The Sot-Weed Factor

by John Barth

  Never once did he turn his eyes to the leather couch beside him, where sat Roxanne Russecks, Henrietta, and John McEvoy. There was gossip, Anna had reported to Ebenezer, of a reconciliation between the old lovers. Neither of them would speak of the matter directly—Roxanne protested her eternal devotion to the memory of Benjamin Long, and Andrew protested his to the memory of Anne Bowyer Cooke—but the miller’s widow, for all her serenity, was uncommonly full of life; her brown eyes flashed and she seemed always to be relishing some private joke. And Andrew, when his daughter had assured him that neither she nor Ebenezer would consider his remarriage an affront to their mother’s memory, had been covered with confusion, and advised Anna to look to her own betrothal before arranging his. Ebenezer had not realized thitherto that his father was not so hopelessly ancient after all, but a mere mid-fifty or thereabouts—no older to Burlingame, for example, than Burlingame was to the twins—and still quite virile-looking despite his greying beard, his withered arm, and his late ill-health.

  Beside Roxanne, in the middle of the group, sat the reunited lovers Henrietta and John McEvoy, about whom there were no rumors at all: they made no secret of their feelings for each other, and everyone assumed that their betrothal would soon be announced. On their right along the other arc sat Richard Sowter, William Smith, Lucy Robotham, and the Colonel, her father, in that order—rather, all sat except Colonel Robotham, who fussed floridly hither and thither behind the chair in which his daughter scowled with shame. The cooper glowered at his shoes and nodded impatiently from time to time at whatever Sowter whispered him: he would not look at all towards Ebenezer, or towards the militiaman in Scotch cloth, musket at the ready, whom Nicholson had promoted to sergeant-at-arms five minutes previously.

  For want of a gavel, the Governor rapped the edge of the table with his stick.

  “Very well, dammee, this court-baron is called to order. Our trusted friend Nick Lowe hath devised a clever code for taking down the spoken word, and on the strength of’t we here appoint him clerk of this court.”

  Ebenezer saw a manifold opportunity in the situation. “If’t please Your Excellency—” he ventured.

  “It doth not,” snapped Nicholson. “Ye’ll have ample time to speak thy piece anon.”

  “ ’Tis with regard to the clerk,” Ebenezer insisted. “In view of the extraordinary complexity of the business at hand, wherein the matter of identities hath such importance, methinks ’twere wise to establish a firm principle at the outset: that no actions be taken by the Court or testimony heard save under the true and bona fide identities of all concerned, lest doubt be cast on the legality of the Court’s rulings. To this end I request Your Excellency to appoint and swear the clerk by’s actual name.”

  Anna was understandably alarmed by this proposal, and the others—especially Andrew—were perplexed by it; but both Nicholson and Sir Thomas clearly appreciated the poet’s strategy of establishing a precedent favorable to his case, and with a little nod Burlingame signaled his approval of Ebenezer’s other intention.

  “Unquestionably the wisest procedure,” Nicholson agreed, and declared to the room: “Be’t known that Nicholas Lowe is our good friend’s nom de guerre, as’t were, and we here appoint him clerk o’ the court under his true name, Henry Burlingame the Third—do I have it right, Henry?”

  Burlingame affirmed the identification with another nod, but his attention, like the twins’, was on Andrew Cooke, who had gone white at mention of the name.

  “Marry come up!” laughed McEvoy, unaware of the situation. “Is’t really you, Henry? There’s no end o’ miracles these days! Did ye hear, Henrietta—”

  Henrietta hushed him; Andrew had risen stiffly to his feet, glaring at Burlingame.

  “As God is my witness!” he began, and was obliged to pause and swallow several times to contain his emotion. “I will see thee in Hell, Henry Burlingame—”

  He advanced a step towards the table; Ebenezer moved forward and caught his arm.

  “Sit down, Father: you’ve no just quarrel with Henry, nor ever did have. ’Tis I you must rail at, not Henry and Anna.”

  Andrew stared at his son’s face incredulously, and at the hand that restrained him; but he made no move to go farther.

  “Aye, go to, Andrew,” said Mrs. Russecks. “Thou’rt the defendant in that affair, not the plaintiff. For that matter, a deceiver hath little ground to complain of deception.”

  “I quite agree!” said Colonel Robotham, and then cleared his throat uncomfortably under a whimsical look from Burlingame.

  Nicholson rapped for order. “Ye may settle your private differences anon,” he declared. “Be seated, Mister Cooke.”

  Andrew did as he was bade; Roxanne leaned over to whisper something in his ear, and Anna patted her brother’s hand admiringly. Ebenezer’s pulse was still fast, but a wink from Henry Burlingame wanned his heart. A moment later, however, it was his turn to be shaken: the French kitchen woman came to the door with a whispered message, which was relayed to the Governor by the militiamen who blocked her entry; it seemed to consist of two parts, the first of which he acknowledged with a nod, the second with an oath.

  “Yell be pleased to know, Madame Russecks,” he announced, “thy friend Captain Avery hath given us the slip and is on his way to Philadelphia, where I’m sure he’ll find snug harbor and no dearth o’ companions.”

  Roxanne replied that neither her old affection for Long Ben Avery nor her recent obligation to him blinded her to the viciousness of his piracies; she would thank His Excellency to recall that it was she who had reported Avery’s whereabouts, and not to embarrass her by insinuations of a relationship that did not exist.

  “I quite agree,” said Andrew. Ebenezer and Anna exchanged glances of surprise, and the Governor, who seemed impressed by Roxanne’s spirit, nodded his apologies.

  “I am farther advised that one of our invalids hath requested to join us, and inasmuch as Mr. Burlingame believes her to be a material witness on sundry points, I shall ask him to assist the sergeant-at-arms in fetching her down ere we commence.”

  Andrew, Roxanne, Henrietta, John McEvoy—all looked soberly at Ebenezer, whose features the news set into characteristic turmoil. For some moments he feared another onset of immobility, but at sight of Joan, borne in on the arms of her escorts like some wretch fetched fainting from a dungeon, he sprang from the chair arm. “Ah God!”

  All the men rose murmuring to their feet; Andrew touched his son’s arm and cleared his throat once or twice by way of encouragement. It was indeed a disquieting sight: Joan’s face and garments were free of dirt—Anna and Roxanne had seen to that—but her face was welted by disease, her teeth were in miserable condition, and her eyes—those brown eyes that had flashed so excellently in Locket’s—were red and ruined. She was no older than Henrietta Russecks, but her malaise, together with her coarse woolen nightdress and tangled coiffure, made her look like a witch or ancient Bedlamite. McEvoy groaned at the spectacle, Lucy Robotham covered her eyes, Richard Sowter sniffed uncomfortably, and his client refused to look at all. Joan being too infirm to sit erect, she was wrapped in blankets on the couch by Henrietta, whose solicitude suggested that McEvoy had kept no secrets from her.

  Not until she was settled on the couch did Joan acknowledge Ebenezer’s anguished presence with a stare. “God help and forgive me!” the poet cried. He threw himself to his knees before the couch, pressed her hand to his mouth and wept upon it.

  “Order! Order!” commanded Nicholson. “Ye may sit beside your wife if ye choose, Mister Cooke, but well ne’er have done with our business if we don’t commence it. Whatever ill the wretch hath done ye, Mrs. Cooke, ’tis plain he’s sorry for’t. Do ye wish him to change place with Mrs. Russecks or leave ye be?”

  “If wishes were buttercakes, beggars might bite,” Joan replied, but though the proverb was tart, her voice was weak and hoarse. “I ne’er fared worse than when I wished for my supper.”

  “Whate’er ye please, then, Mister
Cooke,” the Governor said. “But smartly.”

  Mrs. Russecks drew Ebenezer to the place she had vacated, by Joan’s head, and herself took the chair offered her by Andrew Cooke, who regarded his son gravely. Out of range of her eyes, Ebenezer retained Joan’s spiritless hand in his own; he could not bear to look at the rest of the company, but to the left of him he heard Anna’s needles clicking busily, and the sounds went into him like nails.

  “Now,” said Nicholson drily, “I trust we may get on with our business. The clerk will please give the oath to Andrew Cooke and commence the record.”

  “That man shan’t swear me,” Andrew declared. “I’d as lief take oath from the Devil.”

  “Any wight that won’t stand forward and be sworn,” Nicholson threatened, “forfeits his claim to his miserable estate here and now.”

  Andrew grudgingly took the oath.

  “I object, Your Excellency,” said Sowter. “The witness failed to raise his right hand.”

  “Objection be damned!” the Governor answered. “He can no more raise his hand than Henry here his cod, as any but a blackguard or addlepate might see. Now sit ye down, Mister Cooke: inasmuch as the lot of ye have some interest in the case and we’ve no regular courthouse to hear it in, I here declare this entire parlor to be our witness-box. Ye may answer from your seats.”

  “But St. Rosalie’s kneebones, Your Excellency,” Sowter protested. “Who is the accused and who the plaintiff?”

  The Governor held a brief conference on this point with Sir Thomas Lawrence, who then announced that, owing to the unusual complexity of the claims and allegations, the proceedings would begin in the form of an inquest, to be turned into a proper trial as soon as issues were clarified.

  “ ’Tis no more than all of us were wont to do under the Lord Proprietary,” he maintained. Sowter made no further objections, even when, as if to tempt him, Nicholson took the extraordinary step of administering the oath to everyone in the room simultaneously, obliging them to join hands in a chain from Burlingame, who held the Bible, and recite in. chorus.

  “Now, then, Mister Andrew Cooke—” He consulted a document on the table before him. “Do I understand that on the fifth day of March, in 1662, you acquired this tract of land from one Thomas Manning and Grace his wife for the sum of seven thousand pounds of tobacco, and that subsequently ye raised this house on’t?”

  Andrew affirmed the particulars of the transaction.

  “And is it true that from 1670 till September last this property was managed for ye by one Benjamin Spurdance?”

  “Aye.”

  “Where is this Spurdance?” Nicholson asked Burlingame. “Oughtn’t he to be here?”

  “We’re endeavoring to find him,” Henry said. “He seems to have disappeared.”

  Andrew then testified, in answer to the Governor’s inquiries, that on the first of April, at his orders, Ebenezer had embarked from Plymouth to take full charge of the plantation, and that for reasons of convenience he had given his son full power of attorney in all matters pertinent thereto.

  “And did he then, in the Circuit Court at Cambridge last September, grant Cooke’s Point free and clear to William Smith?”

  “Aye and he did, by good St. Wenceslaus,” Sowter put in firmly. “Your Excellency hath the paper to prove it.”

  “He was deceived!” Andrew snouted. “He had no idea ’twas Malden, and what’s more he had no authority to dispose of the property!”

  “I fail to see why not,” Sowter argued. “What matter could be more pertinent to the business of a planter than disposing of his plantation?”

  Here Colonel Robotham joined the battle. “This entire question is beside the point, Your Excellency! The wight that granted Cooke’s Point to Smith was an arrant impostor, as Mr. Cooke himself hath admitted, and my daughter’s claim hath priority in any case—the real Ebenezer Cooke lost the property on a shipboard wager to the Reverend George Tubman in June, and Tubman conveyed the title to my daughter ere ever this other hoax was perpetrated!”

  “A bald-arsed lie!” cried Sowter, and Andrew agreed.

  Nicholson stood up and pounded his stick on the floor. “That will quite do, dammee! The inquest is finished!”

  Even Burlingame was astonished by this announcement.

  “ ’Tis scarce begun!” protested Andrew. “You’ve not heard aught of’t yet!”

  “Yell refrain from speaking out of order,” said the Governor, “or be removed from this courtroom. We said at the outset that directly we found a clear defendant we’d end the inquest and commence the trial. The inquest is done.”

  Andrew beamed. “Then you agree I’m the true defendant, and ’tis for these thieves to prove their lying claims?”

  “Not a bit of’t,” Nicholson answered. “I am the defendant—that is to say, the Province o’ Maryland. We here confiscate the house and grounds together, dammee, and ’tis for the lot o’ ye to show cause why we oughtn’t to hold ’em in His Majesty’s name.”

  “On what grounds?” Sowter demanded. “ ’Tis a travesty o’ justice!”

  Nicholson hesitated until Burlingame, who was clearly delighted by the move, whispered something to him.

  “ ’Tis for the welfare o’ the Province and His Majesty’s plantations in America,” he said then. “This house is alleged to be the center of a vicious traffic, which same traffic is alleged in turn to be managed by seditious and treasonable elements in the Province. ’Tis entirely within our rights as Governor to conficate the property of traitors and suspected traitors pending trial o’ the charges against ’em.”

  “St. Sever’s tan yard! There are no charges against anyone!”

  “Quite so,” the Governor agreed. “ ’Twere unjust to bring so grave a charge in a special court and without a hearing. In short, the lot o’ ye are under house arrest for sedition pending your hearing, and there’ll be no hearing till we settle the title to this estate!”

  Sir Thomas himself was plainly dazzled. “It hath no precedent!” the Colonel complained.

  “On the contrary,” Nicholson said triumphantly. “ ’Tis the very trick Justice Holt employed for King William to snatch the charter o’ Maryland from Baltimore.”

  The confiscation was promptly made official: Sir Thomas’s status was changed from judge to counsel for the defense; Andrew, William Smith, and Lucy Robotham were named joint plaintiffs; and the case of Cooke et al. v. Maryland was declared open.

  “ ’Sheart, now!” laughed the Governor. “There’s a piece o’ courtsmanship to remember!” He then ruled that Colonel Robotham, as Lucy’s counsel, should be heard first, since his claim antedated the others. The Colonel, much ill at ease, repeated the particulars of the gaming aboard the Poseidon, the final wager made prior to the Laureate’s capture, by virtue of which the title to Cooke’s Point passed to the Reverend George Tubman of Port Tobacco parish, the Reverend Tubman’s marriage of Lucy (subsequently annulled as bigamous), her acquisition to the title of Cooke’s Point, and finally her marriage to the Laureate himself.

  Nicholson grunted. “Now see here, Colonel Robotham, thou’rt a responsible man, for all ye once served with Coode and Governor Copley; if I hadn’t thought ye a friend o’ Justice I’d ne’er have made ye Judge o’ the Admiralty Court. Thou’rt an honest man and a just one: a credit to the wretched Province…”

  “I thankee, sir,” muttered the Colonel. “Heav’n knows I crave naught save justice—”

  “Then lookee yonder at that skinny fellow on the couch and admit he is no more thy daughter’s husband than I am, nor is he the wight that made the wager with George Tubman!”

  “I never said he was,” protested the Colonel. “Andrew Cooke himself hath declared to all of us—”

  “We know his lying declarations,” Nicholson interrupted, “and we know as well as you do why he called Henry here his son.”

  This point Colonel Robotham granted freely. “He thought his son was dead and hoped to deceive me with an impostor. But if Your Excellency
please, sir, my position is that a man who will disown his own son dead would as lief disown him alive, and as lief twice or thrice as once. My position, sir, is that when he learned how his son had gambled away his property, he conspired with Mister Lowe—or Burlingame, whiche’er it is—to defraud us; and that when my poor son-in-law appeared with his companions and Mister Burlingame was obliged to reveal himself, Mister Cooke callously bribed that wretch of a servant to pose in his place. I can produce witnesses a-plenty from the Poseidon to identify my daughter’s husband as Ebenezer Cooke and that treacherous rascal as his valet; and they will swear, as I do now, that oft and oft on shipboard he would presume to his master’s office.”

  The Governor shook his head. “I greatly fear, George, ’tis thy son-in-law upstairs that is the presumptuous servant. Much as I deplore the scandal of’t, and pity ye the burthen of a short-heeled daughter, I am altogether convinced that this fellow here is the true Eben Cooke. In addition to the testimony of his father, his sister, and Mister Burlingame, I have here a sworn affidavit from Bertrand Burton, the man in yonder chamber, that Mister Burlingame had the foresight to acquire before the poor devil was o’erhauled by fever. I shall read it aloud and hand it round for your inspection.”

  He proceeded to read a confession, over Bertrand’s signature, of the valet’s several impostures of Ebenezer, his unauthorized wager with Tubman, and his fraudulent marriage to Lucy Robotham. Despite Ebenezer’s overwrought condition, this gesture of atonement filled his heart.

  “ ’Tis but a farther deception!” the Colonel objected. “They have twisted a dying man’s delirium to their ends!”