Becoming Americans

by Donald Batchelor

  Stephen was thrilled to see his Great-uncle Thomas Biggs, a younger, halfbrother of his Grandmother Fewox. He helped drag the trunks and roll the hogsheads of his aunt's possessions to the shallop, then took a seat near the bow. His aunt was helped aboard when all was secured. Finally, the boat was pushed off from the dock.

  Stephen would like to have ridden on the new ferry that went from Hampton to Seawell's Point near Norfolk Town, but his uncle's shallop was faster, and there were no strangers to watch out for. Stephen didn't like crowds, and he was suspicious of strangers.

  "There's one of thy Scottish boys, there," Uncle Thomas said to his old playmate. A large merchant ship was entering the Elizabeth River ahead of them, and Uncle Thomas was pointing to it.

  "Still seems strange to see a Scot's ship flying our St. George's ensign, does it not, Alice?" Thomas was the only one in her family who'd called her by that name alone.

  "Aye," Sarah Alice said, relaxing into the inevitable.

  "Make good snuff, they do. Pay good prices for tobacco, they do, too. Canny, those Glasgow Scots," Thomas said.

  "I shall be in Edinburough," Sarah Alice said.

  "Well, since the Union three years ago, going to Scotland is going home, I guess. Finally finished those centuries of war, Scotland and England. Wish they'd finish this war of Queen Anne's. Those Scots sailors were calling it a war for the Spanish succession. And what do I care for who's King of Spain?"

  "I think the only people Grandfather Biggs hated were the Spanish," Anne remembered aloud.

  "'They must be kept to Florida,' he used to say." Thomas remembered, too.

  "He was a wise old man," Sarah Alice said. "I'd like to have known him before he met your mother and turned Quaker. He was so tall and handsome," she mused.

  "I'd like to have known thy Ware relatives. Thy mother always made them sound so…."

  "The Wares were among Virginia's first and most…." Sarah Alice interrupted.

  Sarah Alice heard herself speaking in the tone used in the Harrison household. She smiled at her childhood friend.

  "Yes, I know, and thy Uncle John was on the Vestry of Christ Church in Middlesex," Thomas said.

  "Look, Aunt Sarah Alice!" Stephen called from the bow. He was pointing to the mouth of the Eastern Branch of the Elizabeth River and to a peninsula clinging to the shore by a thin strip. "Norfolk Town!"

  At first, the masts of dozens of ships claimed her attention. Then the row of warehouses along the bank, then rows of streets with houses and shops.

  "I haven't been to Norfolk Town since…. I had no idea it had become so impressive!" She watched the bustling harbor town as they passed, sailing upriver towards Deep Creek. The last happy day of her childhood had been on the site of that town. John's first militia day.

  "The Wares, yes, Mistress Harrison, but don't forget thy Grandfather Biggs. He was one of the witnesses to the deed of sale that set aside the land for Norfolk Town. Is everything about thy Friends kinfolk dismissed except our looks?" Thomas was smiling, but his reproof was taken to heart by his niece.

  Pine-knot torches lit the small dock at the head of Deep Creek. Thomas fired his gun when he saw the lights and waited to see Joseph's bondsmen and his slave boy gather to meet the boat. Then, light from the cabin lit a path to the door, as Stephen's mother, Mary, opened it in anticipation and welcome. Stephen jumped from the boat and tossed the rope to Pompey, the slave boy. He ran ahead yelling, "Mother, I'm back. And Aunt Sarah Alice is with me!"

  Mary Williams looked about the house. How could Joseph have done this to her! She had a sick son to tend, and there was Sister Mary. What did Sarah Alice know of Sister Mary? Mary wasn't ready for company, and certainly not this sniveling sister. Better his mother again, she thought, than that rich little…. She looked to herself. She was wearing one of her rockets—a country woman's dress of two long rectangles of homemade linsey-woolsey, doubled together with fringed ends. Her hair was wet from cooking in the sticky July heat, and it was pulled back close to her head, away from her face. She stood shoeless at the threshold, cursing her absent husband. They can all rest in hell with their put-on airs of breeding, she thought to herself. She told Sister Mary to keep on sweeping, and walked down to the water to greet her son, her sister-in-law, and Thomas.

  There was no sisterly embrace. Sarah Alice held a package tightly to her chest when she saw the disheveled woman, and Mary busied herself in restraining two loose dogs.

  Sarah Alice was afraid to enter the house. There was a sick child here, and a mad, deformed girl. Vermin would be everywhere, in this old house! Her precious belongings! The trunks and hogsheads would be infested!

  Memories of the painful years in this house rushed back. She was only six when her father died, and then there followed the painful years before Shaw, and then more family deaths and sickness; marriage, then more sickness and death. She'd never expected, nor wanted, to see Norfolk County again. Now, she was being welcomed by a dark-haired squaw into the home that had once been the home of a respected and self-respecting woman. She remembered seeing Mary carry her first child, Ann, like an Indian squaw would carry a child; lugging the baby on her back, holding onto the right foot and the left arm, while the baby held on as best it could. She closed her eyes and took a breath before stepping up into the house. Still, she crossed the noon-mark and stepped instinctively and precisely where she needed to to avoid the crack that always squeaked.

  Sarah Alice opened her eyes to surprise and comfort. The huge fireplace— where she's spent so many childhood hours turning the spit or stirring the large iron pot—was exactly as she remembered, but the walls of the room had been whitewashed, and there were pewter candlesticks and tankards on a shelf. The smell of baking bread was familiar, but the colorful rug that covered what had been her parents' bed, added a touch of light and gaiety to the room.

  She turned and smiled at Mary.

  "How adorable," she said.

  "Adorable, is it?" Mary repeated. "It ain't much, but some of us ain't been so lucky as others, I guess."

  For a moment Sarah Alice was amused by what Mary said. Few women could have been luckier than the former Mary Bourne, after all. She'd come from nothing to marry into a respectable family. She had four living children. The woman had never lost even one child! But, Mary had nearly spat out the words, and Sarah Alice realized that she again had spoken in the superficial tone of the Harrison and Byrd and Randolph families that had so often cowered her. She switched to the tone of genuine sincerity that they tried to use with inferiors.

  "The whitewash and Indian coverlet add such light and warmth and color," she said.

  Mary had heard her own biting sarcasm, and didn't catch the patronizing politeness of her husband's sister.

  Stephen came back into the room from looking-in on his sleeping brother, and stood by the frightened Sister Mary as he blurted out questions. He was interrupted by his Uncle Thomas, who hastily explained the change in plans and made an immediate retreat.

  Stephen saved the women from all but the most perfunctory conversation with each other with his questions and his tales about the last thirty-six hours. His questions were mostly about his dogs, his brother, and of what food there was to eat.

  Mary rattled trenchers and tankards in getting refreshment for the guest who sat perched on the edge of a new chair that Joseph had just purchased. One made in Charles Town.

  Stephen's oldest sister, Ann, was married and living in Princess Anne County. Twenty-year-old Sister Mary was like a family pet, and his older brother, James, was sick again, so the nine-year-old took it upon himself to offer his parents' bed to his Aunt Sarah Alice. She demurred, but was encouraged by Mary. It was the best bed, and it was in the separate, quiet, and cool parlor that held the new chamber pot and matching basin that Joseph, in rare extravagance, had ordered with the chair. Sarah Alice was a compliant guest, and after eating a cold piece of chicken and a chunk of day-old pone, she begged leave to be excused for bed.

  In the
fortnight that followed, Sarah Alice visited the Crafords—her former in-laws—and was much made over by the local gentry. The Harrison family was on a level higher, even, than that of the Crafords or the Thorowgoods. Now, Sarah Alice Harrison was back for a visit, and the elite of Norfolk and Princess Anne Counties—as well as the Boushes and wealthy merchants of Norfolk Town—were vying to entertain her. Not only was she a connection to the most powerful men in the colony, she was going home to Britain. It was rumored that her fiancé, Major Dorsey, had connections at the Queen's Court!

  Mary Williams was amused. She remembered the former little girl with a runny nose who now accepted such state and attention as her due. Many of the invitations arriving by servant did not include Mary, and she was glad of it. The few which had been issued to include her were refused. She'd go nowhere that her parents weren't welcome.

  Daniel and Mary Bourne were very old, and didn't covet such entertainments for themselves. They'd never attended social occasions except to return for parties in the Swamp, where they were known, respected, and envied. Joseph Williams had given the Bournes a lifetime interest in some acreage of his estate! If the Bournes could rise to the life of comfort and acceptance among decent folk, there was hope for others in the Swamp. Stephen's grandparents watched Mistress Harrison at a distance and with some distrust, however. The Harrisons were friends of the Isle of Wight family from whom they had escaped so many years before.

  Stephen was anxious for his Aunt Sarah Alice to be gone. Then he wouldn't have to stay around the house so much and listen to her telling stories about people he didn't know, or if he did, not well. Like his Uncles Edward and Richard and their children, his cousins. He knew his Grandmother Fewox. She'd come to visit, twice, and he'd gone to Scuppernong to visit her, once, when his father thought that she was dying of something. The woman in the stories Aunt Sarah Alice told didn't sound like the woman he knew as Grandma Fewox.

  To everyone's surprise and relief, Joseph returned home earlier than expected, Aunt Mary having died while John and Joseph were in Williamsburgh. He gave his first attention to James, then noticed with pleasure that his wife and sister were still speaking to each other. Mary admitted to her husband that she'd been surprised at how undemanding her sister-in-law had been. Mary even felt some pity for this helpless, beautiful woman who'd never had a happy life since she was a child.

  Sarah Alice was eager to be off to Carolina, but Joseph reminded her that his first obligation was to his family and his plantation. He needed his men to harvest corn. More convincing to his sister were reports of snakes and other creatures chased to the high ground of the Carolina Road by summer rains.

  In the following weeks, Sarah Alice settled in but was delighted, and most relieved, to receive any overnight invitations that took her away from the Williams plantation. The house smelled of the sick boy, James, and Sarah Alice was afraid of any sickness. She was frightened, too, of the twisted Sister Mary. Sarah Alice liked going back to the odor of cured tobacco. She found that at the plantations of friends she'd made as a Craford and as a Harrison. But the aroma of cedar and juniper filled some quiet moments she had at Joseph's house, and when that happened there were sweet memories of her father riving shingles.

  In late September, crops had been gathered, so Joseph had his bondsman, Tyler Jones, busy himself with preparations for the overland trip to Currituck. Late summer rains had stopped and the road was passable. Some improvements had been made to the Carolina Road since Governor Nicholson had visited nearly twenty years earlier. The Swamp—slowly being drained for cultivation around its edges—was skirted completely. The Carolinians had built a bridge at Maddog's North West River Landing. If a traveler were lucky, passed at a time of dry weather, met no robbers from the Swamp—nor herds of swine being driven north for sale into Virginia—the trip could be made in one uncomfortable day. After all, they were only going down a ways, then cutting over to the Currituck Sound landing of John Williams.

  Joseph infuriated his wife and delighted his youngest son when he said that he, himself, was going—taking Stephen with him—to Scuppernong. He would take the news of Aunt Mary's passing—may she rest in peace—and a present from Aunt Mary to his mother. Maybe he would then accompany them all to Bath for the farewell. Tyler Jones could finish the bundling of shingles due for shipment to Saint Christopher Island.

  Sarah Alice had rarely seen a woman behave in the way Mary reacted. Mary's voice carried through from the chimneyed great-room to Shaw's logaddition parlor. Sarah Alice stood by the closed door, listening to vocabulary she hadn't heard since, as a child, she and Edward and Richard had participated in forcing a neighbor's bonded boy—stolen from a Bristol prostitute—to recite all of the words for body parts and bodily functions. The sound of broken crockery was heard, then the sobs of Mary begging for forgiveness. Sister Mary was whimpering. Sarah Alice wondered if the "swamp woman" would blame her, too, and poison the pone she was making for the road. Then, the stench of her ill nephew softened her heart. Sarah Alice still dreamed of her own lost children.

  Mary cooked late into the night, roasting fowl and preparing wheat bread and puddings for the trip. She awakened Stephen early and told him to get to his chores. His surly grunt brought a quick slap to the bottom from his mother.

  Stephen led the horse that pulled the two-wheeled cart holding Aunt Sarah Alice's belongings. His father rode ahead on the narrow road. Sappers sometimes drained the roadside pines, then left the trees to die and fall, littering the road until someone was forced to pull the trunks aside. County overseers were often lax in recruiting local taxables to maintain the roads.

  Sarah Alice had dressed in preparation for the journey. She had, of course, a beautiful riding dress of coat, waistcoat, petticoats—and a feathered hat—all trimmed in silver lace. She wore no such fashion for this ride. No hooped skirt, either. For comfort, she'd worn a gown with the bodice and skirt made in one piece. She permitted herself the old-fashioned ruffles to fall over her elbows, hopefully keeping away the mosquitoes she'd been plagued with during this visit. Over all, she wore a heavy canvas safeguard to keep her clothes clean from splashed mud, and to protect them from tearing briars or branches.

  She rode on a pillion that Joseph had borrowed. The padded seat cushion and wooden form was strapped to the horse behind the saddle. There was a metal handle attached to the framework for her to hold onto. A platform stirrup, or footboard, hung down the side for her feet. For this trip, she'd borrowed Mary's hair style, and pulled the hair back and away from her face. No one who mattered would see her, certainly, and she'd been told that tall and elaborate hair styles attracted bats. She'd not wear a wig in this heat! What would the Harrison women have said to that, she wondered?

  A sandy path veered eastward from the road as they entered into Carolina. The small caravan continued along this path for another two hours before arriving at John Williams's plantation by the Currituck Sound. Gulls and pelicans soared overhead, and pounding waves could be heard from the beach on the bank across the narrow sound. Currituck's inlet to the sea was hidden by Knotts Island, but the group could see a two-masted briganteen waiting for the tide to rise so that it could pass the bar. Waiting at anchor was Edward's boat: a new, double-masted sloop. Joseph looked to it with many questions in his eyes. Brother Edward was doing better than anyone knew, evidently.

  Sarah Alice and Edward embraced, then looked closely at each other. They'd not seen one another for over fifteen years, and both marveled at what they saw.

  Edward had expected his sister to be beautiful and regal, John had prepared him for that. But Sarah Alice was amazed by the changes in her brother. He was a middle-aged man now; a handsome man, not a beautiful boy. His eyes were still a piercing blue, but he'd acquired the skin color of a man who spends time outside. He seemed vigorous and healthy, and the sight was the most welcome Sarah Alice had seen since leaving Williamsburgh. The sickly boy had become a dashing man. She was proud of him, she said, and was anxious to get to the
Scuppernong so, after seeing their mother, she could see his prosperous plantation.

  "You see, Joseph. James will turn out fine! He just takes after his Uncle Edward!"

  The brothers and Stephen, with the help of John's overseer, ferried folks and goods to the boat. When Sarah Alice and Stephen were seated, the brothers took up poles.

  The shallow sound was navigated first by poling, then, when it reached deeper water, the sails were unfurled and Sarah Alice sat back to look at Carolina.

  The narrow Currituck Sound soon merged with the vast, dark Albemarle. The boat turned westward. Edward pointed towards Roanoke Island, to the south, and told her stories of ghost ships that were often seen; the ghosts of Sir Walter Raleigh's doomed expedition. He told her of blue-eyed Indians who lived on Hattorask Island and on the mainland to the south, near Richard's land, who claimed to be descended from those lost colonists.

  The idea of Englishmen breeding with the Indians was abhorrent to Sarah Alice, nearly as repellent as the sight of light-skinned slaves that were more and more visible in Virginia. It was not a subject often spoken of, but it was a trend that she and many of her class found distressing. The great and growing number of African slaves was not a totally good thing.