Becoming Americans (45 page)

      "Illustrious family." An old man's voice was heard. "Done in by the King's advisors after Bacon's Rebellion. Mistake. A big mistake, they made, not seeing to it that justice was given the brave and steadfast men who championed Governor Berkeley! You two men would be comfortable and respected, now, had the Ware's and John Williams not been cheated of…."

      Another man interrupted with repeated coughs.

      The old man could be heard gulping his wine, then sputtering, "Not that you aren't…. My sister-in-law, your sister…. Fine woman. Your family are fine people. Yes, fine people!"

      "Thank you, Sir." Stephen's Uncle John was speaking. "That's kind of you to say."

      "I'm about to construct a mill," Joseph Williams blurted.

      Stephen frowned. He'd heard nothing about a mill before.

      "Much of your family is in Carolina, I understand," another voice said. It was one of the men who'd been speaking outside.

      "Our mother, a sister, and two brothers, Sir," Uncle John said, apologetically.

      "That's the frontier, now, they claim," his father said. "Thousands of acres of good land. It grows anything. And tar. Now the Empire needs tar."

      "And from which port will this great commerce depart? Have they a Norfolk Town? And through which shifting, shallow inlet will this great tonnage pass?" The man from outside was speaking. Stephen decided that he did not like this man. These city people were not very likable.

      "They have Bath Town, now," Uncle John said. "It's only fifty mile westward of their best inlet, that at Ocracoke."

      "John Lawson?" the old man asked. "Have you met Carolina's John Lawson?"

      John and Joseph Williams had not.

      "An entertaining and vigorous man, this Lawson. Passed through here earlier this year with a disheveled and demoralized group of de Graffenried's colonists. Bound for Bath County, after a most perilous voyage. Then set upon by French privateers as they finally entered the James!" The old man laughed.

      "I'm sorry. Indeed, I'm sorry to laugh at their plight, but theirs was a sorry collection of faces to behold." He laughed again. "Huguenots and Calvinists. A pitiful settlement they'll make in Lawson's wilderness. He gave me a copy of his new book. Most interesting and most deceiving. It presents Carolina as the land of milk and honey, and its Indians as wholesome, innocent savages to be loved and treated with respect. Lawson says we English have treated them worse than they've treated us!"

      "I could almost believe it of those Carolina woodsmen." The man Stephen didn't like spoke again, warming the old man to his favorite subject.

      "Rogues and runaways and rebels!" the old man said. "A rabble. Since the beginning, they've been a rabble. Rebellious. Ignoring the King's levies of duties. Taking runaways. Sheltering pirates! And for ten years they've squabbled over religion to the total destruction of government and stability. The mighty Church of England against the rabble. And yet, the Church…. Who represents the Church? Glover and Cary both keep jumping the fence. First for the Church, then allied with dissenters. And then they switch. It's more complicated than a chess match."

      Another voice offered, "From my observations, it's simply a matter of who's to govern. Their Assembly isn't allowing equal representation to those new areas south of the Albemarle Sound. There is always another side, Colonel, to an argument. I think you'd be upset were Surry County not allowed it's proper representation in the Burgesses."

      "Impossible!" the old man boomed.

      "They've not the advantage we have in Virginia, Colonel," Uncle John said. "They've no Commissary Blair to right the situation. To lead them. They've yet to have but that one scandalous and disgraceful rogue of a priest, Daniel Brett, who was withdrawn. Are we to blame them for that neglect by the Bishop of London? We have nieces who are not baptized, and not for wont of our brothers' desires, be assured. It is a fearful thought."

      "Indeed, Williams," the old man said. "There are some few people of your mother's quality in Carolina, and I sympathize with their problems, but why would a priest choose to live among such wanton deviltry?"

      "Duty," Uncle John said. "It has been attention to duty—from men like yourself—that has brought Virginia to the present pace of development and civilization. We hope our brother will provide that attention to duty for Carolina."

      "Let us hope so, my friend, but I'm afraid progress will attend in Carolina until the Queen claims the colony for her own. Proprietary government! Another folly of our earlier monarchs."

      Stephen went out the back door. He needed to see a tree.

As the carriage rumbled on towards Hampton, Sarah Alice played at her needlework, looked out the windows at the passing countryside, and tried to ignore the boy sitting across from her. He was irreverent and disrespectful; his mother's son.

      Stephen felt no more warmth towards his powdered and painted aunt. He was thankful for the silence. He was glad to be away from the formality of Williamsburgh and the Harrisons, their hosts for the night. He'd slept very little, and soon drifted off in the rocking carriage, to be awakened by the loud and angry voice of his aunt. He looked out the coach window and saw that they'd arrived at the docks in Hampton, and that Aunt Sarah Alice was talking—yelling—to a sailor.

      "I'm sorry ma'am, but they's the captain's orders. He's not sailing out the Chesapeake without an armed vessel as escort. There be Spanish ships to the south, and French ones to the north. Privateers and pirates, everywhere."

      "Colonel Harrison will have his hide!" she yelled. "Take me to the captain," she demanded.

      "Sorry, ma'am, that's part of this orders. The captain's not to be bothered. He says you might take the Biggs shallop with the boy back over to Norfolk. You can make overland transport from there to Bath."

      "To Deep Creek? How does the captain know of that arrangement for my nephew? Does Mister Harrison know of this change in plans? Overland? From Deep Creek to Bath!" She was incredulous.

      "The captain wouldn't dare make changes without…."

      Then Sarah Alice realized that the Harrisons considered her gone, no longer their responsibility and burden.

      "Wait until Major Dorsey reports this to his friend, Governor Spotswood!"

      But when would that be, she realized? They were leaving for England. That is, if she survived to Bath!

      "Thomas!"

      Stephen saw his father's uncle, Thomas Biggs, approaching the carriage.

      "My dear Sarah Alice," Uncle Thomas said to his niece. A niece who was only six years younger than he.

      "Thomas Biggs? Dear Thomas, what have they done to me? How can I manage all of this?" She pointed expansively to her trunks of dresses. "How can this reach Bath—how can I survive to Bath? Over ship to shore, through swamp…. I can't think, Thomas. But, I must reach Bath!"

      "Dearest, pampered flower. Thee will survive, thy goods will survive, and thee will have wonderful stories to tell thy major. And anyway, thee needn't think. There is no time for thinking. We were only waiting for thy arrival to sail to Deep Creek."

      "To Deep Creek," she said, despondent.

      "It gives me pleasure to transport thee, Cousin. Thee art special cargo, Mistress Harrison. I shall take thee directly to Deep Creek, and Joseph's man will transport thee to Great Bridge and down the Carolina Road. Thy brother, Edward, will meet thee in Currituck. We must hurry, Alice. Even with a full moon, I never liked navigating Deep Creek at night."

      Sarah Alice Harrison was speechless. She was returning to the home she'd left as a bride at age fifteen. An embarrassing hovel, as she remembered it, compared to the homes she'd grown accustomed to. And then she started! She would be guest of the awful "swamp woman," the mother of this rude boy!

      The mid-afternoon sun slapped her with its reflections in the lapping waves. There was nothing she could do. She climbed back into the coach and watched her things being transferred to Thomas's boat, trying to adjust to the situation, but becoming increasingly angry with her duplicitous father-in-law.

      Stephen was thrilled to see his Great-uncle Thomas Biggs, a younger, halfbrother of his Grandmother Fewox. He helped drag the trunks and roll the hogsheads of his aunt's possessions to the shallop, then took a seat near the bow. His aunt was helped aboard when all was secured. Finally, the boat was pushed off from the dock.

      Stephen would like to have ridden on the new ferry that went from Hampton to Seawell's Point near Norfolk Town, but his uncle's shallop was faster, and there were no strangers to watch out for. Stephen didn't like crowds, and he was suspicious of strangers.

      "There's one of thy Scottish boys, there," Uncle Thomas said to his old playmate. A large merchant ship was entering the Elizabeth River ahead of them, and Uncle Thomas was pointing to it.

      "Still seems strange to see a Scot's ship flying our St. George's ensign, does it not, Alice?" Thomas was the only one in her family who'd called her by that name alone.

      "Aye," Sarah Alice said, relaxing into the inevitable.

      "Make good snuff, they do. Pay good prices for tobacco, they do, too. Canny, those Glasgow Scots," Thomas said.

      "I shall be in Edinburough," Sarah Alice said.

      "Well, since the Union three years ago, going to Scotland is going home, I guess. Finally finished those centuries of war, Scotland and England. Wish they'd finish this war of Queen Anne's. Those Scots sailors were calling it a war for the Spanish succession. And what do I care for who's King of Spain?"

      "I think the only people Grandfather Biggs hated were the Spanish," Anne remembered aloud.

      "'They must be kept to Florida,' he used to say." Thomas remembered, too.

      "He was a wise old man," Sarah Alice said. "I'd like to have known him before he met your mother and turned Quaker. He was so tall and handsome," she mused.

      "I'd like to have known thy Ware relatives. Thy mother always made them sound so…."

      "The Wares were among Virginia's first and most…." Sarah Alice interrupted.

      Sarah Alice heard herself speaking in the tone used in the Harrison household. She smiled at her childhood friend.

      "Yes, I know, and thy Uncle John was on the Vestry of Christ Church in Middlesex," Thomas said.

      "Look, Aunt Sarah Alice!" Stephen called from the bow. He was pointing to the mouth of the Eastern Branch of the Elizabeth River and to a peninsula clinging to the shore by a thin strip. "Norfolk Town!"

      At first, the masts of dozens of ships claimed her attention. Then the row of warehouses along the bank, then rows of streets with houses and shops.

      "I haven't been to Norfolk Town since…. I had no idea it had become so impressive!" She watched the bustling harbor town as they passed, sailing upriver towards Deep Creek. The last happy day of her childhood had been on the site of that town. John's first militia day.

      "The Wares, yes, Mistress Harrison, but don't forget thy Grandfather Biggs. He was one of the witnesses to the deed of sale that set aside the land for Norfolk Town. Is everything about thy Friends kinfolk dismissed except our looks?" Thomas was smiling, but his reproof was taken to heart by his niece.

      Pine-knot torches lit the small dock at the head of Deep Creek. Thomas fired his gun when he saw the lights and waited to see Joseph's bondsmen and his slave boy gather to meet the boat. Then, light from the cabin lit a path to the door, as Stephen's mother, Mary, opened it in anticipation and welcome. Stephen jumped from the boat and tossed the rope to Pompey, the slave boy. He ran ahead yelling, "Mother, I'm back. And Aunt Sarah Alice is with me!"

      Mary Williams looked about the house. How could Joseph have done this to her! She had a sick son to tend, and there was Sister Mary. What did Sarah Alice know of Sister Mary? Mary wasn't ready for company, and certainly not this sniveling sister. Better his mother again, she thought, than that rich little…. She looked to herself. She was wearing one of her rockets—a country woman's dress of two long rectangles of homemade linsey-woolsey, doubled together with fringed ends. Her hair was wet from cooking in the sticky July heat, and it was pulled back close to her head, away from her face. She stood shoeless at the threshold, cursing her absent husband. They can all rest in hell with their put-on airs of breeding, she thought to herself. She told Sister Mary to keep on sweeping, and walked down to the water to greet her son, her sister-in-law, and Thomas.

      There was no sisterly embrace. Sarah Alice held a package tightly to her chest when she saw the disheveled woman, and Mary busied herself in restraining two loose dogs.

      Sarah Alice was afraid to enter the house. There was a sick child here, and a mad, deformed girl. Vermin would be everywhere, in this old house! Her precious belongings! The trunks and hogsheads would be infested!

      Memories of the painful years in this house rushed back. She was only six when her father died, and then there followed the painful years before Shaw, and then more family deaths and sickness; marriage, then more sickness and death. She'd never expected, nor wanted, to see Norfolk County again. Now, she was being welcomed by a dark-haired squaw into the home that had once been the home of a respected and self-respecting woman. She remembered seeing Mary carry her first child, Ann, like an Indian squaw would carry a child; lugging the baby on her back, holding onto the right foot and the left arm, while the baby held on as best it could. She closed her eyes and took a breath before stepping up into the house. Still, she crossed the noon-mark and stepped instinctively and precisely where she needed to to avoid the crack that always squeaked.