Becoming Americans

by Donald Batchelor

  "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!"

  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.

  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 bigmouthed, 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-perpound.

  "The Marylanders protested about our going into their territory and killing 'innocents.'" Edward forced the word. "So then the politicians had to get involved."

  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 Washington-Allerton-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.

  "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 pa
st 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.

  "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."

  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.

  "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."

  "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 st
irred 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.

  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.