Becoming Americans

by Donald Batchelor

  She reached out to Captain Ingolbreitsen to welcome him. She noticed how pale her husband was.

  "Captain, welcome. I see you've brought back the prodigal son. And we're to be getting a new horse, soon, I gather?"

  She embarrassed the silent captain.

  "Well, Richard, dear, it's more than the loss of that nag that has you so ashen. Might there have been bad cider at your revelries?" Her tone of voice was more teasing than chiding. They'd gone through worse than the loss of a horse.

  "The prodigal son? Was he ever anybody's little boy, your Richard?" The captain teased with Anne, and kissed her on the cheek.

  "Thank you, Captain," Richard interrupted. "We will see you again, soon."

  "Yes, Richard. I must hurry back to the ship. We leave on the next tide for Barbados. We'll talk when I return."

  "But, Captain…." Anne insisted on offering hospitality.

  "I must go. I look forward to our next visit, when I'll eat twice as much," he said.

  Richard had little to say, and only ate a piece of bread before he fell asleep. Anne removed his filthy shoes and breeches and told all of the children to stay out of the house.

  The next afternoon, George trimmed the rived planks before he handed them to Richard.

  "It's back to the swamp, Dickie-boy. You're going to have to get some fast, cheap workers to pay that off. The swamp men can cut logs to measure and then cut out the middles. They can do that, at least. We can do the planing. Do you know how long it'll take us to make four thousand staves?"

  Richard didn't like George calling him "Dickie-boy." No one else had ever called him anything but "Richard." He knew it was George's way of equalizing their status, making up for the fact that George had been his servant and still worked for him.

  "I'll worry about that tomorrow," Richard said. "Today, I'm worrying about tonight's cutting."

  "I've been thinking," he went on. "This will be no surprise to Captain Craford. He's got men everywhere. Not just his servants and slaves, but he's got the whole Elizabeth River parish under him. There'll be somebody who'll talk. There's always somebody got it in for somebody else. Craford's men will be all over his fields."

  "You can't think like that, Richard," George said. "If Craford knows, the whole country knows, and we'd know that. Now, wouldn't we? One of our friends would warn us."

  "Maybe," Richard said, "but we're going to take precautions. We'll do our cutting a little differently, so it won't be noticed."

  "Who's not going to notice a field of tobacco falling on its side?" George asked.

  Richard pulled his knife from his belt and stuck it into the ground, just beneath a rising stalk of Anne's hollyhocks. The plant shuddered slightly.

  "The ground is soft from last night's rain. We'll be cut-worms, slicing through the tap root. The plants will stand until the next day. Craford's men will be in the fields and not suspect a thing. They'll be carrying torches to keep the cutters away, and they'll go to bed in the morning proud of their well-done job. They'll be well-lit; we'll be crawling amongst the rows, hidden in the dark."

  George pulled out his knife and went over to a stalk of Richard's sicklylooking home-grown. He knelt and pushed his knife into the hilled dirt. He felt the knife-point hit the root and pass through. The stalk still stood.

  "Richard, you're too smart for an honest man," George said as he wiped his knife clean and replaced it in his waistband.

  Richard went back to his draw-knife, shaving into the rived plank, shaping it into a concave stave.

  Anne had been gentle in her words, last night, about the horse. She wished that he'd not gamble, she said matter-of-factly, but it had been a fine day. She was proud of him. She was proud of John. She looked forward to the promising business in staves. And there were shingles to be sold, too, she reminded him. Maybe they could build a mill, one day, on the creek for grinding corn and, later, for cutting lumber. They'd be needing lumber for the town. The tidal waters of Deep Creek were perfect for damming-up to a mill. She'd gone on, speaking of the glory days ahead—even suggesting that young Edward might, one day, go to England for schooling. The boy could stay with his cousins in Bristol. Uncle John was flattered by John's name. Now he loved the boy. Uncle Edward's sons—now Richard's factors—might take in his namesake.

  Richard had been silent. There would be no schooling for Edward, no mill on Deep Creek. There'd be no dowry for his loving daughter. Anne would never forgive him—when he found the words to tell her. He tried to imagine the ways she'd find to punish him.

  At least, there was a future for his John. And, eventually, when he'd repaid Captain Ingolbreitsen, there'd be a future for them all. He'd find a way. He always had. Carolina was the future. He was sure he'd decided that. He needed tobacco land.

  Before the sun was down, Anne was already closing windows to keep out the mosquitoes. The cloudy sky had made the day end early, and the night would be black, inviting flying critters into the light-filled room.

  "I'm going to see a man about a horse," Richard said. He sat in the only chair, pulling on an old pair of leather breeches and a funny-looking pair of old boots. He'd won them off a Dutch carpenter when he was building the courthouse. Back before he was married and burdened with responsibilities.

  Anne laughed. That could really be the case tonight—it had better be the case tonight!—but, "I'm going to see a man about a horse," usually meant he was off to a cock fight, or to taste some neighbor's newly-tapped pipe of wine, or— Anne knew this, too—sometimes he was off to see some wench. She looked at her husband's sunken eyes and his rude clothes and relaxed from that thought. He wasn't even recovered from the Grand Muster, yet. He'd be home before midnight. She'd bet on that!

  Richard met George and the other three men by his bridge over the stream that was Deep Creek's headwaters. Richard told the men whom Etheridge and Hodges had sent of his plan. They divided into two groups—one led by Richard and the other by George—and followed deer paths that ran beside the road, north to Craford's Point. At the place where the main road turned west, across the top of the Great Swamp into Nansemond County, and the local road went straight to the Point, the men came back together at the edge of the woods where Craford's tobacco fields began.

  Richard's guess had been right. There were a dozen of Craford's men scattered about the open fields and beneath the dead, girdled trees that weren't yet felled. These stood out, ghostly, underlit by flaming torches of pine knots.

  The five men scattered, staying at least three rows from the torch bearers. They quietly crawled down the rows and around stumps, stabbing at the tap roots of the healthy plants on either side of them, then crawling to the next. They could hear the torch bearers calling to each other and laughing. The men crawling in the field could tell that the guards were taking turns returning to an ancient, dead oak, beneath which stood the night's ration of beer—a bonus for this night's work from Captain Craford. When a guard went to fill his tankard, the man nearest that deserted row crawled across and severed the plants that had been guarded.

  Captain Craford's other fields were separated by low, swampy areas, and areas of uncut woods. After two hours in the main field, the cutters had to separate and move to smaller fields on their own. As Richard finished the last corner of his portion, he heard a sharp grunt from the rows he knew George Dawes was cutting. He stopped. He heard one of the guards calling to another, "Did you hear that?"

  Richard could tell that George was running down his row, headed to the road. He lifted his head high enough to peek in George's direction, then ran the same way, head down. At the edge of the road, George lay shivering, and he looked with panic into Richard's face, as Richard knelt close, listening for his friend's words.

  "I've been bit by a moccasin!" he whispered to Richard, and pointed to two small drops of blood that came from tiny punctures on his forearm.

  There was alarm and confusion in the field as the guards rushed to the place where they'd heard the noise.

  "Wat
ch out, there's a huge moccasin!" one of the men called to the others, and they circled the snake as the leader chopped at it with his sword. As they killed the flailing serpent, the guards bumped into tobacco plants that fell to the ground with the slightest touch.

  "There's cutters been here!" one of them called. The men ran up and down their rows, knocking over plants in hopes of finding the vandals.

  The Etheridge man and the two Hodges men made it to the northern end of the field and fled towards Nansemond. Richard helped George up and told him to go as fast as possible to the house; there, Anne would doctor him with the snake root poultice and drink she always kept prepared. Richard would divert the guards while George got away.

  He let George get onto the dark deer path as he sat in the damp sand, pulling off a boot. He scooped sand into the boot, filling it to mid-calf, then raised his head above the leaves to see what the guards were doing.

  Eight guards had come together as one of them shouted directions and ordered a slave boy to run to the manor house and alert Captain Craford.

  Richard stood in the dark and lifted the long boot above his head, held by the laces. He swung the boot around his head, as he would have his boyhood slingshot, then let the boot fly as if it were a pebble to skip across a pond.

  The twirling boot cut across and into row after row of tobacco plants tops before it fell. The men turned and saw row upon row of tobacco falling, seemingly, on their own. They ran in that direction with their torches as Richard ran to Deep Creek.

  He caught up with George by the bridge. He quietly helped the man into the house. Anne rose in the bed and Sarah Alice turned on her pallet.

  "Snake root!"

  Richard's demanding whisper frightened Anne.

  Richard threw a skin before the fire and lay George in the light. Anne saw that the man's arm had swollen twice its normal size. She reached into her bag of medicines and took out what she needed. She tied a red string around George's arm to ease the pain, then mixed the powdered snake-root with wine for him to drink, and mixed more with spit and vinegar for a poultice. Richard filled a mug with his strongest brandy and poured it into George. The man's face was swollen, now, his eyes forced shut, and he gasped and coughed as he drank. George lay by the fire, softly moaning as Richard and Anne watched him swell and strain to breathe. Anne prayed aloud, even as she prepared a fresh poultice. She stopped praying when she saw how dirty the fronts of both men were, and that Richard wore but one boot. She began again.

  "Quiet!" Richard said. "There'll likely be men here soon. They must think that we're asleep. We must move George."

  He looked about the room for a hiding place, then up to the loft opening. John and Joseph were peering down, awakened by the activity, but hesitant to let themselves be known.

  "Here, boys. Now! Help me move George up there."

  The three Williams men struggled with the dead weight of the big man, and pulled him up the ladder to the loft.

  "Now, everyone, back to your sleeping places. We'll soon have visitors at the door, I warrant," Richard said.

  "Why are you both so dirty, Richard. And you've only one boot!" Anne whispered urgently.

  "Silent, woman!" He'd never been more demanding.

  The house was silent but for the soft moans of George up in the loft. Sarah Alice had set up for a moment, then lay back down to sleep. Edy had never moved, nor the younger boys.

  Edward's dog began to bark outside. Those awake inside waited for a knocking on the door. They waited, and still no knock. Edward's dog kept barking, and soon was joined by the other dogs, as well as the loud and persistent neighing of Anne's horse, and the deep voices of awakened cows.

  Finally, Richard put his feet to the cool floor and, after a moment's hesitation, went to the door and pulled it open wide. On the top step was the dirtfilled boot he'd thrown across the field, and in the Creek was a bright orange reflection of fire. He reached down for his knife, then ran out and around the house to see his shed of tools and staves and tar ablaze. A shadow moved, and he ran to the torch-bearer. The man saw the glint from Richard's knife and threw down the torch, reaching for his own knife.

  Richard rushed the man and swung up to stab at his gut, but the man sidestepped him and swung back with the same gesture. Richard was pushed by the blow of blade in fist, then fell back against the chest of the man. He looked into the surprised and horrified eyes of his old friend, Thomas Nash, one of Crawford's men.

  "Thomas?" he said, and fell to the ground.

  The shed of staves and tar was sending flames and black smoke high into the air. John was first around the house, and the first to see his father.

  "Mother!" he screamed. "Joseph!"

  The family came into the bright light and heat to see the horror. Anne rushed to her husband, who told her—calmly—to get him inside, but to have the children and the servants start a bucket brigade to keep the house from catching afire, too.

  By dawn, the fire of tar and staves and shingles had burned itself out, though it was smoldering still, and giving off the stench of burned tar. Though gallons upon gallons of water had been poured onto the roof of the house, and thrown against the back wall, the inside was still hot from the night's blaze. Neighbors had arrived throughout the night, awakened by the lighted sky, to help in carrying and throwing water. Joseph had fetched Old Nancy from her hut in the swamp to treat George's snakebite. He slept fitfully, though Old Nancy was hopeful of his recovery.

  George had gone to the shed, Richard whispered to the Constable, where he was bitten by the snake and dropped his torch. Richard had seen the fire and, when running to put it out, had fallen on his own knife. Thomas Nash was the first to arrive and direct the fire-fighting, Richard said. Thomas seemed more upset than anyone.

  Only Anne and her two oldest sons knew more of the truth. But, they'd told the story so many times that it came out like a church litany or a childhood rhyme that was embedded in the mind. Edy could remember her father rushing out of the house. Edward could remember his dog barking. Sarah Alice just cried. Young Richard could only remember being pulled from his bed to be taken to the creekside to stand with Lucy and Edward, watching the fire and frantic neighbors.

  Sarah Biggs came to help nurse Richard's wound, but there was little to be done.

  "But he's been pale since the General Muster!" Anne had insisted, in denial. "He'll come around!"

  By noon, she accepted that it was merely a matter of time. She acceded to Richard's request that an official be summoned to write his will.

  William Porten, the County Clerk, was staying nearby with John Ferebee, the County Surveyor, it was said, so John rode Anne's horse down to the Great Bridge and across, up to the manor house of Mister Ferebee to plead with the men to come.

  Mister Porten and Mister Ferebee were in serious discussions with other county officials about last night's cutting and reports of rioting when John arrived. He insisted to the servants that he be admitted to the room. The men immediately ended their meeting, and William Porten gathered his quills and ink and paper into a small chest. The party then rode off to Deep Creek.

  As Anne sat with her husband, waiting for the men, she saw a look of pleading in his eyes.

  "Please tell me, beloved husband, what I can do for you," she said.

  "Friend Charles Shaw is here, is he not?" Richard asked.

  Anne was surprised by the question, but told him, yes, the old man had been among the first to arrive, although he'd been of little help.

  "Bring him to me," Richard said.

  Anne hesitated, and her look of puzzlement and hurt were seen by her dying husband.

  "Dearest," Richard said. "Wait. I will tell you first, though it will cut me deeper than this dagger wound."

  "Then don't!" she pleaded.

  He pulled at her hand, and she sat back on the bed.

  "My darling Anne, how poor a husband I have been," he began.

  "No," she said, and softly put her hand across his mouth. "I'll hear n
o such lies as that."

  "I've lost it all," he said. "Near all, and maybe all, if we don't get help."

  Anne stared into his pained eyes and could understand none of it.

  "At the Muster." He tried to begin. "The Captain saved me, but he only gave me time."

  Anne understood nothing.

  "I began by winning, but…."

  Slowly, Anne took hold of the concept.

  "Four thousand pipe staves. Twelve barrels of tar," he finished.

  A tear dropped from Anne's face onto Richard's hand. This was the last day of her life, she thought. Tomorrow she'd have no husband. Soon, there'd be no land or home.

  "If Shaw will do as Caswell did, you'll still be left the manor house and one hundred acres," Richard said.