Becoming Americans (52 page)

      Joseph relented, and on the second morning Richard joined them in the pirogue, and they coasted with the outgoing tide and river flow into the Pamticoe.

      The Pamticoe was low and sluggish because of the year's long drought. Trunks of dead trees were exposed, and sandbars had become islands with grass already covering parts of them. Richard worried aloud that, before long, even those boats of shallow draft that carried away his naval stores wouldn't make their way to Bath. Already, his pier into the Machapungo was too short, and his goods were loaded—with great labor—from shore to boat and then aboard the larger boats. But, he didn't worry overly, he said. Life was good and getting better. Now that there was only one, undisputed Governor, there was hope for stability.

      The fever still gripped Bath, so Joseph took little time to dispose of the sweet-scented tobacco in exchange for a great number of coins. Much of the second afternoon in Bath was spent studying the grist mill that sat idle because of the drought. Doctor Llewellyn admitted that he, Lawson, and their partner, Christopher Gale, had made a foolish mistake. They should have gone to the expense of converting the mill to saw wood when not used for grinding corn or wheat. They could be producing lumber.

      This was the first trip to Bath for James. He'd been too sick to join his father on earlier trips, but he had been to towns in Virginia. He couldn't help but compare Bath with Williamsburgh and Norfolk Town. Bath was a village, occupied by the Governor's troops, and inhabited by surly foreigners. Scots, Germans, and French accents made the locals hard to understand, although their spirit and the hospitality and food afforded them by Hannah Lawson were generous. Still, James was not impressed with the village. He wished he'd stayed home where he was comfortable.

      The next day, Joseph thanked his hostess and bid his brother farewell, entrusting him with his elder son. Then, he set out north to the Albemarle, accompanying troops of Governor Hyde's militia.

      Richard, James, and John's two men climbed into the high-riding pirogue at dawn, and pushed off from Lawson's dock waving good-bye to Hannah and her children. They paddled easily and slowly down the creek, into the Pamticoe. They'd not quite reached Romney Marsh when Richard saw smoke rising from the south side of the river. The men thought, at first, that it was the sign of settlers clearing land, but then they noticed that the smoke came from too many locations, and was spreading.

      One of John's men was the first to spot a drifting pirogue. They paddled towards the south side of the stream to capture the pirogue and saw, to their amazement and horror, that the boat held a family of seven, all dead from arrows and spears that had hit them in the chest, and upon which they'd fallen. Then, other bodies floated by; some shot, some burned beyond recognition.

      "Deep!" Richard pleaded with the men to paddle hard and fast. The Tuscarora had obviously begun the war that many had feared, but for which no one had prepared.

      The men returned quickly to the north edge of the river's current, seeing that all the settlements on the south shore were ablaze, their tar pits billowing black smoke. The sound of beating drums carried across the water, and everyone's thoughts clung to the knowledge that most of the Algonqiun were not allied with the Tuscarora, and hopes that the north-side settlements of the river would be spared. Hope died when an arrow shot from the north shore struck the pirogue, and gunshots were heard coming from that direction. Romney Marsh was quiet. Cary's white militia had long ago deserted the campgrounds. There was no organized help for Bath and Pamticoe settlers, Richard knew.

      As the men headed the pirogue into the Machapungo, Richard stood to see the smoke rising from upriver. All were silent as they dug their paddles deeply and in unison.

      James was whimpering with fear as the pirogue was beached and the men waded through the mud to shore. All of the cabins and outbuildings were smoldering or were still ablaze. The drained pine forest had burned back to the untapped area, and these parched trees exploded as the heat approached. Black smoke from dozens of barrels of tar and rosin blew towards them, then away, as the awful heat created currents in the air.

      James Fewox was the first one found. He lay in the front yard, his head on a pillow. He'd been shot in the face. Elizabeth's body lay beside that of her puppy, both with their throats slit. The child's long, blond hair was gone.

      Unable to hear his own screams, Richard was pulled away from the sight of his wife, impaled on a stake, with their unborn boy ripped from the womb and draped across a dogwood branch. Inside the still-standing house they found Edy, set upon her knees, her hands lifted up as if she were at prayers, leaning against a chair in the chimney corner, her petticoats turned up over her crushed head.

      Richard's youngest daughter, Sally, was gone, and so was Tapoc.

      The burned cabins held charred bodies of Richard's men. There was no sign of life, only smoke and heat and awful smells. Richard's men were frightened for their lives, and tied their raving master fast, and carried him back to the pirogue. The men, with a sobbing but quickly compliant James, paddled furiously toward the Pamticoe and up towards the Albemarle and safety.

      Joseph found his son and brother, Richard, at John's Currituck plantation. Richard would go to Bull Bay and his mother, for now. Joseph took his speechless son back to Deep Creek where, for months, the boy would awaken screaming as Stephen shook him, thinking that Satan must have possessed his brother.

Oars split the flowing calm of the Southern Branch. Joseph and Richard worked in tandem with the boys, James and Stephen; James teamed with Richard, Stephen with his father. Sweat matted their hair and the men had shed their coats, the boys their vests, on the steamy August morning. While they paused on an upstroke, Richard joked about the Cherry girl he'd seen James talking to. Uncle and nephew stuck together when Richard visited Deep Creek, but never spoke of past horrors. Stephen wasn't jealous of the relationship; it made things equal. He was closer, himself, with the Biggses.

      Traffic had increased on the Elizabeth River since the end of Queen Anne's War the previous year, and the river often carried bumpy swells in the wake of merchant ships and the towering warships of the British Empire. On some days, with the swells, there were cross-currents, obstinate winds, and hidden traffic. It was no fun for Stephen, not when he was working the boat with James and their father. James could be slow and uncertain. But on this summer day the river was calm and smooth, no wakes from passing ships, no ripples from a breeze. The marsh grasses were dusty and motionless. The only movement outside the boat was a cloud of swarming gnats that followed.

      As they reached the mouth of the Eastern Branch, the men saw ships and boats of all sizes tied up at the docks and anchored in the river off Norfolk Town; a forest of barren masts that reminded Stephen of burned-out patches in the swamp when fire stripped the tall cypress, juniper and pine.

      "There she is," Joseph told his brother. "John, it says, and under that, 'Bristol.' Father's cousin's boat.
Our
cousin's boat."

      "Your
factor's
boat," Richard said.

      They lifted their oars from the water and the boat drifted. Joseph dragged his oar to correct their drift as they quietly approached the
John.

      "Our James has too strong an arm, he does," Joseph complained, proudly.

      "Ahoy!" Richard called up to the deck.

      A noseless sailor leaned over the rail.

      "We wish to speak with Mister Williams!" Joseph called. "We are his American kin!"

      "Mister Williams is ashore at the Caliph's Head!" the sailor called back. He turned away and was gone.

      "Good. I prefer talking to him on shore," Joseph mumbled.

      "But we wanted to see the ship," Stephen said. His father ignored him.

      "Yes, we'll tie up here and meet our cousin at Goodwin's place, then," Joseph told his crew.

      They secured the boat at the foot of the Street to Waterside and walked on crushed oyster shells to Market Place. A few torn banners draped listlessly from poles and buildings, still hanging from the celebration of The Pretender's flight from England back to France. Farmers and merchants were chatting loudly while they worked, adding to and re-arranging displays for the next day. Tuesdays and Thursdays were market days; on Wednesdays, the taverns and coffeehouses were particularly busy.

      The clean, soft crunching of oyster shells underfoot prompted Joseph to speak.

      "I've decided to pave my place with oyster shells, too," he said. "In front of the manor house. All my dock and wharf frontage. The path to the mill. I'm thinking, even, all the road to Great Bridge that passes over the property."

      "No ruddy ruts for the wagons of corn," Richard continued for him. "Taking away Williams's milled corn. For pone and pudding." He turned to James. "You'll someday be a wealthy miller's boy," he said.

      "Father's got to build it first," Stephen interjected.

      "Thank heavens my factor is a cousin," Joseph thought aloud. "That should count for extra credit."

      "It didn't help John," Richard said.

      Joseph ignored him. John had been overconfident of his situation. He'd died a pauper soon after being forced to sell Catherine's plantation for satisfaction of obligations to Cousin Edward Williams. The eldest brother had lived his comfortable but humiliating last years at the tolerance of Aunt Mary's unknown and never-seen nephew. John's widow, Catherine, had remarried and moved with their son, William, to live near the head of the Rappahannock River. There'd been no news from her since.

      Joseph was not so reckless as his brother and had no intention of leaving his wife and children in such a situation as had his father and his brother. He was willing to venture for improvement, but he was not a gambler. Once, he'd lost a sum to a thimble and button man who was passing by Deep Creek on his way to the Norfolk County fair. The outlandish stranger wore a short great coat that was white, with large black buttons, and appeared at a time when Joseph was feeling quite old, having lost two brothers and two sisters within three years. The loss of fifty tanned hides to the thimble and button man had been a stinging shock to Joseph, and he'd sworn off such uncertain frivolity.

      Stephen lagged sufficiently behind the others so that he could concentrate on the crunching of the shells. Norfolk Town was so busy and noisy that he wanted to listen to just one thing while he got used to the confusion. He liked the clean, crunching sound of the shells. He hoped his father did put them everywhere. He looked up and saw a girl arranging oranges in a pile. Stephen looked back down, still thinking of her face. He couldn't help but blush. There were so many pretty girls in one place. He looked back up and around, to see if there were other girls to look at and remember.

The sign of the Caliph's Head hung where there was previously a painted replica of a fully rigged ship, sails full of strong, good wind. Jeremiah Goodwin's place had been just one of a dozen taverns and ordinaries in Norfolk Town before the ambitious owner jumped to take advantage of a fashion that had captured Virginia when it arrived in the holds of ships from New York and Britain. Coffee and, now, tea were becoming favored drinks and stimulants by those who could afford them. Some ordinaries offered only coffee, but Jeremiah Goodwin's Caliph's Head offered both of these exotic beverages from the East.

      "Goodwin's strong rum punch," Richard said. "That's what I crave."

      "I'll have tea with father and Cousin Edward," James said.

      "I want to try the coffee," Stephen said. He whispered to James, "Billy Manning said it makes you run faster."

      James opened the door to the Caliph's Head for his father and uncle and went in after them, pulling the door behind while Stephen looked up and down the busy street. He was left to pull at the heavy door himself.

      The room looked like any other ordinary. Tobacco smoke clouded the air and turned the mid-morning sunlight into a flowing blue stream as it poured through the opened windows. But a man got used to the smell of smoke and stale beer in an ordinary. At the Caliph's Head the smell of tea and coffee blended and darkened the aroma; made it exotic. Stephen wondered if that was the smell of the air in those far-off lands, like the smell of swamp rot was at Deep Creek, or the salt air in the harbor, or the dried tobacco on a plantation in the fall, and here in Norfolk Town down by the warehouses.

      Joseph recognized his unknown cousin in the old man he saw across the room. The man looked like Joseph's father might have had he lived. The pulledback hair of the top of his wig, and the long, broad curls running in pairs backwards from the temples, emphasized a round, jowly face that Joseph saw in memories of his father, and in his own reflection in the looking-glass above the fireplace mantle. He recognized that jowly tendency and looked closely at his boys.

      "There he be, I warrant," Richard said, pointing to the man.

      "I don't gamble," Joseph replied, and led the others toward the gentleman's table.

      The old man slowly rose and held out a hand of thick and stubby fingers, lace falling nearly to the knuckles. He didn't smile, but seemed to be appraising his colonist kin.

      "You are Joseph, and you are Richard. Richard…." He repeated the name as his eyes looked through his grandnephew.