Becoming Americans (2 page)

      Planters came onboard to examine those men and women who were for sale. Their indentures—whether forced or voluntary—were with the captain, or with a merchant who specialized in the sale of servants. Those bought might be beaten, sold, or loved. Richard made note of this advantage. He had Francis Harper and a healthy Mistress Harper. He had a new friend, Edward Harper, who rarely treated him as a servant. The daughter, Evelyn was a quiet, sickly little girl whom he could take or leave alone. He'd come to know the three other servants in the household and liked them well enough: a whore, a thief, and a "Robin Hayseed" from Devonshire.

      The mid-September sun was hot. Hotter, even, than he'd known in July back home in Bristol; and the days were longer than they were at home. But, this wasn't England, the captain had said.

      Richard looked from those passengers he felt would surely die, to the rough-hewn, seasoned planters, and back. He shaded his eyes and searched for clues.

      An old, balding woman cried and prayed as yet another planter examined and rejected her. Richard had long since learned that tears were useless, but he wondered if maybe he should pray more often. Most of the old people were praying constantly. But God had never done him any particular favors and Richard didn't expect God to change His attitude now. Certainly, the planters who came on board to buy servants didn't seem to be particularly godly people. They were sinfully dark from the sun—many of them as dark as the occasional Indian he saw from the ship. These men swore more profanely than he'd ever heard, and many of them came onboard drunk, obviously examining the women for more than work potential. The secret to survival was in these planters. The captain had said, "listen to the seasoned settlers and take precautions." That was the thing.

      After the fortnight's berth in James Town for loading and unloading, the
Deliverance
weighed anchor and sailed back down the broad James River, into Hampton Roads and the Chesapeake. She headed north, following closely the western shore, then up the York River to stop briefly at plantation wharves for delivery of tools and clothing ordered by the planters from their factors in Bristol. On the fourth day Richard and his temporary family stood, spellbound, as the
Deliverance
neared the shore.

      A narrow spit of pine trees curved out and paralleled the shore, creating a small harbor. Waving marsh grasses and rigid reeds stood near the headland, where a fresh stream emptied into the little bay. A narrow, sandy beach fell from the low embankment that faced the harbor opening. Ancient oak trees near the shore leaned over, undercut by lapping waves. Pine saplings were grown thick among the charred stumps of a burned-out hardwood forest.

      Harper's party was silent as the anchor splashed. Mistress Harper tugged at the skirt of her husband's doublet and looked skyward. She knelt and clasped her hands beneath her chin. The others did the same as Harper led the prayers of thanksgiving. Richard's prayers were long and earnest. He was determined to survive.

      Hogsheads of tools and iron pots and clothes were loaded aboard the small boat for ferrying ashore. Francis Harper gave the orders, now, and Richard was reassured by the firmness of the commands his master issued. He made a brief, silent prayer of thanks that a man of vigor and control led their group of eight.

      Richard climbed into the first boat with Harper and Edward. Harper and a sailor rowed the fifty yards to shore as the boys trailed their hands in the water and searched the shoreline for wild savages.

      Suddenly, Edward screamed. Richard knew they'd been attacked!

      "What is it, Boy?" Harper dropped the oar and reached for his son.

      Edward held a hand to his face, searching for the source of his pain. He continued yelling as Richard turned back, looking to the ship for help.

      The sailor laughed and dropped his oar as the boat drifted to the little beach.

      Anger replaced the fear in Harper's eyes as he whipped around.

      "What is it, Man? What's happened?" he demanded of the sailor.

      "A jelly fish got your boy, that's all. Thought it was a savage, did you? Well, that's the first of your New World varmints, and its neither the last nor the worst!" The sailor chuckled as he sloshed onto the beach, pulling the boat.

      "Come along here, Boy," he said to Edward, and took the boy aside as Richard and Francis Harper began to unload the boat, rolling a cask to higher ground. The sailor spat tobacco onto the red welts that striped Edward's lower arm.

      "That's one lesson you've learned early and, I'll wager, you've learned well. These warm waters are ripe with jellyfishes this time of year. So be careful if you choose to bathe. They'll strike you where it
really
hurts." The sailor laughed again and Edward held his arm behind his back, now embarrassed by his scream.

      Mistress Harper and Evelyn followed in the next boat, and in a few more trips, eight new Virginians were landed with their worldly goods.

      For that day and the next, the
Deliverance
tugged at her anchor in the harbor Francis Harper had named Pine Haven. The captain waited while Harper and his awkward crew began work on temporary housing.

      Billy Forrest had been a thief. His thirty years of life on the streets of Bristol were no training for survival in this wilderness. He could deftly slip away the valuables that hid among a well-dressed person's clothes. He'd even sold a baby he found lying on a wharf with its dead mother. For this he was nearly hanged, but for common law plea of the "rite of clergy": he could read a page from the Bible. That childhood knowledge was the only good thing he'd acquired from a priest who'd also given him the pox. Billy Forrest's hands had never touched an ax.

      James Barnes—"Robin Hayseed"—was a man come to his reward. Richard marveled at the easy, toothless grin that could cover James's face. He was older, even, than Billy Forrest, but his thirty-five years of farming were what Harper had paid for. Barnes's family had always been farmers. His older brother had inherited the small farm that supported the whole family until the past year. Now, his brother's children—and his brother's new wife's children—could manage all the work alone. James Barnes was eager to start clearing land.

      Mary Bishop was terrified and overwhelmed. She'd only recently moved to Bristol from London, and had never seen a farm before she took that trip. Her hard twenty-five years had left a toll of scars on her face, and a constant aching in her abdomen. That ache remained from horrors done her by the constable who finally released her to an agent searching servants for the colonies.

      Harper directed them all to work immediately, setting up a tent, unpacking the iron pots from their casks and building a good fire. Mistress Harper, Evelyn, and Mary cleared a path to the creek and began carrying water. Harper took the boys and searched for a site to build their temporary home.

      Early the next morning, before the sun had cleared the spit of pines, Evelyn ran, screaming, to her father as he stood pondering the woods.

      "Strangers!"

      A small ketch sailed into Pine Haven and the group gathered, waiting to see who'd come.

      "Welcome! Welcome!" hailed the white man in the boat, waiving both his arms. Sitting tall behind him was a nearly naked, very dark, old man whose white hair was tied into a knot above one ear. The other side of his head was shaven but for one long braid that fell to his shoulder. A fringed piece of soft leather looped over a belt and covered his lap. A tobacco pouch and a clay pipe hung around his neck.

      The planter jumped too eagerly from his boat, but sloshed unconcernedly to Harper with his arms outstretched.

      "It's a good day, it is! My name is Brinson Barnes. I'm your neighbor to the north," he said. "I'd heard that someone was coming for this seat of land." He embraced Harper, slapping him on the back.

      "Barnes? Francis Harper's my name. Barnes. Yes, they told me in James Town that I was bordered by one Brinson Barnes."

      Francis Harper was not accustomed to such boisterous greetings, and was slow to recover.

      "My wife, Barnes," he said, then introduced his son and daughter.

      "Madam," Barnes said, and bowed low with sweeping gestures of his hat. "A handsome family and a strong and honest-looking bunch of servants. You're doing England a service, Harper."

      The boys were intrigued by Barnes, but were fascinated by the Indian who stood by the boat. Barnes saw that most of the newcomers were staring at his Indian, and turned around.

      "Opeechcot, come," he said to the man.

      The old savage came forward slowly, giving these new white people time to watch him move; to study his face and demeanor. He'd been watching theirs.

      "Opeechcot is a friend. He's been a valuable friend to me, and I know he will be to you. He's the last of his race in these parts. His tribe, the Pamunkey, are diminished now, and they live by the Sapony Swamp at the head of the Piankatank River. This land by the Bay was his boyhood home. He works for me, now, to stay on his old land."

      Evelyn hid behind her mother, who instinctively reached back to shield and comfort her child.

      "Opee…" Harper ventured.

      "Opeechcot," Barnes coached, and Harper said the name correctly.

      "Opeechcot, welcome to Pine Haven," he said. "I have heard encouraging things of your people. They are much respected by Governor Berkeley." He quickly glanced to Barnes for a reaction to the mention of the old Governor. In these days of Puritan spies, it was foolish for him to be speaking with respect of the staunch Royalist. But Barnes's eyes sparkled and he stood taller at the mention of Governor Berkeley.

      "I welcome your friendship, Barnes," Harper said. " And yours," he said to the Indian.

      "There is not much time," Opeechcot said.

      Francis looked to Barnes.

      "No good," Opeechcot said, and nodded to the tent.

      "He's concerned about your comfort and safety in the tent," Barnes said.

      "Thank you, Opeechcot, but we've begun searching for materials for our first hut…." Francis was interrupted as the savage reached out and grabbed Richard and Edward by an arm. Both young men gasped as if they'd been shot.

      "Come," Opeechcot said.

      The boys looked to Mr. Harper who looked to Mr. Barnes. Barnes smiled.

      "Bring ax," Opeechcot said, and started pulling the boys towards the woods.

      "Mamma!" Evelyn screamed, "where is he taking Edward?"

      "It's fine, Mistress Harper," Barnes said as the Indian disappeared into the woods with the boys.

      "We're about to sail, Mr. Harper." A sailor walked up from the beach carrying a small cask. "The captain says that now your neighbor's here, you've no need for us to waste another night. He sent you this cask of wine and his prayers."

      "Thank him, again, for me, Leeds. And my prayers are for you and the rest of the ship."

      The sailor ran back to his boat and rowed out to the ship.

      As Harper and Barnes discussed the immediate plans for building, and the location for privies and water supplies, the settlers watched their link with their old world head into the Bay, then north, behind the land. Evelyn quietly sniffled as she and her mother cleared the area where their hut would be.

      For the rest of the day the boys chopped down small trees that Opeechcot directed them to, as if the saplings had been pre-selected. Mistress Harper—with Evelyn and Mary Bishop—cut long hickory and willow branches, and piled them by the stacks of rushes that Billy Forrest and James Barnes had collected. Harper dug holes for poles the boys had cut. Five-foot poles, each with a forked crotch at the top, were planted in the corners of a large rectangle Harper had drawn in the dirt. In the middle of both short sides of the rectangle he dug a hole and placed a longer, ten-foot crotched pole. Then long, straight poles were supported on the forked posts, and a roofing grid was tied to these, using grapevine as rope. Vertical stakes were lashed along the sides and, by nightfall, the framed building stood waiting for its walls to be woven with the willow branches and hickory strips, then to be plastered with mud. The roof would be thatched with rushes gathered from the marsh.

      "Brinson Barnes?" James Barnes interrupted his superiors' conversation when he returned with an armful of rushes. "Excuse me, Sir, but the young master told me your name is Brinson Barnes. Forgive my boldness, Sir, but I've a kinsman in this country by the name of Brinson Barnes."

      The planter looked at the man, searching for features he might identify.

      "Who is your father, then, Man?" he asked the servant.

      "Nathaniel Barnes, Sir, the son of Roger Barnes of Dorset."

      "Old Roger Barnes! With the flaming hair and freckles? I remember him well from when I was a child! Welcome, Cousin, to Virginia!" He turned back to Harper. "You've the grandson of a fine man working for you, Harper. I hope he does well by our name."

      "So far, so good," Harper said. "The test is yet to come."

      "Aye, it is indeed. And what is your name, Cousin?"

      "James, Sir."

      "James Barnes. Like our uncle. Well, James, you must come to visit your cousins if your master will allow the time. How are your father and grandfather?"