Becoming Americans

by Donald Batchelor

  Published by Boson Books

  3905 Meadow Field Lane

  Raleigh, NC 27606

  ISBN 978-1-886420-25-0

  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

  e-mail: cm@cmonline.com

  URL: http://www.bosonbooks.com

  _____________________________________________________

  BECOMING AMERICANS

  by

  Donald Batchelor

  ____________________________________________

  BOSON BOOKS

  Raleigh

  Richard Williams's Virginia

  Deep Creek and the Dismal Swamp

  Stephen's years in Bath

  Sapony Creek settlement in Edgecombe

  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-year-old 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 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 almost-island. 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.

  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 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 burned-out 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 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 lying on a 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.

  "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 b
ack.

  "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."