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.
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.
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."
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 Burge
sses, 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.
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, 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. 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 been a 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 cav
alier.
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.
"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.
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