Becoming Americans Read online

  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.

  Chapter Three

  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.

  "Isn't this a pretty dress? I have a new one for church tomorrow."

  "What's wrong with her?" Edward asked his companion. "What would you do with a duster? Or a fan?"

  "I can make a turkey-wing broom. They're the best thing for sweeping off the hearth!" She was grinning up at Richard.

  "That sounds good," Richard said. "I think I'd like a little broom." His chest was swelling like a turkey cock's.

  "What in God's name do you want with a broom?" Edward asked.

  "I'll not be refusing the graciousness of our hosts' offers," Richard said.

  Edward was confused and looked from the silly little girl to his friend. Rum does different things to different people, he thought.

  But, rum did the same to both of them that day and, soon after eating— before they'd even smoked a pipe—both boys were asleep.

  Richard was the first awake, before the sun was up. There was no movement outside; the chickens were still quiet. He lay motionless in the bed, listening to Edward's breathing and an occasional snore from Old Ned, across the room.

  He hadn't known, back home, that life could be so good. The openness, the aromatic trees, the air, the food. The excitement and adventure of everything new. The freedom. The possibilities!

  There were times he missed his friends in Bristol. There were times he missed his Uncle Edward and his cousins, even. But he could make a life here that would be impossible for him in Bristol. Even a servant, here, could become rich. Old Ned had told them how Mister Ware had made his fortune on his own after coming to Virginia as an indentured servant over twenty years ago. Now, he was a wealthy and respected man whose sons were in school at Oxford. His daughter's wedding had cost two thousand pounds of tobacco! That very idea was staggering to Richard.

  The little girl—Anne Biggs was her name, he'd been told—was the child of Mister Ware's daughter. Her mother had died at Anne's birth, and the child traveled back and forth from her father's plantation in Lower Norfolk County—the southeastern part of Virginia, Richard had learned—to her grandfather's plantation, here on the Piankatank. Richard felt sorry for her when he heard of that. He'd never known his mother, either. He knew well what it was like to be passed around.

  The girl liked him. He knew that and he wondered, why? She seemed to like him more than she did Edward. True, he was taller than Edward was, and he filled out his shirt more than Edward did, but he was just big for his age. His friend was catching up fast, and Edward would have a big head start on him in property and position. But, for now, Richard at least was taller, and he figured, probably he was better-looking, too.

  Anne was a pretty little girl. She was just a little girl, but she wouldn't always be. He'd be smart to let her keep on liking him. You never know, he thought, one day….

  Richard slowly got out of bed so as not to awaken Edward. He picked up his shoes and sneaked out of the house. He ran to the edge of the woods and relieved himself, then walked to the river and jumped in. He still had blood underneath his fingernails from the deer he'd killed the week before, and he knew his body smelled. It never used to occur to him that he smelled bad, but in the last year, as changes had taken place all over him, that had changed too. He stripped off his stockings and breeches and his shirt and stepped into the river. It was much colder than he'd expected. He wondered if it weren't dangerous to get his whole body wet, but it was a chance he'd have to take. He couldn't wear the new suit with blood under his nails and his body stinking like a wet dog. He held his breath and grabbed his nose before ducking under the water completely. Then he shook his head and rubbed his hair in the water in case there was blood in it. He scrubbed his body with his hands and when he saw that they were clean, he climbed back up on the bank.

  He stood there shuddering, trying to dry himself with his shirt, but finally gave up and stepped back into his stockings and breeches to run back to the house.

  As Edward and the men stirred in their final minutes of sleep, Richard fed the fire and sat. He was glad Harper had warned them about going to church. Richard brought the new suit of clothes his Uncle Edward bought for him.

  He warmed himself and ran his fingers through his hair, hoping it would dry before they all woke up with questions. The dark hair fell in damp ringlets to his shoulders. He had in his possession a blond curl, clipped from his head when he was a child. He'd asked about that once, wondering how it could be so, since he could only remember having dark hair. It was in his family, he was told. They all started out as blond, tow-headed children whose hair darkened as they aged.

  It was another of God's mysteries how the body changed. There was dark hair appearing now above his lip and on his chin. He had hair beneath his arms and it was growing around his privates. Anne wouldn't always be a little girl, just like he wasn't a little boy anymore. He wondered if she liked his blue eyes. He wondered what color her eyes were.

  Edward had sat up in the bed and was staring at him.

  "What's wrong with you?" Edward asked him.

  "I got cold, so I put some wood on the coals to get the fire going," Richard said.

  "You look different," Edward said.

  "That's a strange thing to say," Richard said, pretending to be offended.

  "What have you been doing?" Edward was sure something was up.

  "I took a piss and got some wood! That troubles you?" Richard took the offensive. Did getting clean make him look so different?

  Edward lay back down.

  "I think I'm sick," he said.

  "Forget that. We've got to go to church. But, more important, it's Halloween!"

  "Halloween!" Edward echoed him, and sat up in bed. "What are we going to do?"

  "I don't know," Richard said, "but it should be big. Who knows when we'll be back? We return to Pine Haven tomorrow."

  "Something big." Edward started thinking.

  Richard opened the small chest, which held the change of clothes Harper had told them to bring.

  "Go throw some water on your face, we've got to dress for church," he said to Edward.

  Edward groaned, but got out of bed and followed the suggestion. Old Ned and the two other men were awake.

  "You boys missed a fine Saturday night, I tell you," Old Ned said.

  "We'll not miss this night, I warrant," Richard said. He felt foolish for drinking so much rum in the hot afternoon that he'd missed a good night's revelry.

  "Aye, it's All Hallows Eve. We'll catch the Devil by his tail tonight, we will!"

  Old Ned was then up
and about. He hurried the men down to the river in order to ready Mister Ware's shallop for the short sail to church.

  Richard was glad to be alone in the cabin. He lifted the lid of the chest and pulled out the suit that he'd placed on top of Edward's.

  The blue wool was soft and luxurious.

  He held the doublet in front of him. It was so short it looked like a child's. It wouldn't reach his navel. It was the latest fashion. A row of small, round buttons ran from the tiny skirt that ringed the bottom of the doublet, to the high, close neck. There were small ribbon-loops inside the shoulder holes for attaching sleeves, but Richard hadn't wanted sleeves. He held up the shirt. That was why he hadn't wanted sleeves.

  The shirt was of the finest, whitest linen Uncle Edward could find. Wide, lace cuffs matched the edging of the square linen collar that would fall to his shoulders and across the top buttons of his doublet. He'd leave the lower five unbuttoned to let the shirt billow out between the doublet and breeches. He lay the falling band collar on top of the doublet. That would go on last.