his father was inquiring into the state of the Baptist Church in Edgecombe. Stephen was concerned if the church was of the General or Particular persuasion. Junior said they were General churches, to the best of his knowledge. Particular churches were even stricter than his own, he d heard, and said that God had decided, before you were born, if you could be saved. That was too confusing to Junior, and he d decided that he d worry about it later. Nancy Williams walked in, aided by a stick, and hugged her only child with tears in her eyes, pumping him with questions about her grandchildren. Everyone returned to work, with a promise from James, head of the family, that a reunion would be held the next Saturday so that everyone could see Junior and satisfy their curiosities about other relations in Carolina. On the afternoon of the next Saturday, the dock and stables at Deep Creek were crowded. Several members of the Biggs family came to get details of Tom s death and to learn of the condition of Tom s wife. Two Manning men and their boys, uncles and cousins of Mary’s, showed up. Biggs cousins, Tuckers, Cherrys, and Etheridges arrived for a day and night of food and talk and dancing. A fiddle player strolled about the grounds and, as the afternoon wore on, separate groups formed squares on the lawn, or danced hearty jigs on the crushed oyster shells. Robert Creekmore, a brother to Margaret, came alone, and Junior stole his time inquiring after the woman Junior had decided to marry. Stephen and Nancy Williams absented themselves when the dancing and swearing began, surprised and disappointed that their son would be a part of such earthly revelry. BOSON BOOKS
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James s sons treated Junior like the country cousin that he was, making light of his experiences, and of Carolina. Junior s Aunt Ann Harbut sat for most of the day and night with the maiden aunt they called Sister Mary. Both were older than Junior s father, and seemed very old. His Aunt Ann sat sternly and pursed-lipped the whole time, watching over Sister Mary, whom she treated as a child. Junior struck up a quick friendship with his Cousin Tom Harbut, from whom he learned the family gossip. Tom s mother had refused to remarry after the death of Dick Harbut, and the two old women were tended by Sister Mary s servant, Pompey, whom she d inherited from her father. One of James s servants, Cush, had come from their father, also, and a third brother of Cush and Pompey was Tony, who d run away from Junior s father. That crime had made Ann Harbut furious, an anger which had not lessened. Tony was to have gone to her upon the death of Stephen! That was one of the many angers that his mother harbored, Tom said. Twin sisters of Junior s father, Edy and Sarah, had married wealthy twins, themselves, in a costly occasion held in the handsome Elizabeth River parish church in Norfolk. Then they d moved to Charles Town with their husbands, leaving Uncle James several pounds poorer, expressing no gratitude for the family sacrifice. Grandmother Mary was remarried, to a Cherry, and had sent word that she was ill. Junior could remember how frightened of her he’d been, and was glad that she’d not come. Tom Harbut was less interested in recounting the news of Norfolk County, though, than he was in asking about Edgecombe County. He d decided to move there, he said, but was hesitant to tell his mother. Uncle James was a gracious and elegant host, and introduced his nephew to local friends and to acquaintances come down from Norfolk Town. None of them were Baptist and, with Stephen absenting himself from the festivities, they felt free to express their opinion of the sect. Junior made no attempt to discourage them and, drinking from the punch bowl as readily as they, no one suspected his former affiliation. The old men attacked Baptists as zealots with no knowledge. They made much sound but no sense; they feel the truth but are unable to defend it. Junior mentioned that the Baptist answer was that proof of God was not in some damn book of stories, as some of them called the Bible, but in the transformation of their own lives. This encouraged another young man nearby to heap abuse and curses at the old men s Holy Book. That strained the tolerance of the old Episcopalians, and the discussion group broke up and they returned to dancing. BOSON BOOKS
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Most of the party went to church the next morning, although some feigned illness, and some simply defied the Sunday law. Stephen accompanied his Uncle James and Aunt Elizabeth. He wore a waistcoat and a coat of his cousin Joseph s over his soiled shirt, but was suitably presentable for his uncle. The sermon was a long and tedious affair during which there was no mention of heaven or hell, much to Junior s delight and relief. The Anglican sermon was much as he d been taught to expect, except for the colorful and beautiful women he carefully studied throughout the two hours of merciless boredom. Junior s father and mother had remained at home, closeted in prayers with the handful of Brethren in the neighborhood. Only on fifth Sundays did they travel to Isle of Wight County to hear preaching of their Particular faith. By Monday evening, the guests and family had gone, except Ann Harbut and Sister Mary. Only William, of James s sons, lived with the father, and he was working into the night the tides had no respect for dinner-time. After the evening meal, James, Stephen, and Junior walked to the dock, where Cush brought benches for them to sit on and talk about the gathering. Torchlight from the mill reflected in the mud and low water of the draining creek, and the groaning grist wheel and gentle splashing of the overshot wheel were soothing. Life has a fair prospect from here, Uncle. James smiled but remained thoughtful. The rewards of hard work and an enlightened monarch, he finally said. save the King.
God
He raised his tankard, and was joined by the other two men in his toast, and then all were silent, enjoying full stomachs and a starry night. A small sloop sat heavy in the water downstream in the center of the creek. Junior asked who s ship it was, and where it was bound. It s the Morning Star," James said. "Bound for Boston. One of the Williams ships out of Bristol. Williams? Have we wealthy kinfolk in the shipping business? Junior joked. James twisted his mouth before he spoke. Apparently not, he said, thinking of the low price that he d been forced to take for his lumber. Family blood had grown thin across the water. BOSON BOOKS
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We all remain brothers in God s eyes, Stephen said. Junior took the confusion of answers to mean, no, but he recollected hearing that they d had some kin in England at one time. He heard the soft flapping of a woman s skirts, and turned his head to see his mother. A candle wasn t needed in the bright moonlight, but Nancy Williams carried one ahead of her. Junior hadn t noticed before, but the close candlelight highlighted the hard lines between her eyes and around her mouth. Her eyes were lidded, but were bright and intense. Take my seat, Sister. I m headed back inside, James said. the girl puts out the lamps.
I ll be asleep before
The lamps still shone brightly in the house that Junior’s parents shared with Ann Harbut and Sister Mary. Dick Harbut had built this roomy and solid house on James s land and Ann had no intention of losing it. Few second husbands in the neighborhood could offer her one as good. Junior saw his aunts inside, Sister Mary asleep by the fire and Ann Harbut beside her, stitching on a torn dress. His mother s sewing had been left on her stool. We fear for your soul, Son, his mother said. We fear for your soul and those of our precious grandchildren. Kneel with us, Son, his father said. Let us pray with you until the Holy Spirit comes. Pray God reveal that you are among His chosen. Junior had known this was coming. He d been saved in Carolina, and even though he d backslid about some things, he wasn t worried about his soul.
Men s voices competed for attention at the Deep Creek mill. The mill was loud, whether sawing or grinding, and commands and curses had to rise above the din. James had three sons: John, twenty-nine, Joseph, twenty-six, and William, twenty. James concerned himself with every aspect of the operation and his voice had to be the loudest. Only Bess, his twenty-two-year old daughter, and Elizabeth, her mother, spoke in tones that softened the atmosphere.
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Becoming Americans Stephen Williams only raised his voice in prayer, or in excited sermons to hired workers, or to other groups he might assemble for their religious instruction. He preached to them in language they understood not like their parish minister and appealed to them with disdain for that superior culture and hierarchy of distinction based on money, fancy clothes, and education. By saying no to these things, he told his listeners, they rejected the authority of that distinction. Those things that denoted society s respectability were improper in the eyes of God, he said. There was a new hierarchy: the saved and the unsaved. On those days when Stephen was taken with the Holy Spirit and preaching more than he was working, James sent him into the woods to spot specific timbers for the cutters. Stephen s years in the woods had made him invaluable for this work, and he was always ready and willing to trek into the swamp again. Once, devils walked with him in the swamp, now it was God who walked with Stephen. He d not been threatened by savage or by serpent a sure sign of Satan since he d met God. James had lost one man and almost a second to snake bites in these woods, but Stephen didn t see snakes anymore, a sure sign of God s presence. Two days after the reunion when Stephen had seen his son dancing and drinking with sinners, he went to his own part of the swamp to sit on a log and watch the beauty and to talk with God. He often came to this section to cut trees and to mark others. It was his land. His father s will prevented his passing on this land to Junior a bastard child, God s teaching s reminded him but it didn t stop him from cutting it. James allowed him the use of the mill on idle days, and his own timber would soon gain him the money to buy land in Carolina that he could leave to his son. He calculated that he d have accumulated the money in three more years. His son was in mortal danger, he told God. He was one of the wrong-thinking General Baptists, and the weakness of that conviction was evident in the boy s actions. He had back-slid into the worldliness of his generation. Stephen stood in a growing pool of water, with his hands raised above his head as he prayed to God for guidance. As always, God spoke to his mind: bringing Junior to the Lord was his charge from God, both his penance and reward for ignoring his son s spiritual development as a child. Whatever sacrifice he must make, it was right that he should turn attention to his son and, by bringing the boy to Christ, atone for the sin that had created the child so long ago, when Stephen was a lost fornicator.
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Becoming Americans Two weeks in Deep Creek did not warm Junior to the place. His thoughts kept returning to his happy life with Mary. He thought of his cheery brood of children, but his memories lingered on the soft body he d huddled with beneath the covers at night, as they tried not to disturb the soft sounds of his sleeping brood. He thought of the exhilarating and free afternoons they d had by the Little Sapony, or in the woods. The thoughts excited his mind, and his body stirred with images of the beautiful widow, Margaret. He pulled his mind from lusty speculation about her body, to more calming thoughts of Margaret as a mother to his children. He determined to approach her within the week and to seek her hand. Yet, what could he offer her other than hard work and responsibility? Tom Harbut stumbled up to Junior sitting on a pile of sawn lumber, looking across the creek and over to the firelight from the cabins in the village. Tom had a glowing smile that Junior recognized and envied. Tom held out a tankard nearly full of rum. I want to celebrate! Looks like you re well underway. Junior rose to steady his cousin. I’m only now beginning, Tom said, as Junior moved to lean him against an old fence post. I m taking you to Great Bridge to see Mother Molly and her girls. Junior smiled at the prospect of a visit to the well-known brothel. He took a second drink from the tankard, a strong drink of rum with lime and molasses. What are we celebrating?" "Mother has agreed to hand over my inheritance now, instead of waiting another year, when I come of legal age. Father left me all his tools several pounds worth but I’ve no abilities as a carpenter, and even less desire. I’ll sell the tools and buy land in Carolina!" Junior wasn’t of a mind to celebrate, but he was in great need of distraction. "Then we should celebrate," he said, "but I doubt Miss Molly will accept corn or lumber in payment for her charms." "I wager she ll take this locket I won off a Havana sailor." Tom held up a silver locket, hanging from a silver chain.
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Becoming Americans "I’ve heard much of the Great Bridge and Miss Molly," Junior said. "I’ll race you to the horses!"
Stephen watched the Great Bridge Road all morning. Pompey had told him that the young men rode that way the night before and not returned. Stephen knew where they’d gone. He’d heard of the woman, Molly, in curses, jibes, and jests since he’d returned to Deep Creek. He feared for the safety of his son in the rough settlement at Great Bridge, but the fear for his son’s soul was greater, and it wasn t lessened when he saw the two young men limply astride their walking horses as the sun was nearly high. Joseph and Billy saw their cousins riding up, too, and began the hoots and catcalls that followed Tom and Junior to the house. Many of the men knew one or more of the girls at Miss Molly’s. Junior worked quietly, and alone, all afternoon. After supper, Stephen asked his sheep-faced son to join him outside, to be alone. Junior had feared this. Since he’d awakened in that foul-smelling place he’d been afraid. The sermons of Reverend Parker, Mathias Manning, and his father echoed in his head amidst the poundings of his headache. What had been free and wonderful with Mary was quick and exciting at the moment with the whore, but in the instant that it ended had turned into a dirty and condemning act. Fornication was a grave sin, as was the drunkenness that led him to it. Stephen sat with his son on the pile of lumber where Junior had sat the night before. He was slow to begin; the sins of the son had once been sins of the father. "I have made a decision, Son, that you must know today. But let us pray, first. Junior made no objection, and bowed his head as his father placed his hand upon it and began to pray. Soon, the hangover and remorse brought Junior to tears and, when his father had stopped praying, the two men held each other for the first time in their lives. "You should be with your own children, Son," Stephen began. "And you should have a birthright for them, such as I was not able to bring to you." He stopped. "Not until now." Junior raised an eyebrow, then brought it back down.
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Becoming Americans "Your mother and I have labored here with the mind to earn and put aside enough to buy land in Carolina that I could leave to you. Your Uncle James has made it possible. Family is our greatest resource in time of need and sorrow. Never forget that. I will miss him, in heaven. I pray for James every night, that he’ll one day turn away from his false church." Junior was more interested in something other than the talk of family or heaven. He’d been caught by earlier words. "Not until now?" " I thought I’d have enough in three more years to purchase a good-sized piece of land for my old age. But, as Jacob labored twice to gain his prize, so will I. God tells me to give you the money, now, so that you might purchase the land right away. You need a home for your children. A place to put your roots." "Have my own land?" Junior was stunned. "But not until you wed. A wife must come first," his father said. Junior wondered if the morning’s despair had been God speaking to him. Yes! He must wed! If Margaret would take him, they must marry soon. Now he had something to offer her. And if not Margaret, then someone. He must have a wife! "And plead that Jesus send the Holy Spirit to reveal Himself to you!" his mother emphasized. Nancy Williams had come out to join the family discussion. She knew what they were talking about and what had happened the last night. "You must be saved from the flesh! Those children must be saved from Mathias, and he convinced of his wrong-thinking! Above all, you must be turned from temptations of the flesh! Stephen looked at his wife and at his son, surprised to see, in both, the same light of wild passion.
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Becoming Americans The last Sunday of reading bans for the wedding of Junior Williams and Margaret Biggs was his last week in Deep Creek. It was a happy family week of religious celebration, punctuated by the holiday gathering. The weather had turned cold, and guests at Elizabeth Williams s Christmas feast crowded into her house, warmed by the roaring Yule log and the fellowship of family. Only James was absent, and he only for the hour that a quick repair at the mill required the tides were as demanding as the wind. Light from the fireplace and from all the bayberry candles Elizabeth could gather for the occasion flickered through the haze of smoke and steam. Her pewter was cleaned and laid out, as were the four sets of sparkling glass cups and saucers that she owned, reserved for Grandma Mary and Mister Cherry, Ann Harbut, and Nancy Williams. Junior was nostalgic and anxious at the happy occasion. It was unlikely that this scene would ever be repeated. For the first time in his life it touched him that time was quickly passing, and that one day some of these people would be gone. He watched the children playing and wondered if his own were well and happy on this holiday. His nostalgia was surpassed by the prospect of his next day s trip to Suffolk, and that next day s wedding. His mind was brought back to the present by the anger of his cousins. The British soldiers treated father like a servant! Joseph said to the group he stood with by the fireplace. One of them knocked his hat off with a sword and spit tobacco at his feet! It was shameful to see, his brother William added. It shamed him awful. I d have sooner worked the mill today, but he wanted to be there by himself. For two hundred feet of lumber! They wouldn t do that in England!" The condescending attitudes of the British soldiers had galled the populations of all the colonies that they d come to save from the French and the Indians. They d heard reports, but this was the Williamses first exposure to British soldiers. Joseph had taken their brutish treatment of his father personally. The Williamses were Englishmen, too, after all! America s for draining and using, that’s all, William said. Father says there s real trouble ahead if they don t start treating us as brothers Is that the way they treat family! Joseph’s rage wouldn’t cool. Pompey burst into the house with a terrible look on his face.
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Becoming Americans Master . He fell down the ladder. Screams and shouts for help came from across the creek. Elizabeth was the first to burst through the doorway, followed and outpaced by the men. Junior was the first to reach the mill. He saw the blacksmith and his wife standing by the open trapdoor to the gears and cranks below. A tool belt dangled from the door. He pushed the couple from the opening and saw his uncle caught between a beam and a crank that was baring down on him. The crank had slowed from the resistance of James’s body but threatened to move further. James looked to Junior and opened his mouth to speak, but the wheel moved on and blood spurted from his mouth.
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Becoming Americans Chapter Twenty-nine
Margaret Williams was born to be a wife and mother. Junior realized that soon after they returned to the Sapony house. His children flocked to her as if she were a shiny present he’d brought them from Virginia. The baby, Eliza, cooed, and Sol, the youngest boy, held onto Margaret s leg. In fact, Margaret was much like a shiny present, delicate in features and carriage. Junior had discovered the extent of these characteristics when he d stopped the cart at a farmhouse on the much-traveled road south from the Nansemond port town of Suffolk. He’d held her underneath the straw and they made love for the first time, she with a modesty and reserve that was unlike the unrestrained passion of his first wife. Junior tried to restrain himself but couldn’t, afterwards feeling brutish and guilty. Mathias was relieved to see his former son-in-law back in Edgecombe, and more than willing to help Junior search-out land to buy. But Junior had returned with plans already made. Less than a mile upstream from Father Manning were two hundred acres of unsettled land owned by William Ruffin, of Northampton County. Ruffin had bought the land from a wealthy neighbor, James Pittman, several years earlier, establishing a private title that began prior to Granville s possession of his one-eighth of the province. Ruffin was a Baptist who was unashamed of worldly gain, and he was a friend of Junior s mother. William Ruffin had been Nancy Williams s brother-in-law during her first marriage, and they both belonged to the same congregation in Isle of Wight County, coming to the Particular meeting house from different directions on fifth Sundays. The growing denomination of Particular Baptists was strict and severe in its adherence to Calvinistic principles of predestination, and eager that its beliefs be circulated in the congregation of General Baptists. Some of the General congregations were not even insistent that church membership be reserved for the born-again. Ruffin had not been convinced of Junior s selection to the Elect, but his friendship with Nancy, and hopes for an ally amidst the unenlightened Baptists of western Edgecombe, moved him to sell two hundred acres on the north side of the Sapony for twenty pounds of hard Virginia money.
Margaret s first child, a daughter they named Elizabeth, was born on a cold March morning of the next year, 1756, as Junior paced outside in heavy rain, deep in memories of the birth that took his Mary. BOSON BOOKS
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Junior s mind often returned to memories of Mary. Although Margaret was still as beautiful as she was that first time he d seen her in Tom Biggs s house, she was lifeless, somehow. When he lay with her in private, it was like he was the only living person in the room. So unlike his Mary. Elizabeth would never romp in the stream with him, he knew. Junior had tired of his new wife quickly. He was bothered by the many ways she differed from his first. She often burned the food. Without the help of his children the garden would have strangled in weeds. She sometimes left the baby lying in its filth. Junior felt forced to speak to her about that, and, as his heat rose, he spoke of many other things. She sank to the floor in tears and remained there until he lifted her and carried her to the bed. He left her there and fetched Elizabeth Manning to tend her, then left for Lamon s Tavern. He increasingly avoided Margaret, except on those drunken nights when he took his privilege with her. Tom Harbut arrived soon after Junior did, and after spending a fortnight visiting relatives and friends who d already settled, he made a pallet in the sleeping loft with Junior s oldest sons and began helping Junior girdle and fell trees. Neighbors pitched-in and, by springtime, there was room for Margaret to plant peas, corn, and other vegetables and herbs for the table and the physick chest. For some slight, real or imaginary, that Tom inflicted on a man of Corbin s, he found it impossible to buy land in the Granville District. He fell back upon the trade of his father, and worked at crude carpentry with the few tools he d not sold, sewing the Virginia pounds into a coat for safekeeping. He did well from the start. Edgecombe was the most populous of North Carolina s counties, it was said, and there were houses and barns and mills popping-up throughout. Junior soon joined forces with him partly to avoid his wife and they quickly accumulated so much corn and tobacco in barter that Junior left his own crop in the field, lacking time and help to tend it. Their first trip to Halifax with the hogsheads of tobacco and barrels of corn was an education. An official of the king s weighed their goods and charged his own fee against the price they d dickered. Another man was there to levy duties, and another charged for use of the dock. There was no pretense to hide the fact that these men the courthouse ring were being charged less, or nothing at all, in fees for their own crops. In the minds of Junior and Tom, the town was mostly thieves and taverns and high-priced harlots, and by the time the cousins rode the two-wheeled cart back south through the ruts from Halifax, they shared only a few shillings of profit and were planning ways to avoid the town in future. They knew that other men carried their crops to BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans Virginia, where a higher price was paid but where extra duties against Carolina tobacco were still charged. One of many ways used to avoid these duties was to roll the barrels across the province line at out-of-the-way places and have Virginia friends or relatives pass them off as their own. A month after that first trip, one of the Ruffin brothers did that for Junior and Tom, charging only one-tenth of the sale price as a tithe for his Particular church. Junior thought it was an awful lot of trouble for a handful of coins, he told Margaret, but Tom could get excited by a pence, he said. Junior s children had become his joy in life. When little Mary spoke her first words, he subtly made sure all the neighbors knew of it. The children spent most of their days with their Grandma Manning, while Margaret piddled at her chores. Sometimes he took Sam, Billy, or Stephen along with him to the fields or to a building project. He d started off by taking only Sam who, at the age of nine, was already responsible and serious. Billy, a year younger, listened to his brother and the two boys worked well together. Stephen, at six, would do anything his brothers asked. All the children were eager to please their father. The children fascinated Junior. They weren t anything like he was as a child, he often thought. He and his friends had been competitive. They d fought, and cursed, and had even gotten drunk by the time they were as big as Sam. But these children were like bees or ants, Junior thought. They ran from place to place together. They took on a task as a team, whether cleaning Margaret s garden, or the house, or stacking staves. They must have learned that from Manning, he d decided, and worried that they d learn too much from Manning. He did not begrudge the time his children spent in church with their grandfather, but he took them there himself, on many Sundays, although he paid more attention to the proceedings after services than he did to the sermon. Any questions that had arisen in the community were discussed and voted on at meeting. There was always discussion, even if it was only to upbraid a tardy member or a weak confession. Everything was agreed upon by vote after the matter had been thrashed out in a meeting. Every man s voice was heard. Everyone was expected to speak his or opinion. Everyone s status was equal. Every speaker s vote was equal. The discussion and the voting were the only part of church that Junior enjoyed. Much of it was funny, when he thought of it. Bill Tucker was accused by his father-in-law of over-indulgence in drink. Tucker confessed, in tears, and repented, to the joyful embrace of his wife and friends. An angry neighbor accused Sarah Stancil of over-indulgence with food to which she happily agreed but Sarah finally became tearful when convinced of the gravity of her sins. With promises to foreswear gluttony, she was welcomed back into the warmth of fellowship. Adultery was the sin that was most heartily condemned by the pastor and his flock, but BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans redemption from this sin, too, was promised and celebrated after the sincere repentance of the sinner. Junior wasn t so fast to confess his sins as he once had been. He had lived in near-suffocation for too long under the close eyes of his in-laws and the church to submit himself to that procedure again. He noticed that the people who were first to expose their own sins were the older people, and they were quickest in pointing-out the flaws in his own generation. But Junior agreed with the old folks that the children would grow up to be different and be better than all of them. As important as the uprooting of sin was, more heat was raised by the incursion of Particular Baptists into the county. The Philadelphia Association had sent two preachers of that persuasion, Vanhorn and Miller, to spread the word in Edgecombe. Some local folks had become converted to that belief, and these preachers had asked permission to speak in the churches. There was outrage the first time that proposal was mentioned to Reverend Parker and his congregation. A firm no was the answer agreed upon by vote, after very little discussion. As the competition for souls in Edgecombe County intensified, another wedge was driven into the community with the arrival of Stephen Williams, Senior. With the death of James Williams, his son John had been granted future rights to his Uncle Stephen s two hundred acres in Deep Creek, as set out in his Grandfather Joseph s will. John was eager for immediate cash and, in an agreement that had disappointed his brothers, John and his uncle combined their legal rights and sold the land. Stephen brought his twenty pounds of Virginia money to Edgecombe County, hoping to buy land on the Sapony, near his son. The old couple arrived to stay with Junior and his family while Stephen looked for land. Within days, it was obvious that there were problems. Junior s daughter, Mary, was afraid of her new grandmother and begged to stay with Grandma Manning. Eliza, the baby, seemed frightened too, and screamed whenever held by Nancy, who d become an awkward crone. Nancy Williams stared at the girls, sometimes, and thought of her own girls, lost so long ago. Her tears only frightened the children more. How precious they were to her, she told Junior, but there was little that he could do. There was immediate hostility, with Junior caught in the middle. Mathias and Elizabeth Manning thought of the Williams grandchildren as their own. The moral teaching of the children had been left in their hands, so far, and the presence of Particular Baptists in the household of their vulnerable offspring was disturbing.
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Becoming Americans Few of the old friends of the elder Stephen Williams came to call. Most land was unavailable for them to purchase, but Junior finally convinced his friend, John Hatcher, to part with a portion of land he had downstream. The old man was happy. Even though he d paid twenty pounds for only one hundred and sixty acres, Stephen was satisfied. There was already a small cabin, the land was on both sides of the creek, and a good portion of it was low, swampy, pocosin. Most of the rest of it was pine trees. Stephen felt comfortable on such land. He d always been able to eat and make a living trapping and trading. At his age, he had no taste for felling and planting. God s bounty was always available for the taking.
Sometimes, still, Junior poled his corn down to the river and to Duncan Lamon s mill. The creek passed by his father s cabin, and going that way was an opportunity to visit. Often, there were several horses tied-up at the cabin and Junior poled on by. His father s visitors were Particulars and Junior wanted to avoid their evangelical ways. It was difficult enough to listen to the sermonizing of his mother and father alone. Usually, he loaded the cart and hitched his horse to it, knowing full well that he d leave the cart at Lamon s and let the horse carry him home, asleep, giving him an excuse to return for the cart, and another trip to the Tavern. Lamon s was a busy place. There was need for other mills and other ferries, people said, but by the end of 1758 no one had built one, and it was unlikely that another mill or ferry would be as exciting as Duncan s. At his mill, there were be loud arguments about religion; inside the tavern, talk was more often about politics. The county was in near-rebellion. It had been divided again, the northern part being renamed Halifax County and taking with it the borough and market center of Halifax Town. That left no seat of government for Edgecombe; its courts still met at Halifax. Plans called for a court seating in Redmon s Old Field, near Howell s landing, but there was no courthouse, no jail. What little order there had been seemed to be falling apart, and Junior was glad his friend, Robert Tucker was now a constable, affording some protection to friends, if needed. The French were on the run, travelers reported in the winter of 1758. All of New France would soon be taken and nearly the whole of America become English. The Indians were yet to be convinced of that, but they would be!
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Becoming Americans North Carolina troops should take care of its own and slaughter all the Indians! They proved their worth in battles up north. Governor Dobbs should bring back Major Waddell and set him on the Cherokees and Catawabas. Let the Germans and the Scots who live out there take care of their own Indians, Pridgen said. The old man s white beard was stained tobacco-brown from his mouth down below his chin. He d fallen from religion after his wife and children died, and he sometimes tried to pick fights. His neighbors generally humored him and tried to ignore his contentious attitude. I m not so worried about the Indians as I am about taxes, Hugh Stancil said. After paying for this damn war, I can t buy powder for my own gun, much less one that might be run off with by a Frenchman or an Indian! The drinkers grunted in agreement, but wished someone had said it other than the cheapest man they knew. A well-dressed gentleman at a table stood up and raised his glass. Well said, Sir. Well said. I am William Williams, and as your representative in the Assembly I have often tried to state the matter in such understandable terms. I toast your wisdom. Cheers went up for the gentleman, and his self-introduction opened the floor for anyone s complaints. It s not just the King and Granville, Stancil said above the crowd. and his English Church. Taking the side of Corbin against the people!
It s Moir
Another cheer went up for Stancil. Moir, the churchman, was too involved with politics and money. And, he was on the wrong side. Pridgen didn t want to hear religious arguments, calling both sides fools. said his mind stayed in fantasy.
Folks
I heard a man come through here say that Doctor Franklin s got a plan to bring all the colonies together, to act as one.
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Becoming Americans It would take Doctor Franklin and a host of angels to get North Carolina to join such a union, the assemblyman said. Every man laughed, and they all gave William Williams three cheers. You any kin to our Junior Williams, here? somebody called out. Indeed I am, the gentleman replied. We are both Englishmen. Junior, red-faced, cheered with the others, and the man went on. I want you to know that we in the Assembly understand and share your grievances and are working to express our pain and oppression to His Majesty. The King and Earl Granville will eventually see that we suffer unduly. The King does not oppress his subjects. Junior stumbled from the tavern to find his horse. The sound of argument continued in the tavern, as it always did. Torches lit the small group of men who were clustered at the mill, breathing steam as they fought about God. Junior had no wish to join into a discussion there. Fights among the Baptists had become as frequent as those mounted against Corbin. Most of the war in Edgecombe was not directed towards the French or the Indians. Reverend Parker had nailed shut the door to the church he d built, on his own land, when the congregation had turned Particular. Junior s father had been treated like a leper when he arrived; now he was a patriarch among his increasing fellow-believers. Manning kept his eye on Junior as a potential traitor. Junior walked his horse onto the flatboat, and Duncan s equally thick-necked son pulled him across the river. There was no moon, and the sky had finally cleared of clouds after two dreary weeks of rain. The sky was always brightest in winter, it seemed to Junior, and he wondered if that were God making up for the cold. He rode past Pridgen s dark, cold house and spat across his left shoulder, thankful that he had a fire and a family waiting for him on the Sapony. He started to count the years since Mary had died but had to recount, remembering that it was January 1759, and not 1758. The calendar had been changed seven years earlier and he was still confused by the year beginning in January, not March. How they could change the calendar he didn t know. He pulled his horse up quickly. There was a star in the sky like he d never seen. It had a tail, and was as big as his fist! Was the world about to end! His heart began to
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Becoming Americans pound and he whipped his horse into a gallop, praying that the animal wouldn t stumble in the hidden ruts. He took the path to his father s house, it being closest. He pounded on the door and went inside. Stephen turned and looked at the intruder. Stephen knelt by the side of his wife, who was lying in their bed, silent and stiff. For an hour he d been praying, making promises to God, pleading for his wife to look him in the eyes. The ague had come on Nancy in the afternoon, and Stephen had nursed her as he always had, or she him, when the attacks came. He d made the brew, he d covered her, and he d bathed her. It was as he bathed her an hour earlier that she died. He d touched her breast as he bathed her, and she d shuddered under his hand as she had so many years before when he d touched her. It had shaken him more than anything had in his life next to finding God, he supposed. He wanted to weep about his own life, not knowing why. He wondered if most of his life with her had been some sort of lie. He realized how much she d loved him and he cried for not loving her back as much. Had that been God s wish, that she turn all her passion to loving Him. Maybe some of that passion would have been for him if he d accepted it.
September 15, 1767 was a momentous day for the Williams family: two sons were born. The two mothers were brought together in Junior s enlarged house, and relatives of the extended families, with dozens of their friends, gathered in the yard while two pigs roasted on open fires, and several jugs of brandy were passed around outside of open sight. It was a legitimate opportunity for celebration, and everyone grasped it. Another generation to carry on the proud name, they all said. The menfolk tried to avoid serious talk. Eight years after Halley s Comet, the political discussion at Lamon s Tavern raged fiercer, although religious disputes around the mill, and around the county and the province, had calmed. Only Reverend Parker, Mathias Manning, and a few others remained aloof when the Particular and the General Baptists agreed to unite as Regular Baptists in the Kehukee Association in 1765. This union freed people to join together to question and rebuke their common oppressors. Whether the comet had foretold the problems or brought them on, nobody knew, but there d never been anything like the affair that brought on the 1759 Enfield Riots in BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans North Carolina; maybe not in America. Some men from Lamon s had taken part in it. Junior wished he had. He wished he could have. The same week that his mother died, men from Edgecombe had stolen Corbin from his home near Edenton and taken him to Enfield. They made him post a heavy bond to ensure his appearance at the next Spring s Superior Court, and to refund all unjust fees that had been taken. Corbin agreed to remove any objectionable deputy surveyors and to appoint men of generally-known good character. The people were allowed to examine his entry books, and by committee to adjust conflicting claims to same properties. Junior had thought it was a grand day for the Granville District and the Province. There d been a few weeks of hope for change until the Attorney General, the Assembly, and the Governor turned on them in turns. Governor Dobbs ended the affair with arrests and the jailing of several men in Enfield. The people united and freed their friends, but the promised reforms were forgotten. The French-Indian war had finally ended in America, but the increased burden of taxes and the stalemate between Governor Dobbs and the north-south stalled Assembly, brought people to the feeling of a pox on both their houses. Governor Dobbs retired in 1764 news joyfully received by Edgecombe residents and the new Governor, William Tryon arrived in the fall. On the heels of Tryon, in the spring of 1765, word came of yet another tax, one ordered by Parliament, not by the King. It was for stamps on documents and newspapers, not of much consequence to the county, but of great concern to the merchants in the port towns. The outcries from the towns of Boston and Philadelphia were echoed in Wilmington. It was taken up by the farmers in Edgecombe who, no longer distracted by religious squabbles, directed their anger at Granville towards the government in London: the Americans weren t being treated the same as their English brothers. Samuel Williams was a proud new father, and it was obvious to him how proud his own father was to have a first grandchild. He was seeing the beginning of a dynasty, and Sam was glad to have pleased him. Sam s own grandfather, the ancient Stephen, had thoughts of his own, Sam knew, and wasn t thinking of him and his child. Still, Sam knew, and was grateful, that much of what he had and would have was from Grandfather Stephen. The old Dismalite s knowledge of the forest and of cooking tar had earned him a comfortable old age, with little effort. After Sam s Grandmother Nancy had died, Stephen needed a helpmate, which everyone understood. Within six months he d taken twenty-year-old Sallie Creekmore as a bride, and the odd pair became leaders in the church. Sam s grandfather s telling and retelling the story of ticks leading him from the Dismal Swamp by trusting in the Light, made him famous among young boys. He spoke of his days with the pirates, before he BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans found God. He told stories of his own grandfather, who d come from England as a boy, of his great-grandfather, who d died fighting Republican rebels. Grandpa Stephen still spoke of Virginia as home. Sam was proud to be from North Carolina. He d never been away from it. Sam considered himself an energetic and contented man, but he had questions about his future, and that of his new son. Every day, with every rider from Williamsburgh, or Tar Borough, or Wilmington brought word that seemed to lead his world toward destruction. Sam s father had been gone on many nights after the Enfield Riots, returning home with a darkened face and stories of revenge against criminals, Granville s agents, or men working for the King. He and his friends called themselves Regulators, and, more recently, had organized themselves on the lines of Boston s Sons of Liberty. They d called for public meetings for discussions with officials as to whether or not the King s American subjects were being subjected to abuses of power, but public officials had been barred from attending that meeting, and the participants labeled insurrectionists. There was a mixed feeling of despair and anticipation in all the provinces, travelers on the Halifax Road reported, and Sam wondered what his role would be in the uncertain days ahead. Tom Harbut, some of the Pridgens, some of the Joyners, and many newcomers had left for the westernmost lands of the province, hoping to escape the reaches of all authority. Sam wasn t leaving. Whatever happened, Edgecombe County was his home. But, he was following his father s advice, and being especially careful not to waste powder, and not to miss a target. With the blessing of God and the hard work of Sam and his younger brothers, the Williams land was prospering, and with the community respect that came with being a grandchild of Old Stephen, the Williams boys and girls were closely watched as marriage prospects in the neighborhood. Sam had wed in 1766, the first of his generation of Carolina Williamses to marry. He d chosen Lucy Creekmore, a sister of his grandfather s wife, and found nothing strange about it. The mothers would raise the boys as brothers. Sam stroked the back of his nursing infant son as he watched his grandfather lift his own new son from its mother and raise him in the air. This is my son, Daniel! Old Stephen said. bastard!
A son whom no one shall call
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Junior had heard his father but was confused, himself. Was he become a lesser son? Father Manning came to Junior s side and put a supporting hand on his shoulder. Margaret put her arm around her husband and grew rigid, as she stood taller.
Afterword Northeastern North Carolina was among the earliest settled sections in British North America. Largely because of peculiar geographic influences, a great portion of the population of these seventeen or eighteen counties has always descended from the first Anglo-Saxon-Celtic colonists of the mid-1700s. Many of those settlers had come, first, to southeastern Virginia during the latter half of the seventeenth century, joining friends and families who had arrived even earlier from neighboring villages and towns of southwestern England. Several generations of British subjects lived and died here prayed and fought for more than a half-dozen British monarchs while evolving into self-assertive, republican Americans. Becoming Americans is a tale of these men, women and children who, during more than a century of discovery and rebellion, religion and politics, loving and dying created the personalities and setting of the American Revolution. Becoming Americans personalizes that evolution and those early Americans in the perspective illuminated by William Strauss and Neil Howe in their work Generations, The History of America s Future, 1584-2069: that American history is a repeating cycle of generation types, causing and/or reacting to predictable secular and spiritual crises. Understanding that process of age-cohort development illuminates history and the future national and personal. Vice-President Gore has called Generations one of the great works of interpretation, capable of producing a paradigmatic shift in thinking. Strauss and Howe identify and locate in time the American generations and their cycles. They begin their study with the Colonial Cycle and the Puritan Generation (born during the years 1587 through 1614), a spiritually motivated age group that was reacting to the worldliness of its Elizabethan predecessors. They, in turn, created the moralistic, judgmental environment that was rejected by the next generation, the Cavaliers (16151647). There followed the secular, hard-working Glorious (1648-1673), and then the polished, worldly Enlightenment (1674-1700). This repeating pattern was continued in the subsequent Revolutionary Cycle of Awakening (1701-1723), Liberty (1724-1741), Republican (1742-1766), and Compromise (1767-1791). Today s living representatives of overlapping cycles include the triumphant survivors of the civic-minded GI Generation (1901-1924), the adaptive Silent Generation (1925-1942), the idealistic Boomers (19431960), the reactive X or Thirteenth (1961-1981), and the promising new civic Millennial Generation (1982-????), still in its youth. BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans
Becoming Americans is a unique dramatization of the Colonial and early Revolutionary Cycles as lived by one tenacious family, from the arrival of an orphaned, immigrant Cavalier servant in 1658 Virginia, though the colonies evolution to ripening political self-consciousness in 1767 North Carolina. The passions, disasters, triumphs, and challenges of that formative century are reflected in the family of Richard Williams. Richard Williams (b.1645), the immigrant, was orphaned at the age of four, victim of a religious and political struggle that had orphaned thousands of children in England, including those of the beheaded King Charles I, himself. The strict Puritans brought on a reaction among the young. Richard and his Cavalier peers shared undisciplined appetites and disdain for authority. His life as an indentured servant was common for the time, too, as was his transition into independent planter status. Anne Biggs (b.1650), Richard s wife, John (b. 1666) and Joseph (b.1667), his oldest sons, and Edy (b.1669), his oldest daughter were Glorious children, raised in safer, more stable times and circumstances. They were bold, rational, and free to contribute their talents and energies to the development of infrastructure and tradition. Anne held the fractious family together with her wits, and made a new life for them in the Rogues Harbor of North Carolina where, in 1691, she moved with her third husband, the notorious Robert Fewox, taking Edy and the youngest children with her. Her adult sons stayed in Virginia. John organized and managed a large plantation, while his brother, Joseph, conducted commerce, built a water mill, a road, and established a village. The youngest children of Richard and Anne Williams Edward (b. 1674), Richard (b. 1675) and Sarah Alice (b. 1676) and some of their grandchildren of the Enlightenment generation entered adulthood during a period of peace and prosperity that they relished. Rogue s Harbor offered opportunities, despite and because of the pirates and poor land. The growing Empire and the Royal Navy needed Carolina s naval stores. The next generation of Americans, stifled by the secular concerns of their socially striving elders, reveled in their spiritual and idealistic natures and joined in the Great Awakening of religion in the mid-eighteenth century. Stephen Williams (b. 1701) broke with his family and from a sullen past of adventure and swamp exploration to rejoice in that emotional religious movement, while his older Enlightenment brother James (b. 1700) clung to the ritual and respectability of the Church of England. Children of the Awakeners were temperamentally reminiscent of Richard the Immigrant and were among the adventurers who so resented that moralism and the authority of Britain that they ventured forth in great numbers to the western frontier, following the footsteps of Daniel Boone and other explorers of their Liberty Generation. Stephen s son, Junior (b. 1730), made attempts to follow the teachings and lifestyle of his Baptist community, but, like his Liberty cohorts, Junior resented all intrusion into his life BOSON BOOKS
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Becoming Americans and personal liberty. He exercised that resentment whether against his church community or against the King s men. Junior s son, Samuel (b.1747), was among those who would fight for his country s independence from the King and the King s men. The Republican Generation became tireless foot soldiers of the Revolution. The cycle continued. Becoming Americans is the story of America s early beginning, the study of a culture in formation; that culture of Anglo-Saxon-Celtic settlers which became a dominant one of the southern United States. The men and women who grew the tobacco, who boiled the tar for Britain s ships, who defied the Established Church as non-conformists, and populated the Earth with settlers for the frontier were the humble but exciting yeomen stock of much of our country, themselves the first frontiersmen, the homefolks of the pioneers. Their story is an important part of our national family history.
End of Book Copyright 1996 Donald Batchelor All Rights Reserved
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