Becoming Americans

by Donald Batchelor

  Chapter Twelve

  They ate together as a family, with Richard grateful for the time to sit down. He'd never before been so winded from these exercises. It occurred to him, as he looked about, that he was among the older men there. He'd reached the age of thirty-seven. His youth was gone. He saw old Sam Hodges, confined to a sedan chair, and had a moment of fear. Sam Hodges was only ten years older than he was!

  Bill Etheridge walked over as Richard finished a last chunk of bread. Richard offered his friend a mug of beer or cider and Bill consented to have his tankard filled. He then asked Richard to walk off a ways with him.

  The cutting would be two nights hence. There would be no moon that night, so small bands of men—throughout the colony—would go secretly about the destruction of the whole tobacco crop. If the king's men wouldn't take control of the overproduction, the planters would do it themselves.

  Adam Thorowgood had received the news by a visitor from Middlesex. The cutting would be everywhere, and as much a surprise to the authorities as the Indian massacre of '22. Many of the planters—large and small—were in on the plan, but some were not. John Wilson was not. Mister Boush wasn't. Captain Craford wasn't. John Biggs wasn't.

  There'd be no meetings. Each man was to destroy his own fields and those of his neighbor. Etheridge would send a man, and Hodges would send two, to help Richard and George Dawes cut down the growing stalks in Captain Craford's fields. Richard eagerly agreed. No one had told him who was to cut the Biggs's tobacco. He returned alone to Anne.

  Joseph and Edy ran to their father, out of breath and confusing their story by interrupting each other. John came behind. His nose was bleeding, Joseph's face was scratched, and Edy's dress was torn.

  "Those Thorowgoods are horrid," she said." I wouldn't marry one of them if they owned all of Lynhaven Parish!"

  "They didn't get away with it!" Joseph said.

  "Stop!" Anne demanded. "Edy, what have you done to my dress? I though you were a young lady, now! Did anybody see you?"

  "It's those high-nosed Thorowgoods, Mama. They called us names." Edy replied.

  "Tell me." Richard's voice was firm and demanding. The children stopped babbling.

  "John!" Richard commanded.

  "We saw Uncle John talking to Mister Thorowgood, and we were going over to say hello," John began.

  "Uncle John is here? From Middlesex?" Richard wondered. Could it possibly have been his Uncle John who brought the word to Thorowgood?

  "Yes, sir, and when we started over there one of those boys said, 'Here come those swamp rats from Albemarle.' Pa, we couldn't take an insult like that, so I hit the big one and Joseph got the brother, then their dog jumped on Edy and we got into it good. I made his nose bleed, too, Pa, and I hit him so hard in the stomach he got sick on his fancy clothes!"

  "And I almost bit the ear off the other boy," Joseph said.

  "But Uncle John and Mister Thorowgood came out of the tent and stopped it," Edy said. "He's coming over here to see you. I told him where we were. Is that what you're going to look like when you get old, Pa?"

  "I'm not a swamp-rat!" John said. "Nobody's gonna get away with calling me from Carolina!"

  The elder John Williams moved smoothly through a gaggle of young girls who were shrieking in delight over some shared secret. His was an effortless and erect presence. Richard felt a calming reassurance. The men in his family—if they weren't killed—lived to a ripe old age like Uncle John. The old man looked little different than he had six years earlier, when they met in James Town. Richard went to meet him.

  "Uncle John, what a blessing to see you!"

  The two men grasped hands warmly, then threw their arms about each other for a moment.

  "It's my last time out of Middlesex, I think, Nephew. Until I'm gone for good," the old man said with a sad smile.

  "Nonsense, Uncle, you're as fit as I," Richard said.

  "I don't think so, Boy, but your time will come. I see gray hair that's not powdered."

  Richard felt obliged to laugh, but was not amused. He hadn't looked into a glass for some time.

  Joseph and the other children stood by, staring at the ancient figure, and waiting to be noticed. Uncle John said, yes, he was staying with Captain Thorowgood and had seen the children's fight. The old man turned to them.

  "Young John, you've made me proud this day. I'll not forget it. I'm speaking of your being in the militia, now, not of your fighting with gentlemen's children. And Joseph, how often I've remembered our time together in James Town—when there was some town there—and lovely Anne…" he turned to Anne.

  "You, among us all, are the only one who's not grown older. Yet you've given the Williams name to four sons and…who's this?" He noticed Sarah Alice. The old man slowly knelt before the startled child and reached to stroke her hair with his wrinkled and blue-veined hands. He reverently stroked her hair. Everyone could see the old man's eyes well-up with tears.

  "That's our youngest, Uncle John. Sarah Alice, this is your Great-uncle John."

  The little girl gave her practiced curtsy.

  "There are angels among us, God be praised," the old man said and rose, never taking his eyes or his hands from the child.

  "Your Sarah Alice is the twin of my own dear sister," Uncle John said.

  "Your sister? I never knew there were girls among my father and uncles," Richard said.

  "No, you wouldn't. She was taken by God before your own father was born—God rest his sweet soul. She was a precious, precious child, our Betty was. And then your father came, to take away some of the pain."

  Uncle John seemed fixed on Sarah Alice.

  "And I've lived long enough to see her again. Dear child."

  Uncle John finally turned to Richard and broke the silence.

  "A wonderful family you have, Richard. You've done well."

  "And how fares Aunt Mary and Cousin Thomas?" Richard asked.

  "Your Aunt Mary will live for many years, I think. She'll make a commanding Widow Williams, I warrant," the old man half-joked. He didn't mention Thomas.

  "And Cousin Thomas?" young John asked.

  Uncle John turned to the young man and spoke deliberately.

  "Not so well as you, Nephew. Not so well."

  The old man looked back to Sarah Alice and spoke quietly. "Let us walk alone, Richard."

  The two of them left the family group and walked to the edge of the Eastern Branch. Richard tossed a stick and watched the widening circles in the water.

  "There'll be a city here, Richard. One day—not in our lifetimes—but one day, as large as Bristol."

  Richard laughed. The idea was beyond imagination. His uncle stopped and faced him.

  "This colony will be the greatest jewel in the Empire one day, Nephew. Almost as great as fair England, herself."

  Richard wouldn't argue with his uncle, even with such folly as this.

  "But much is to be done, that's sure," the old man said as they resumed walking. "And the young ones—like your John and Joseph—will be building on the base we've secured for them."

  "They are bright, hard-working boys, Uncle. I've no complaints about them."

  "We've developed some affection for my namesake, Richard, as you must know. You've been good enough to let him visit with us often."

  "Uncle, I was honored you allowed the visits. I'm glad you're here now. The other children can see that they have family other than those Quaker Biggses."

  "Times have changed quickly, Richard. Since…since the departure of Governor Berkeley, Virginia has been visited by governors and laws and restrictions that punish loyal Englishmen and cutthroat alike. The King's friends remain, astonishingly, without their rightful lands. The price of tobacco has begun to fall—rapidly and drastically—and will continue to do so. I am a King's man— you know that Richard, you're father died for the King—but the time has come…. The King has bad advisers."

  John Williams stopped walking and looked around.

  "You know of the cut
ting?" he asked Richard.

  Richard nodded.

  "You have no great stake in this, you aren't seated on tobacco land, but the prosperity of all depends on our success. Will you be helping?"

  "Yes, Uncle. I am a neighbor of Captain Craford's."

  The old man pondered and frowned.

  "Be careful," he appealed to his younger kinsman.

  "It's good to be on the same side, Uncle," Richard said.

  The patriarch changed the subject.

  "Your son, John, asked of his Cousin Thomas. He knows of our concern for Thomas. That's what keeps me living, hoping that Thomas will rise, like Lazarus, and resume his life. He has not risen from his bed but to sit and drink. Servants carry him about, but he has no interest in the plantation. He is never sober. I wait, daily, hoping he will change, but I am losing hope. Your Aunt Mary will be left alone with her plantation and no man to manage for her when I'm gone. I cannot—I will not—leave her fortune in the hands of…. She has promised me to leave her estate in the hands of your John, with him promising to care for Thomas the rest of my son's melancholy days."

  Richard was overwhelmed. His son would be a planter on the scale the boy had dreamed of. And in "sweet-scented" country! It was unbelievable.

  "Are things so hopeless for Thomas, Uncle? He was a fine lad. I remember well…." Richard wanted to be sure.

  "I would not have made these arrangements if I thought there was hope. He is my only son. Mary's only son. There are provisions in the will, should a miracle happen, but it is empty gesture, made for appearances."

  John Williams's words were spoken from a shattered heart.

  "Should I pass before John comes of age, Mary will continue as executrix of my small part until John's majority. Should God act as he did with Lazarus, Thomas would assume the position his mother and I have prayed for. My life has not been without sin, Nephew. I'm afraid God has placed this melancholy on my Thomas as some punishment to me."

  "You're a vestryman in a sweet-scented parish! You're no sinner!"

  "I think, as added pain, I may outlive my son. He fares badly. In which case…."

  "You'll outlive us all! Please live long, so I can have the helpful hands of my boy for many years to come."

  It came to Richard that he couldn't tell the boy of this prospect for the future. To live as a planter in Middlesex was his son's dream. He'd develop airs. There'd be resentment from the other children. Richard needed full attention and work from the boy for making pipe staves and tar.

  "I'd rather we not tell the boy of your plans, Uncle. He's too young to have his head filled with such notions. Notions that may not develop, anyway. Lazarus did arise, Uncle."

  Drum rolls brought the men back into formation. There was some business to be taken care of. Fines were to be paid, a benefactor to give a new set of colors was solicited—Mister Boush, Senior, offered his backing—the services of retiring militiamen were commended, new men welcomed and training resumed.

  Captain Craford led the men to the eastern end of the neck of land, so that the sun was to their back and the marsh and expanse of the creeks and headwaters of the Eastern Branch were before them. The families trailed behind, some still eating fruit or fried pies. At the far edge of the neck, just feet from the creek and marsh, a wooden target—crudely shaped to represent the figure of a man—stood in wait about fifty paces away. The soldiers were to try their skill at shooting—the moment that John had been waiting for. Joseph nudged his way to the front of the massed spectators.

  Volley fire was a potent force and awesome in its destruction when directed at a formation of European forces, but Captain Craford and the other officers with experience knew that a more immediate threat than foreign invaders was the prospect of Indian raids again, or—worse—of servant and slave revolts. Such battles wouldn't call for massive volley fire, but on individual marksmanship. The individual musketeer must hit his individual mark.

  For nearly two hours the men, firing singly, tested their aim at the wooden target. Occasional misfires brought laughter from the crowds and from the soldiers too, except for the unlucky and surprised musketeer. The greatest crowd response came when an unlucky duck fled from its hiding place in the marsh. Thomas Nash was aiming for his third target-shot but, when the bird rose before him, instinct made Thomas raise his aim to fire and down the bird. Even Captain Craford joined in the laughter and round of applause.

  John's three shots—all three—hit the target, his final shot shattering the head of the target, to whoops of applause from the spectators. He searched the faces of the Boush and Thorowgood boys, but they were unfazed by the "swampboy's" accomplishment.

  The troops were reassembled and dismissed. Much of the crowd quickly dispersed, except for those who had arrived by ferry and now waited in gaggles for their turn aboard. Richard, Thomas Nash, George Dawes and many other men stayed on the field for games. Tongue-tied Charles Shaw offered to accompany Anne back to Deep Creek. Matthew Caswell, who had won Richard's land, stepped into the boat with John Biggs and Sarah. Caswell seemed to be particularly attentive to their older daughter, Margaret. That shook Richard. Margaret was younger than his Edy. He'd be needing to think about a dowry for his daughter before long.

  He waved to his family and turned back to the field. Now the fun could begin.

  Uncle John had gushed in his praise of John and was moving in his kind words to Richard and Anne, but left to return with Captain Thorowgood to that plantation, though Thorowgood's oldest son remained with the tent as a site for four tables of cards. A square had been drawn up in the dusty and deserted practice ground. The knife fights would be there. These were popular, but everyone suspected they were rigged in advance. Screeches of caged cocks rent the air as birds roused themselves to fighting spirit, knowing that their time was coming. Bulls for baiting, and dogs that were to fight, filled the air with roars and growls and yaps. The excitement rose as more pipes of wine and cider were opened and drained and the men relived the day.

  Richard wore a broad smile, basking in the camaraderie of men before they are completely drunk. Life was good. Though troubled, he'd never had brighter prospects. His life was far from over. A bright future beckoned. Earlier, old mistakes were turning out to be blessings—even his wretched land would be useful. His estrangement from Uncle John was worked out. He'd never felt so confident. He'd never felt so lucky. The old rabbit's foot was nearly worn of any hair, but Richard touched it now and gave it thanks for his luck, so far.

  He looked for a game.

  Richard's winning bets on the knife fights and the first five cockfights were a sure streak. A sign. But then his luck slipped away, and he desperately grasped at it with larger bets to recoup his losses.

  By dawn, Captain Ingolbreitsen was trying to stop him. But the wide-eyed Richard wasn't hearing. He grew calmer and more sober as the sun brightened the glow inside the tent filled him with a desperate drive.

  By the time the sun was reaching noon that day, Richard looked as white as though the light had never touched his face. His losses had been staggering. He was saved, temporarily, by Captain Ingolbreitsen, who paid off the losses in tobacco notes in a separate deal with Richard.

  He now owed a debt to his savior, Captain Ingolbreitsen, of four thousand pipe staves and twelve barrels of tar; profitable goods for the Captain's runs to Barbados and the Indies, where pipes for molasses were in great demand. That number was more than Richard had, or could expect to make in a year. Four thousand pipe staves would make about one hundred pipes, so all the pipes he'd made, and all the staves he'd paid to have made were still far from what he'd need to pay the debt. It was as large a debt as that which lost him three hundred acres of land to Matthew Caswell.

  All of Anne's hopes would be destroyed. The children would go another year without their needs met, and Edy…. She'd be an old maid before he could afford a dowry.

  He wouldn't tell Anne. It was not a woman's place to concern herself with the husband's estate. It was her
place to bolster him in hard times. The losses had been paid on the spot. His debt and gratitude were owed only to Captain Ingolbreitsen—an old and patient friend.

  Anne was taking in the laundry that was dry, scattered over myrtle bushes and across clean limbs of trees, when Captain Ingolbreitsen's ketch lowered sail and drifted to her dock. She called to Edy to leave the wet things in the pot, to come and take the linens from her arms.

  It must be Richard with the captain. Richard had bet and lost his horse! That's why…! She calmed herself. There'd be a new horse to look for. Things were going to work out. Yesterday had convinced her. Life was going to get better for everyone. The new Norfolk Town, Richard's new emphasis on cooperage and stave-making. Maybe they would be able to send one of the younger boys to school back in England. As her father had done for her half-brother, John. Edward should go to school. Maybe he could become a priest. Richard, Junior would do well enough on his own.