Becoming Americans (21 page)

      The short-hair wasn't Dutch, and Joseph strained to hear the shorn man's conversation with an old man, whose faded silks must once have been as elegant as those worn by the man Joseph had knocked down.

      "I weren't no runaway, my time was up and he cut off my hair! Not only weren't I no runaway, he owed me by due rights! I got 'em too, and my revenge. Thanks be to God and to our Christian Governor."

      The fading Cavalier laughed and clapped the short-haired man on the back.

      "Can't blame the man for trying, can you? It's hard to get good help nowadays, it is!" The older man laughed again, but then, to calm the man he was riling, "I pray to have your luck in Court tomorrow and not that of your old master. I'm in danger of losing the patent to my whole plantation since my thieving neighbor claimed title to it from an old land grant that he says he just now discovered! I can't start all over again for a third time at my age!"

      Joseph listened in to the undertow of conversation around the room, though some of the accents were so strange he missed half the words.

      A drunk, still in his carpenter's apron, swore at a soldier wearing his armored breastplate beneath the lace collar that fell across his shoulders. The soldier stood with a hand on the cage of his sword handle, his legs forced apart by the wide tops of the lace-trimmed boots that were folded at the ankles.

      "Your forts are useless," his accuser yelled. "Who do you think you're going to fight? Is the Emperor going to send troops to find you? No, you idiot! Those savages aren't going to come to your fort; they're going to my daughter's farm! They'll sneak through the woods and find someone to scalp and butcher like they always have. Like they're doing still, day by day. What makes you think a scattering of forts is going to do the job? We need to search 'em out and kill 'em all!"

      "I just follow orders," the soldier said. "Talk to the Governor."

      "The Governor? Indian lover!" The carpenter spoke the title and epithet with disgust, and emphasized his feelings by spitting in the dirt. His voice carried through the crowd, and there was a hushed moment as all turned to see the man, the resumed their own conversations.

      "Wild talk, isn't it Uncle? I'm surprised to hear such open talk. But you must know of the doings of the Governor's men. The times are bad enough, with extra taxes for the western forts and more again to pay for our Commissioners in England. Then last year's storm and the cattle disease. Two raids by the Dutch…. On top of this, Berkeley's favorites are stealing what little that we have managed to hold on to. Those friends of his he names over us who lie and cheat to take our little, when they have so much! I'm telling you, the people have had too much."

      John Williams was calm. He knew it was hard times, and he'd heard many stories of doings by the Governor's favorites. John was saddened that some of those appointed by Governor Berkeley—whom everyone had loved and admired for so many years—were blemishing his name. Mister Williams didn't doubt that some of these stories were true.

      "What are the facts with John Biggs?" Uncle John went to a safer subject.

      "Mister Biggs was witness to the last will and testament of Francis Porter down in Lower Norfolk County. But when Mister Porter died and it came time to prove the will in court and swear to it, the…. Well, the will was drawn up in '66, before Father Biggs "saw the light," as the Quakers say, and the County Court says he must
swear
to his signature. There's no problem with the will, and the Court says he must swear or go to jail or to the stocks. He's appealed to the General Court. I'm here to testify, or to post bond should the priests, indeed, win out."

      "My prayers will be with him." But then, John wondered, how could he pray for a Quaker in a fight with His Majesty's Court?

      "But
all
is not ill, Uncle. I'm here, as well, to add to my holdings. Deep Creek land will only support one year's crop of tobacco, and I've cleared and used all that's high enough. But the supply of pelts from our great swamp is unending. And there's tar and shingles! I've traded for the servants and their headrights that will bring me another four hundred acres."

      "That set you back a pretty penny, I would reckon." Uncle John was surprised after all this talk of "hard times."

      "Frugal living. What can I say?" Richard turned up his hands and shrugged modestly.

      John Williams beamed. "I'm proud of you, Nephew. Despite your faults, no one ever said you were afraid of work. And you've saved for the right thing. Land is the only way to reputation. Have enough to live free of the world, but don't have so much or desire so much that you take on responsibilities and obligations that might turn on you. Your factor, even if a relative, will capture you with debt and you'll be enslaved like before, but this time for life. Finding the balance is the secret. Pelts and furs are just a means to that end, and the present furor over trading rights is most distasteful, to my mind. I'm proud of you. And it does me good to be saying that, it does. Let me drink to you." John raised his tankard and was joined by his nephews.

      The three of them were silent for a time, warmed by the moment of reunion. Three generations, recording in their memory the smell of burning hickory and tobacco, of spiced rum and ale.

      "Papa, is Uncle John from England, too?" Joseph was becoming curious about the man with whom his father shared a history and to whom he showed such respect.

      "Indeed I am, my boy. From Bristol, the great and growing shipping town. Your
great-grandf
ather moved there in the time of the old Queen."

      "The old Queen?" Joseph didn't know the King had had another wife.

      "Good Queen Bess. Queen Elizabeth. The Virgin Queen. The queen our country was named for."

      "Virginia?"

      "Yes, Boy. A glorious time for our nation." Uncle John looked away to his youth.

      "My father often told us of the time he saw Queen Bess. He'd gone to London to visit with
his
father and there she was, one day, he said. Riding by in state, attended by Sir Walter Raleigh and the Earl of Leicester."

      "Who was he, Uncle?"

      "Who was the Earl of Leicester? What are children being taught, these days! It's just as well, I suppose. They have no need for old gossip."

      "I saw the first King Charles myself, I did," said Richard to his son. "I was just a very little boy and standing on the roof of the old Guild Hall in Bristol when he rode by. Resplendent, he was, riding with his sons, the present King and the Duke of York."

      "The King, it was? When you told that story to me nearly twenty years ago, it was Prince Rupert that you saw when you were two years old!" John laughed and slapped his nephew on the shoulder.

      "My hindsight has improved," Richard said, a little sheepishly.

      "Well,
I
did see King James, in truth. And since I was born whilst they worked on his new Bible, there seems some justice in that I did."

      "Is Bristol as large as James Town, Pa?"

      "Joseph, Son. There is no way to tell you. Bristol has as many houses in the one town as exists in the whole of Virginia. Am I lying, Uncle?"

      "If you are, then not by much. A goal for you, my boy, would be to reach a sufficiency that would let you visit our old home. Every Englishman should see his home." Uncle John's eyes clouded over.

      "A toast to the protector of our liberties and fortunes, our most honorable Governor, William Berkeley!" The man with shorn hair was standing on a table with his tankard raised.

      "To Berkeley!" echoed a man whose wig was so ornately long and curled that he could only carry his tall, feathered hat beneath an arm.

      "Hear, hear," was heard around the room as most of the men raised their mugs to drink.

      Uncle John stood in salute.

      "You refuse my toast?" The shorn man spoke to Richard and the carpenter, neither one of who had drunk.

      "Something caught in my throat," answered the carpenter with heavy sarcasm.

      Richard knocked his tankard over, spilling most of the contents on the dirt floor. "And I am out of drink," he said.

      The freed servant glared at Richard.

      The carpenter stepped up.

      "But I can drink to His Gracious Majesty, King Charles and to His Majesty's colony of Virginia," he said.

      "Hear, hear," the crowd joined in.

      "I've enough left for that," Richard said, and pointedly hoisted his tankard and drained the remaining drops.

      The man with short hair slipped from his perch and fell against their table. Joseph's bowl was knocked into his lap.

      "A little too much for your good, I think," Richard said as he rose and threw what remained in the bowl at the drunken man's crotch.

      "Looks like you can't hold your ale," he said, indicating the wet splotch.

      The roomful of customers laughed at the man who stood there, trying to balance on his feet, wondering if he should retaliate. He stumbled out the door.

      "Was that necessary, I wonder?" asked Uncle John. He was suddenly tired and very sad.

      "A man must learn his limit of strong drink," said Richard.

      "A most informed admonition, coming from one who…." Uncle John stopped himself.

      "Well, the boy must be fatigued, and Mistress Henderson will be waiting for us. Maybe we should…."

      "If you would take Joseph along, Uncle. I'll stay with the boat tonight. I would search out the captain of the
Europe
for goods I requested in the fall."

      "We'll take our leave, then. You'll join us in the morning to break fast?"

      "I'll see you in the morning. And Uncle John. It's good to see you. And it's glad, I am, that my Joseph has this chance to spend some hours alone with you."

      "Till morning, then." John saw through the flattery, but was warmed by the crude charm.

      "But, Pa, I want to stay with you and George!"

      "Get along, Boy. It's your Uncle John you're going with. I'll see you in the morning."

      The old man threw his scarlet cloak about his shoulders and wrapped it around the child. "We'll be fine," he said. "It's but a short walk to Goodwife Henderson's."

      Richard walked out with them, then turned back towards the river and his boat.

      The dock was crowded with the shallops and sloops of planters and traders who'd come to market or to court. Several small fires lined the riverbank and were surrounded by tight clusters of men who talked, drinking wine and smoking from their long clay pipes. Boys about the age of Joseph were among some groups, and Richard wondered for a moment if he should have brought his son back to mingle with his own kind, but thought again that he was glad for the boy to know his kin. Uncle John had grown more quarrelsome in his dotage, but he was a good man. At least, he made an effort to be good. That was more than Richard could say for himself.

      A dim light flickered from within the tent that was set onboard his boat. Richard stepped into the shallop and the rocking brought forth a yelp from inside the tent.

      "Who goes there?"

      "George, it's me!"

      "What are you doing back here?" George Dawes stuck his head out of the tent. His days of indentured servitude had ended a year ago, and he now worked with Richard Williams for wages. But years of working hard together with like temperaments and close ages, living on the edge of the dark wilderness that was the great swamp, had made them friends.

      "I came to check on you. And glad of it, I am. If you burn them pelts with that bayberry candle, you'll be working many a day for me for nothing."

      "I'm no fool, Richard Williams. And don't be speaking to me like your slave. I don't have to work for you no more. I'm in here looking for my rattle to show these men."

      "You brought that snakeskin to James Town?"

      "Just the rattle. For good luck." George said.

      "Well, hurry up, then get out. I've got to change my clothes. I look like some beggar. Joseph was ashamed of his old man."

      "And well he might be, if he knew you as I do," George muttered. "I found it! Good luck!"

      He pulled the rattle from a pelican maw that he used for a tobacco pouch and shook it. He clambered off the boat and Richard could hear him bragging to the men about the huge rattlesnakes in Lower Norfolk County.

      Richard pulled apart the stack of mink and beaver pelts and dragged out a small chest. He opened it and took out a suit of clothes.

      He lifted out the breeches and held them up. The fashion persisted. These Rhinegrave breeches were so wide and full that they deserved the name of petticoat breeches that most people called them. The dark green wool was of the finest quality, and dozens of black silk ribbon-loops trimmed the waist and hung by the side. It must have cost someone a fortune, Richard thought.

      When he emerged from the tent he felt like a lord, and so he must have appeared, for George greeted him with a low bow and, "Good evening, My Lord."

      "You don't think it's too much, do you?" Richard asked. There was no point in angering Uncle John tomorrow.