Becoming Americans (5 page)

      "So true," Edward said. "But, please thank your grandmother for
her
hospitality."

      "Boys!" Edward's father stepped into the room. "It's time for work," he said, and they followed him out into the late October sun. A chilling wind blew from the river, and the realization struck them again that winter was approaching.

      "This is what our new home will look like, Son," Harper said, and indicated the nearest of the servants' houses. It was a sturdy frame building covered with weatherboards. There was a roof of weatherboards and the windows were of oiled paper.

      "We'll have a real wood floor, though," he said, and pointing to this one of bricks set into sand.

      Harper was kneeling to show the boys how these sills were built on cedar pillars instead of on a brick foundation, when he fell over, unconscious.

      "Poppa!" Edward cried, then, "Richard, go get help."

      Richard ran to the house for Mistress Ware, but she was gone. The little girl ran back with him and found Harper on the ground by the corner of the servant's house.

      "Stretch him out and raise his feet," she said to Edward.

      He stared at her.

      "Stretch him out and raise his feet, I said!" She was commanding. "And you go to the dairy and get my grandmother." She pointed to a building far off from the house, and Richard obeyed at once.

      Mistress Ware came running back and instructed two servants and the boys to carry Harper to the house. They laid him on her bed. She held her hand to his forehead and reached to lift his eyelids when Harper opened them and looked up, startled when he realized where he was. He began to apologize, but Mistress Ware paid no attention.

      "You've no fever of any kind, I think," she said. She looked at him severely.

      "When did you last eat?" she demanded.

      Harper looked puzzled, then embarrassed.

      "I really don't remember," he said. "There's been so much work to do, and when I'm not…. Since Mistress Harper died…may she rest in peace…my Evelyn…" his voice trailed off.

      "Anne, bring me a bowl of that stew," she said to her granddaughter.

      "Mistress Ware…" Francis began to protest.

      "Harper," she interrupted. "You have work to do and tremendous responsibilities. The lives of children and other adults are in your hands. You cannot bring people to this unforgiving land and abandon your responsibilities."

      "But, Mistress Ware…" he began, shocked at her attitude.

      "If you do not attend to the most basic care of yourself, you neglect the rudder of the ship. Your enterprise will perish and God will hold you responsible." She was merciless with the silence that she let fall.

      Anne handed her grandmother a bowl of the steaming stew that always simmered by the fire, added to and taken from each day. Harper sipped from the large wooden spoon held to his mouth, then took the spoon himself and ate.

      "Boys, you can find plenty to occupy yourselves with today. Edward, there's no need to worry about your father. He will lie abed today and eat," Mistress Ware said. "Anne, do your duty to our guests. Show them the horses. Show them our crops. Pick a melon."

      The three young people went outside. The girl led the way.

      "Well, since you are new and don't know
anything,
I guess it doesn't matter where we start," she said.

      "Then we don't need your help, little girl," Richard said. "We'll find it all ourselves."

      "Good idea," Edward said. "Let's go this way."

      The boys turned and followed the path that ran by the river, going in the direction where the smell of tobacco came the strongest. The girl began to follow them but stopped, then stamped her slippered feet.

      The narrow road led to an open shed uphill from the river and a separate dock. Beneath the shed was a large machine holding a hogshead into which a large screw was pressing dried tobacco.

      The pleasant, dusky aroma brought smiles to the boys. They asked one of the men if they could taste a chew. This was the famous new variety that was being grown in the sandy loam found in certain parts of Lancaster and Gloucester counties. They even called it "sweet-scented" to distinguish it from the common "oronoco." Richard had tasted the sweet-scented only once before. It was rare and expensive, and he'd stolen that pinch from a drunken gentleman he'd found sleeping under a shed on the Bristol docks.

      Oronoco tobacco, itself, was less than forty years old. John Rolfe, the husband of Pocahontas, had developed the variety; an immediate and huge success. It had been compared with the highest quality tobacco produced in the Spanish colonies, and was named for a river in their lands. Even the Indians abandoned their harsh weed and turned to the British oronoco. Small planters were commonly called "oronookes." This new sweet-scented would make a man wealthy, but since the quality of tobacco was largely determined by the soil, sweetscented seed planted in less than ideal soil grew no better than the rest.

      The boys watched the men layer the bundles of tobacco into a cask, then screw pressure to the contents of the hogshead until it was filled and weighing nearly six hundred pounds. Then the men rolled the hogshead against the one wall for protection. A row of nine hogsheads lined the wall and the boys could see that there'd be several more. Each of these hogsheads represented almost two acres of tobacco—light, mild, sweet-scented tobacco. They marveled at the wealth. No wonder Mister Ware had such a fine house and furnishings.

      By the time the header was placed on the last huge cask, the sun was gone and the boys were hungry again.

      That night Edward and Mr. Harper were to sleep in the big house, while Richard shared one of the servants' quarters. But, after eating dinner, Edward rejoined his friend in the smaller house. Only three men shared this cabin, so it was where visiting slaves and servants slept when their masters came to visit or to conduct business with Mister Ware.

      The three men were garrulous and entertained the boys with stories that kept them wide-eyed through most of the night. The treat of smoking fine tobacco and of drinking punch made with rum and limes brought from the Indies reassured them that life in America would be rich and adventurous, not just the toil and shocks they'd experienced so far.

      The men talked of their voyages to America, each one making the other's sound trivial. A sunburned, straw-haired man, speaking with an accent that Richard figured must have come from near Scotland, told of having been arrested by Republican troops when he toasted the health of the exiled King Charles II. His ship was loaded with women that the Lord Protector's men had seized in raids on brothels. They were being sent to Barbados where women were in great demand as breeders. With the constant threat from Dutch and French ships, the island needed to increase its white population for the militia. So, with these women, his voyage was not all bad, the man admitted, despite the storms that blew the ship off course and forced the crew and passengers to eat rats and boiled leather.

      One of the storytellers laughed with scorn at such an easy trip. His ship had taken the quicker, more direct route to Virginia, but had been caught in a great storm within sight of Cape Henry and was blown back out to sea. A mast was broken, some of the sails ripped away, and their rigging lost. After four weeks of drifting, in which most of the crew and all but eight of the passengers died from disease or starvation—one pregnant woman had offered five pounds sterling for one half of a rat, but was refused and let to die—the ship limped into Bermuda. From there the man was sent to Virginia.

      The other man declared that his adventure was more perilous than theirs. He had run off from his wife and signed up aboard a ship that was loaded down with youngsters who had been trepanned—stolen from their families or abducted on the streets. That was now so common that it was given a new name— kidnapping. The ship sailed from London and had, in fact, cleared Gravesend. While he was rejoicing in his freedom among the crying children, a ship from Cromwell's navy had approached with some lord crying out, "I demand my son! Return my son!" The ship was stopped in the water and the gentleman came on board to retrieve his child, accompanied by the runaway's wife who believed him stolen, too. It was another year before the man could escape again, this time for good.

      The laughter faded when the men began their tales of dark forces and evil spirits. A black cat had sucked the life from a baby's breath in Isle of Wight County. A woman—no more than five miles from this plantation—had poisoned her husband and run off with a servant. A black servant who'd escaped to the Sapony Swamp was placing curses on every white man whose name she could remember. And, there was the cursed James Town-weed that drove men mad.

      Edward told them of the mysterious appearance of the snake in his mother's sewing basket, and that her body had disappeared. He told them about his sister's sudden madness. The three men looked at each other knowingly and nodded.

      "The Devil's work, no doubt. No doubt. And even now—look at you—you've no shell or hollowed stone about your neck to ward against drowning!"

      "Listen, boys," one of the men said. "These woods are full of spirits known only to the red men who once lived here. These Indians know their sorcery, mind you, so be mightily careful not to let any of your personal effects fall into their hands. Be sure you burn any eyelashes that might fall out. They'll do some awesome harm with an eyelash."

      "They don't need the spirits to do their evil," the oldest among the men said.

      And then, for the first time, Richard and Edward heard of the massacres of

1622 and 1644.

      On Good Friday morning of the year 1622, while everyone was at work or planning for the celebration of Easter, the Indians turned on those who were their friends. All over the colony—and at the same time of day—white men, women and children were butchered.

      "Savages rose from the tables where they were guests, some of them, and killed friends with their own weapons! Women and children slaughtered in their homes. Men in their fields! More than three hundred of us!"

      "And again in '44. They killed even more in '44, though there were many more of us here by then," the old man said.

      How long had they been planning it? How had they spread the word?

      "They can spread word amongst themselves, all by some secret means. Infernal schemers! Don't you boys ever forget what happened in '22 and '44. And don't be mindless of their evil spirits."

      Suspicions about Opeechcot returned to the boys. Had he been one of the killers?

      "Sunday night will be the night. All them evil spirits will be let loose by the Devil," reminded his friend.

      "Halloween!" Both boys spoke at once and, so, clasped each other's little finger with his own.

      "I say chimney, you say smoke, then our wishes will not be broke," Richard recited. Then, "bow." To which Edward replied, "arrow."

      "All Hallows Eve, my boys, and there'll be a bonfire and drinking and singing like you've never seen!" the oldest said.

When Richard and Edward awoke the next morning, they were in a bed. The men had slept on the floor, showing the same Virginia hospitality the newcomers had heard about in England, and to which Brinson Barnes and Mister Ware were giving great example.

      It was a Saturday morning, when work was ordinarily slack before the free afternoon allowed for rest and play. That it was the day before All Hallows Eve provided an additional air of festivity on the plantation.

      Harper was feeling much better today and had been assured by his hosts that the minister, Reverend Samuel Cole, would be eager to perform a funeral oration for Mistress Harper—for a price—and to offer special prayers for her on Tuesday, All Souls' Day.

      The boys were fed and feted. Richard was included in most of the entertainments offered Edward since his own uncle, John Williams, was a friend of Mister Ware's and lived just a few miles further up the river. When their boat had been fully loaded with the bricks, and the noon meal finished, the boys were encouraged to go hunting with Old Ned, one of the men whose cabin they were sharing.

      Old Ned had an expensive wheel-lock gun he'd brought from England. Mister Ware was the only other man on the plantation who had one. The others had older match-lock guns, which were nearly useless for game hunting, especially for birds, since the time required for firing them allowed the game to run or fly away.

      The boys returned from the day's hunt like warriors with great trophies. Both were weighted down with turkeys, sweating from the burden, and silly from the triumph and the contents of Old Ned's flask.

      Anne was waiting for them. She'd been impatiently waiting for hours to see them. When Old Ned emerged from the woods onto the path that ran beside the cornfield, she dropped her sewing and ran to greet the boys. She couldn't hide her excitement and her admiration for the hunters.

      "I love turkey!" she said. "I'm going to save the feathers and make something. Would you like a duster, Richard? Or a fan? I'll make you a fan, to stir the air and keep off the flies! That's what I'll do! Did you shoot them all, Richard? I bet you did."

      She ran ahead of them and twirled around.