Becoming Americans (3 page)

      "Both dead, Sir."

      "Well, do your name honor, James, as did your father and your grandfather back at home."

      "I'll try, Sir, thank you." James Barnes returned to the marsh, his face covered by the grin.

      They sat back from a blazing fire that night and ate a stew that Mistress Harper made with a deer that Opeechcot had killed, and with the yams and carrots Barnes brought. They ate apples he had grown and listened to him talk of the sweet life they were to have. But the captain's words still echoed in their ears, and they knew in their hearts that life couldn't be as wondrously bountiful as Barnes made it sound. Still, they asked no questions that might bring depressing answers.

      He told them of their other neighbors, all miles away, and he told young Richard Williams that his uncle, Mister John Williams, was a well-known and respected planter in nearby Lancaster County, and that he'd see that word got to that gentleman of his young kinsman here in Gloucester County.

      Though there had been mention made in Bristol of another uncle, it was thought by all that he was dead. In any case, Richard had no need for a new uncle, having just escaped from one.

      Conversation slowed, everyone exhausted by the full day, and each dreaming of a new and happy life.

      Opeechcot sat by his own fire near the water. The boys heard him mumbling, and turned their attention away from the men's conversation about the next day's chores. As Mistress Harper collected the wooden spoons and trenchers for washing, the boys took their cue. Edward stuck a thin pole through the holes in the two long staves of a bucket. Richard grabbed the other end, and they lifted the five-gallon pail off the ground. They made it swing around in circles, over their heads, then down near the ground to slam clods of dirt, or to slap twigs into the air. As they stumbled to the water's edge, they listened to the Indian. They didn't understand the words—they weren't sure if the man were speaking words—but he was communicating with someone or something. He made a series of sounds and then waited. Next, a brief sound came that seemed like a response to something, and then silence until the conversation was continued. The boys made the sign of the cross and spat over their shoulders. This was a whole new world of unknown evil.

      They filled the bucket at the shore and were carrying it back to Mistress Harper and Mary, when they felt movement in the wooden tub—a scratching, scurrying beneath the water. They dropped the pole and let the bucket fall, each yelping in surprise, though Edward tried to control himself this time. Opeechcot watched and came to their side. The boys stood away, still not comfortable with the strange man who'd said almost nothing to them during the day, but knew exactly what they needed and exactly where to find it.

      The Indian held a burning pine knot to see the startled faces of the boys, then looked into the bucket. Their eyes widened at what they saw. Two creatures scampered about the wooden container. Their hard, oval bodies had several arms on each side. Some of the arms had dangerous-looking scissors-like parts that grabbed for anything. The Indian scowled at the boys and grunted in a way they easily interpreted as disgust. With the sharp stick he'd been using to roast his venison, he speared the two creatures in the bucket and withdrew them.

      "Get water for women. Come to me," he said, and went back to his fire.

      The boys said nothing. They ran to the shore, then to Edward's mother, then back to Opeechcot, leaving the men sitting by the fire smoking their clay pipes and drinking apple brandy Barnes had brought.

      "English say 'crab,'" Opeechcot said to the boys. He held the two speared animals over the fire.

      "I've seen crabs," Richard said. "But they weren't anything like these monsters."

      "Always speak with respect. He can save your life," Opeechcot said, looking at the roasting crabs.

      He pulled them from the fire and held them out to cool.

      "My people have many tales of how the crab spirit saved our people. Carrying us on his broad back. Giving us a claw, then growing him another."

      He deftly pulled a large claw from the body of the crab. A clump of moist white meat was clinging to the end.

      "Eat," he said, and handed it to Edward.

      He pulled out a similar claw from the smaller crab and handed it to Richard in long, fleshless fingers.

      "Eat."

      Both boys hesitated, tasted the meat tentatively, then eagerly, "More!" Richard said, and Edward, "Another!"

      The old man grunted and showed them how to crack the claws to get the meat inside. They were still excited about the discovery when Harper called and said to prepare for bed. Tomorrow the first hut must be finished, two more started, and then the real work could begin. Francis Harper and Brinson Barnes had arrived at a plan.

      Land must be cleared of thick forest before spring planting time. Tobacco needed sun and space to thrive. Harper was lucky, in that a section of about four acres of good land was going to be easy to clear. A lightening fire had destroyed most of the large hardwoods some four years earlier. The pine saplings would be easy to clear out, so he'd have a ready-made field for his first crop. But that just gave him a head start, Harper figured. If he could get by with little work, then by extra effort he could be a step ahead.

      So, in the days ahead, Harper worked himself and his men and boys to their limits. A tankard of beer got them to the woods again each morning, sleep still in their eyes. The pine thicket was cleared first. Lengths of the straight trunks were kept to make a stockade for the guinea fowl Barnes promised to sell—Francis had to insist on paying for the birds—and for a puppy that he'd promised Evelyn.

      Days began before the early dawn. Richard would awaken inside his hut and hear Mistress Harper stealthily collecting dew to bathe her face and neck. It was a vanity she practiced despite the desperate need for sleep she shared with the exhausted men. It's that spirit that makes us English, Richard would remind himself and he'd stretch his aching muscles and roll over on the skins and mattress of pine boughs. He'd force open the fists that were cracked and bleeding from worn blisters. The broad ax took painful time to harden hands and muscles.

      All too soon, clearing of the pine thicket was a sweet memory to the boys, as they chopped at the enormous oaks and hickories to be felled. Barnes found them at this work on his next trip and convinced Harper of an easier way.

      Tobacco needed space and sun to thrive, but it wasn't necessary that every tree be removed at once. Almost as effective for planting a profitable crop of tobacco, was to kill the trees by girdling them with deep gashes cut into and around the trunk. The leaves soon fell and permitted sunshine through bared limbs. When the whole tree was dead and dry, it was a simple matter to burn it down, or at least to burn it through until it fell. That was the way the Indians felled trees, whether to make a canoe or to clear land for their corn.

      Mistress Harper brought up another subject that night, as a chilling breeze blew dark clouds from the north. Fall and winter were the time for clearing land, she knew, but another pressing job demanded time. A more permanent home was badly needed, she said. The hut leaked, and the sandy soil didn't make good mud for plastering the walls.

      Harper turned to Brinson Barnes for advice.

      The huge logs they'd burned were no loss. Barnes had seasoned logs for building at his plantation, he said. So many trees were felled in Virginia that everyone had their choice of wood for building. Barnes, like many others, would instruct his men at clearing-time to save the tallest, or the straightest, or the rarest trees for himself. The rest were burned in fires that, with those of other planters, lit the horizon in winter months. He'd let Harper have his choice, and Harper might or might not replace them. When the harvest season ended, Barnes's men— one of them a sawyer—could split Harper's weatherboards and cut him lumber for a fee. Barnes, like most masters, let his servants work for themselves when things were slow. The sawyer would be free in two more years and would need what he could accumulate to begin an independent life. Harper would have James Barnes would go back with his kinsman when Brinson returned. James would assist in the sawing and learn something of the use of construction tools. But now, Brinson had guinea fowl and Evelyn's puppy.

      When Brinson presented the fowl and a small cask of soap and a cake made by Mistress Barnes he extended an invitation for Mistress Harper to visit them as soon as possible. The men had knowledge and ideas to share, but a woman's store of knowledge was just as essential for the well-being of her isolated group. As Mistress Harper stirred her huge pot of stew, she announced a decision.

      "Evelyn and I will accept the kind invitation of neighbor Barnes and his goodwife," Mistress Harper said. "Husband," Mistress Harper interrupted his protest. "There be food enough here for to last you several days. If you want variety, shoot a bird or dig some clams. If my husband and my son can work so hard from the start, I will set the example about a woman's responsibilities. We talked of it in Bristol. There be much for me to learn from his lady, like the proper way to cook their corn and queer vegetables." She held up a gourd-shaped squash. "I can learn what are the medicines I might expect to find in the forest, and what I might grow in my garden."

      "What a grand surprise! Delighted! My wife will be delighted. She's not had female company since…was it Easter? I must send Opeechcot ahead to let her know!"

      Brinson Barnes was gleeful at the prospect for his wife, and Mistress Harper was both flattered and amused. She couldn't imagine such excitement over the arrival of a stranger, although she'd begun to feel a sense of isolation, herself, in just the two weeks they'd been here. She felt there was much more she ought to be doing, but she didn't know what it was. And, though Opeechcot tried to tell her things, she had a hard time understanding him, and she couldn't help but be afraid of the nearly naked savage. She worried about Evelyn looking at his body.

      Barnes was pleased but somewhat taken aback by the immediate acceptance of his invitation. The ketch was fully loaded from his previous stop across the Bay in Accomack and had no room for passengers. Mistress Harper must needs be taken by canoe to his plantation. That was no problem, Harper assured him, since one of the men or boys must learn the way in order to fetch the ladies back.

      She and Evelyn packed a few things for themselves, and Mistress Harper pointedly chose her finest roll of yellow satin ribbon and a paper of new pins to take to Mistress Barnes for her kindness.

      After sunrise, when everyone had finished a mug of beer and a large piece of fresh bread, Mistress Harper took her latticed sewing basket from the ground, and Richard carried her small chest to the canoe. James Barnes would replace Opeechcot in the ketch to receive a first lesson from his settled kinsman, and Richard Williams would row with Opeechcot in the canoe that carried Mistress Harper and Evelyn.

      It was a brilliant, crisp morning in early fall. A heavy dew had weighted down the grasses, and the ladies skirts were damp and dragging when they reached the shore. Evelyn was particularly chatty, and Richard considered the possibility of having to listen to her for a lifetime; he knew that their coupling was an unspoken part of the deal with Harper and his Uncle Edward. Evelyn was singing, and Mistress Harper good-naturedly admonished her, "'Sing before seven, cry before eleven.'"

      The ketch kept close to shore. A perfect, gentle breeze allowed the luxury of clear sailing, yet the Indian and the boy could keep pace in the sleek pirogue.

      Evelyn pestered her mother to be allowed to see the ribbon again. The yellow was her favorite, and she hated parting with the ribbon, even if it were to be a gift. Her mother finally relented and passed back the sewing basket.

      There was no time for thought or reaction when Evelyn screamed and stood in the canoe, jumping violently and tossing the basket and its contents into the air. A fat snake fell from her lap into the water.

      "Sit!" commanded Opeechcot, but it was too late. Evelyn and her mother fell from the rocking pirogue into the water and within seconds were pulled beneath the surface. Opeechcot dived in after them and stayed underneath for minutes, long enough for Richard to believe that he'd been left alone. He poked the water with a paddle, hoping someone would grab onto it, but all was calm except for his own thrashing. Suddenly, Opeechcot burst through the surface of the water holding Evelyn by her hair. He pulled her up and over to the boat, then with the help of Richard, eased her face-down into the hollowed log. They rowed for the nearby shore and placed her on the wet sand. Opeechcot lifted the girl aloft by her feet, and she immediately vomited and started crying. Evelyn was alive, but there was no sign of Mistress Harper.

      Brinson Barnes saw the commotion and tacked around to their location to wade ashore.

      "My God, my God," in a lone monotone, was all that he could say. The rest were quiet, save for the sobbing girl.

     Richard could hear the captain's words: "Four or five of you will be dead within a year." He looked from the dark forest to the clear sky and the blue Bay. Sunlight was a different color in the fall. This would be a beautiful day back in Bristol.

For two days, all activity halted in the settlement. Guilt dominated the grief: Francis Harper's, that he had let his wife go without him, that he had brought her to this land; Edward's, that he had not insisted on accompanying his mother—though he soon accepted that he would have been no help since he couldn't swim, either; and Richard's, for being helpless when, had he been able to swim, he might have saved the gentle woman. The captain had said, "Take precautions."