Becoming Americans (35 page)

      The yelled instructions and marching orders and drills went on all over the field. Cannoniers repeating the loading, firing, cleaning routine to reach a maximum number of firings. John and his fellow-musketeers repeating a rhythm that excited him in its precision. He was part of one machine of many parts. He'd memorized the drill in advance.

      "Musketeers, have a care to the exercise, and carry your arms well!" would begin the sequence of commands. "Lay your right hands on your muskets!

      "Poise your muskets!

      "Rest your muskets!

      "Cock your muskets!

      "Guard your muskets!

      "Present!

      "Fire!

      "Recover your arms!

      "Half-bend your muskets!

      "Clean your pans!

      "Handle your primers!

      "Prime!

      "Shut your pans!

      "Blow off your loose corns!"

      Now John blew hard, in one strong blast, bringing the pan up close to his mouth.

      "Cast about the charge!

      "Handle your chargers.

      "Open them with your teeth!"

      John even liked this part, the acrid taste of the powder, as he bit open the end of the cartridge and covered it with his thumb.

      "Charge with powder!

      "Draw forth your scourers!

      "Shorten them to an inch!

      "Charge with bullet!"

      He spit the bullet into the barrel on top of the rammed-in empty cartridge paper, then,

      "Ram down powder and ball!

      "Withdraw your scorers!

      "Shorten them to a handful!

      "Return your scourer!

      "Poise your musket!"

      Here the well-rehearsed exercise neared its climax.

      "Shoulder your muskets!

      "Poise your muskets!

      "Order your muskets!"

      And they were all set down to the ground at a time, so that it was but one thump.

      The highlight of the day began when the entire company was brought back into formation. The men were drawn up in precisely-spaced ranks and files; the ensign carried the colors; the drummer in line with the front rank. Then, to the steady beat, the company marched up and down the field, reacting to commands called to them, split and returned and marched on to the admiration and applause of the crowd. Even the old men joined in the praise for a sometimes-awkward production.

      The climax came when the Captain turned the drill to volley fire. This maneuver, to turn his ninety musketeers into one firing machine, was complicated and dangerous. It called for every other man to step forward before the man in front of him. Then those behind moved up another half-step, and an exact sequence of foot and musket placement was yelled until the call, "Fire!"

      The resulting volley of exploding power was awesome, and the crowd was always silent for the moment before, then they exploded into yells and shouts and screams of delight. John felt humbled, being part of it.

      The men were dismissed for an hour. Jackets and vests lay scattered around the field where they'd been tossed, as the sun grew higher and hotter. There was a rush now to the cool cider and beer that waited in the shade.

      Richard and John rejoined the family—Richard heading to the cider pipe— but John was delayed by Sarah Alice and Joseph lavishing praise on him. "But this afternoon will be the best part," Joseph promised him.

They ate together as a family, with Richard grateful for the time to sit down. He'd never before been so winded from these exercises. It occurred to him, as he looked about, that he was among the older men there. He'd reached the age of thirty-seven. His youth was gone. He saw old Sam Hodges, confined to a sedan chair, and had a moment of fear. Sam Hodges was only ten years older than he was!

      Bill Etheridge walked over as Richard finished a last chunk of bread. Richard offered his friend a mug of beer or cider and Bill consented to have his tankard filled. He then asked Richard to walk off a ways with him.

      The cutting would be two nights hence. There would be no moon that night, so small bands of men—throughout the colony—would go secretly about the destruction of the whole tobacco crop. If the king's men wouldn't take control of the overproduction, the planters would do it themselves.

      Adam Thorowgood had received the news by a visitor from Middlesex. The cutting would be everywhere, and as much a surprise to the authorities as the Indian massacre of '22. Many of the planters—large and small—were in on the plan, but some were not. John Wilson was not. Mister Boush wasn't. Captain Craford wasn't. John Biggs wasn't.

      There'd be no meetings. Each man was to destroy his own fields and those of his neighbor. Etheridge would send a man, and Hodges would send two, to help Richard and George Dawes cut down the growing stalks in Captain Craford's fields. Richard eagerly agreed. No one had told him who was to cut the Biggs's tobacco. He returned alone to Anne.

      Joseph and Edy ran to their father, out of breath and confusing their story by interrupting each other. John came behind. His nose was bleeding, Joseph's face was scratched, and Edy's dress was torn.

      "Those Thorowgoods are horrid," she said." I wouldn't marry one of them if they owned all of Lynhaven Parish!"

      "They didn't get away with it!" Joseph said.

      "Stop!" Anne demanded. "Edy, what have you done to my dress? I though you were a young lady, now! Did anybody see you?"

      "It's those high-nosed Thorowgoods, Mama. They called us names." Edy replied.

      "Tell me." Richard's voice was firm and demanding. The children stopped babbling.

      "John!" Richard commanded.

      "We saw Uncle John talking to Mister Thorowgood, and we were going over to say hello," John began.

      "Uncle John is here? From Middlesex?" Richard wondered. Could it possibly have been his Uncle John who brought the word to Thorowgood?

      "Yes, sir, and when we started over there one of those boys said, 'Here come those swamp rats from Albemarle.' Pa, we couldn't take an insult like that, so I hit the big one and Joseph got the brother, then their dog jumped on Edy and we got into it good. I made his nose bleed, too, Pa, and I hit him so hard in the stomach he got sick on his fancy clothes!"

      "And I almost bit the ear off the other boy," Joseph said.

      "But Uncle John and Mister Thorowgood came out of the tent and stopped it," Edy said. "He's coming over here to see you. I told him where we were. Is that what you're going to look like when you get old, Pa?"

      "I'm not a swamp-rat!" John said. "Nobody's gonna get away with calling me from Carolina!"

      The elder John Williams moved smoothly through a gaggle of young girls who were shrieking in delight over some shared secret. His was an effortless and erect presence. Richard felt a calming reassurance. The men in his family—if they weren't killed—lived to a ripe old age like Uncle John. The old man looked little different than he had six years earlier, when they met in James Town. Richard went to meet him.

      "Uncle John, what a blessing to see you!"

      The two men grasped hands warmly, then threw their arms about each other for a moment.

      "It's my last time out of Middlesex, I think, Nephew. Until I'm gone for good," the old man said with a sad smile.

      "Nonsense, Uncle, you're as fit as I," Richard said.

      "I don't think so, Boy, but your time will come. I see gray hair that's not powdered."

      Richard felt obliged to laugh, but was not amused. He hadn't looked into a glass for some time.

      Joseph and the other children stood by, staring at the ancient figure, and waiting to be noticed. Uncle John said, yes, he was staying with Captain Thorowgood and had seen the children's fight. The old man turned to them.

      "Young John, you've made me proud this day. I'll not forget it. I'm speaking of your being in the militia, now, not of your fighting with gentlemen's children. And Joseph, how often I've remembered our time together in James Town—when there was some town there—and lovely Anne…" he turned to Anne.

      "You, among us all, are the only one who's not grown older. Yet you've given the Williams name to four sons and…who's this?" He noticed Sarah Alice. The old man slowly knelt before the startled child and reached to stroke her hair with his wrinkled and blue-veined hands. He reverently stroked her hair. Everyone could see the old man's eyes well-up with tears.

      "That's our youngest, Uncle John. Sarah Alice, this is your Great-uncle John."

      The little girl gave her practiced curtsy.

      "There are angels among us, God be praised," the old man said and rose, never taking his eyes or his hands from the child.

      "Your Sarah Alice is the twin of my own dear sister," Uncle John said.

      "Your sister? I never knew there were girls among my father and uncles," Richard said.

      "No, you wouldn't. She was taken by God before your own father was born—God rest his sweet soul. She was a precious, precious child, our Betty was. And then your father came, to take away some of the pain."

      Uncle John seemed fixed on Sarah Alice.

      "And I've lived long enough to see her again. Dear child."

      Uncle John finally turned to Richard and broke the silence.

      "A wonderful family you have, Richard. You've done well."

      "And how fares Aunt Mary and Cousin Thomas?" Richard asked.

      "Your Aunt Mary will live for many years, I think. She'll make a commanding Widow Williams, I warrant," the old man half-joked. He didn't mention Thomas.

      "And Cousin Thomas?" young John asked.

      Uncle John turned to the young man and spoke deliberately.

      "Not so well as you, Nephew. Not so well."

      The old man looked back to Sarah Alice and spoke quietly. "Let us walk alone, Richard."

      The two of them left the family group and walked to the edge of the Eastern Branch. Richard tossed a stick and watched the widening circles in the water.

      "There'll be a city here, Richard. One day—not in our lifetimes—but one day, as large as Bristol."

      Richard laughed. The idea was beyond imagination. His uncle stopped and faced him.

      "This colony will be the greatest jewel in the Empire one day, Nephew. Almost as great as fair England, herself."

      Richard wouldn't argue with his uncle, even with such folly as this.

      "But much is to be done, that's sure," the old man said as they resumed walking. "And the young ones—like your John and Joseph—will be building on the base we've secured for them."

      "They are bright, hard-working boys, Uncle. I've no complaints about them."

      "We've developed some affection for my namesake, Richard, as you must know. You've been good enough to let him visit with us often."

      "Uncle, I was honored you allowed the visits. I'm glad you're here now. The other children can see that they have family other than those Quaker Biggses."

      "Times have changed quickly, Richard. Since…since the departure of Governor Berkeley, Virginia has been visited by governors and laws and restrictions that punish loyal Englishmen and cutthroat alike. The King's friends remain, astonishingly, without their rightful lands. The price of tobacco has begun to fall—rapidly and drastically—and will continue to do so. I am a King's man— you know that Richard, you're father died for the King—but the time has come…. The King has bad advisers."

      John Williams stopped walking and looked around.

      "You know of the cutting?" he asked Richard.

      Richard nodded.

      "You have no great stake in this, you aren't seated on tobacco land, but the prosperity of all depends on our success. Will you be helping?"

      "Yes, Uncle. I am a neighbor of Captain Craford's."

      The old man pondered and frowned.

      "Be careful," he appealed to his younger kinsman.

      "It's good to be on the same side, Uncle," Richard said.

      The patriarch changed the subject.

      "Your son, John, asked of his Cousin Thomas. He knows of our concern for Thomas. That's what keeps me living, hoping that Thomas will rise, like Lazarus, and resume his life. He has not risen from his bed but to sit and drink. Servants carry him about, but he has no interest in the plantation. He is never sober. I wait, daily, hoping he will change, but I am losing hope. Your Aunt Mary will be left alone with her plantation and no man to manage for her when I'm gone. I cannot—I will not—leave her fortune in the hands of…. She has promised me to leave her estate in the hands of your John, with him promising to care for Thomas the rest of my son's melancholy days."

      Richard was overwhelmed. His son would be a planter on the scale the boy had dreamed of. And in "sweet-scented" country! It was unbelievable.

      "Are things so hopeless for Thomas, Uncle? He was a fine lad. I remember well…." Richard wanted to be sure.