Becoming Americans

by Donald Batchelor

  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 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.

  "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 refilled 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 refilled 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.

  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. My men are making tar and I've got orders for a dozen hogsheads. I'll be 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.

  "Go along, and wager a few pounds for me, you k
now 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 twohour 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.

  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.

  "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. "Be quiet and don't move. Ask no questions and say nothing to your brother!"

  "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. And hurry yourself," he told Miller.

  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 deerskins 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.

  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, th
e cart, and the hogshead of sweetscented.

  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 haggardlooking, naked man! That was the first moment his thoughts had strayed from Catherine Dean.