Becoming Americans (22 page)

      "Of course it is, but if everybody in the country was arrested for breaking the laws about dressing above their station, there wouldn't be enough tobacco to build the jails." It was a scandal that still greatly annoyed the gentlemen of Virginia, but they didn't force the issue as was done in New England.

      "You had a lucky find, that ship," Dawes said.

      "Luck, George? Uncle John might say God sent me to that ship. Or that God sent the storm to drive the ship ashore where I would find it," said Richard.

      "Then we should thank Him for that, and for giving you time to relieve the hold of those two heavy chests before the crew returned with help."

      "You're right. I'll say a prayer in church tomorrow for the New England captain and his men. We'll need them, come this fall, to smuggle our tobacco!"

      Richard adjusted the ribbon roses that adorned his shoes.

      "The shirt's not good," he said, puffing up the front. "It's old and waterstained. And the stockings are tailored cotton. They're my best, but this suit wants silk hose."

      "Beggars can't be choosers," George said. "Who's going to notice?"

      "No one will tonight, but they will tomorrow in court, when it's light."

      "It's not your day in court, it's your father-in-law's." George had no concern about what people thought. "They'll know it's not you's the Quaker."

      Richard headed back towards the old part of town, looking at the men he met to see if their clothes were as mis-matched as his were. Many of them were, and when he reached the Blue Ball and went inside, he noticed the variety of styles the men were wearing. Some of them wore the new, long coats that hung to the knees and had pockets near the hem with rows of buttons to match those running down the front. Some men were wearing the old-style doublets with a high, short-waist and the long narrow breeches that went nearly to the ankles. Every man wore his hair long and curled, some with a lovelock hanging down one side. A few of the more fashionable had elaborate wigs.

      The room was more crowded now than earlier. Four men at a table were singing loudly and were banging their tankards in a rhythm. Three different arguments were taking place, and in a rear corner two men were throwing dice against a wall. Suddenly the man with the longest wig and most beribboned suit collapsed to the floor while those who saw him shouted laughter. The innkeeper dragged him out to the fresh air. He returned and greeted Richard, making necessary inquiries.

      "God damn me if I'm lying, it's Richard Williams! They haven't hung you yet?"

      Richard turned his head and saw Edward Harper.

      "For which crime?" Richard asked.

      "For being the worst manservant I ever had," Edward said.

      "Your father knew better than to have me ever wait on you!"

      Richard was delighted and threw his arms around his friend. "What brings you to a place like this?"

      "As Father told us once, 'Birds of a feather flock together,'" Edward replied.

      "He did say that. He did," Richard remembered. "It was the day we stole the jug of wine he was saving to celebrate the new house!"

      "Too bad we can't get a little tippled with no more wine than that now," Edward said.

      "And how goes it with your father and your new brothers?" Richard asked.

      "They all are well—now that he's married anew. When Drusilla died, he fell apart as bad as when my mother drowned. The man must have a woman. I don't see him often. He's still angry that I set out on my own. I wanted hills and valleys that I wouldn't have to share with new brothers."

      "What brings you down from the mountains, Edward? The last I heard you had a bold plantation up near the falls of the Rappahannock."

      Edward suddenly grew serious.

      "Things are not well up the Rappahannock, Richard. The news must have reached your swamp by now. I've come to make it plain to the Governor and the Council how desperate our situation is."

      "The Indians." Richard guessed it. He'd heard tales. The air was full of rumors about the Indians for the last months.

      "Sit down. I'll tell you what's been happening," Edward said.

      "Sit down? Where?" Richard looked about, grinning.

      Edward pulled a chair from beneath a drunk whose head lay on his table. A neighbor stood to defend his friend but fell against the wall. The third man at the table rose and moved across the room. Richard and Edward took the seats.

      "Rum!" Edward shouted across the din. He leaned across the table and Richard leaned towards him. "It's time for action," Edward said.

      The trouble had started last summer when Edward's neighbor, Thomas Mathew, had crossed over the nearby Potomac River into Maryland to trade with some of the Doeg Indians. The Indians claimed that Mathew didn't pay for what he took, and some days later they crossed over into Virginia to steal some of his hogs in payment. Mathew's men caught them sneaking off. They pursued the raiding party and, in recovering the hogs, killed some of the Indians. The Doeg who escaped returned to their leaders across the river and reported the rout. A war party of revenge was organized that went back and killed a herdsman of Mathew's, named Hen.

      This raised the stakes. Three hundred militia were raised and led by Captain George Brent and Captain George Mason over into Maryland again, looking for the hostile tribe. Soon after the militia had divided up at a fork in the road, the part commanded by Captain Brent found a cabin crowded with Indians and killed twenty Doeg. Captain Mason had found another cabin full of Indians and, when they heard the shots and shouts form Captain Brent's nearby raid, the frightened Indians in the cabin found by Mason ran outside. In the panic that ensued, fourteen of these Indians were killed before one of them was heard yelling, "Susquehanaugh friends!"

      "They weren't Doeg," Edward said. "That group really was from our allied Susquehanaugh tribe. But I'm not sure they were so innocent. These Indians have their own network and secret planning. We can't ever forget the infernal, secret scheming that made for the massacre of '22. We're not going to let that happen to us up in the new frontier areas."

      Richard had heard the story often since he arrived as a boy eighteen years earlier. Old Ned had frightened them with the tale first, but when Richard and Edward had arrived, in 1658, there were still a few of the "ancient planters," as they were called, who had survived the "starving time" of 1610, the massacre of 1622, and the massacre of 1644. The "ancient planters" were living legends then, and Richard—with Edward—had been lucky enough to hear the stories first-hand. He thought of Old Ned—his was the scariest version—but his hatred for the bigmouthed, tale-spinner was long gone.

      "And then the popish Marylanders had to make the matter worse," Edward said. His attitude about Virginia's neighbors to the north was shared by most Virginians. Most recently the Marylanders were despised because they had turned back on their agreement —years in the making—to cooperate with Virginia—when even Carolina was being intelligent—in plans to limit the amount of tobacco grown. The market remained flooded, keeping prices down so low that the only recourse for the planters was to clear
more
land, to grow
more
tobacco in spiraling attempts to make up in volume what they couldn't get in price-perpound.

      "The Marylanders protested about our going into their territory and killing 'innocents.'" Edward forced the word. "So then the politicians had to get involved."

      At the end of last August, Governor Berkeley ordered an investigation. But the men he appointed to the task—John Allerton and John Washington—ignored his orders until they could be joined by a group of Maryland officials and troops. By then, Virginians on the frontier were getting impatient.

      In mid-September, Nathaniel Bacon, a recent arrival in Virginia, grabbed some friendly Indians who were accused of stealing his neighbor's corn. Bacon was young and rash, but well-connected. A year earlier, in March of 1675, he had been appointed to the Council, joining the most elevated of the colonists. His fellow planters and traders in the upper reaches of the James River were urging him to more action. People were ready to take matters into their own hands. Finally, at the end of September, the Washington-Allerton-Maryland group met with the five chiefs of the Susquehanough. In a great uproar, the chiefs were accused of treachery. Despite their denials, in the end, they were murdered by the accusers.

      Governor Berkeley was outraged, for he'd hoped to settle the affair peaceably. He'd been here in 1644 and, despite the assassination of the captured chief, Opechencanough—brother of Powhattan, and uncle of Pocahontas—he'd managed to establish a peace with the Indians that, for the most part, had held until the present. Until now, most people had wanted peace. But the frontiersmen didn't want a peaceful settlement, this time. Neither did many of the Indians.

      The remaining Susquehanough were besieged in their fort, but somehow managed to escape with all their families. They killed ten sleeping soldiers as they left. Then, in January, just two months ago, they made a raid and killed thirty-six settlers. It was known that they intended to kill ten Englishmen for every one of their chiefs the white men had killed—to them, a just ratio.

      In Virginia, word had come of the heathen uprising in New England—King Phillip's War, named for the Indian leader. Another 1622 could happen here. This time, for sure, some of the slaves and discontented servants would join.

      "The people have had enough," Edward said. "We'll not wait around for the savages to wipe us out! Something must be done."

      Richard's eyes had wandered, and his mind. Since he came into the city today he'd been hearing bits and pieces of such talk. Evidently things were worse than he'd thought. Governor Berkeley was making enemies out of everyone, including the old friends with whom he'd once shared a passion for westward expansion. The Indians—and the Governor's idea of justice and honor—stood in the way.

      "Justice and honor? Your uncle and his friends are naive!" Edward sneered. "Berkeley—just last week—revoked all licenses to trade with the Indians. Took them back from men who knew the business and had contacts. Claimed they were selling arms and ammunition to the savages. A few bad apples. Thought he'd convince the people he was doing something to help the cause. But he turned around and issued new licenses to his own friends!"

      Richard had one eye on the two men throwing dice.

      "Uncle John said the Assembly was in session. Maybe they'll do something," he said.

      "The Long Assembly? Now there's another example of the Governor's ideas. The same assembly that was elected in…wasn't it fifteen years ago? Who'd have thought that Sir William Berkeley, loving defender of the murdered King Charles, would adopt the tactics of the killers, Cromwell and the rest? It's way past time for a new election. They're doing too little, too late. Declared war on the known killers and helpers. And they're raising five hundred men from the least threatened counties—like
yours—to
send on patrols between those useless forts we're still paying for. Of course, they'll order more taxes to pay for those troops."

      "More taxes! I can't pay more taxes!" Richard's attention snapped back.

      "Who's winning?" Edward asked, indicating the gamblers on the floor.

      "The one without the nose," Richard said. He didn't know his wandering attention had been noticed. "I was listening to you!"

      "A shilling says he loses on his next toss," Edward said. They'd known each other for a long time.

      "I have no coins!" Richard said.

      "What have you got?" Edward was ready.

      "I've got pelts. And a few pounds of tobacco."

      "I want your suit."

      "My suit. I won't wager for the suit. This is the first time I've had it on!"

      "I want the clothes. What have I that you covet?" Edward's eyes narrowed. This was an old game between them.

      "Stand up," Richard said and examined his friend's clothes and purse.

      "The boots," he said. "I'll have the boots to wear with my suit, tomorrow."

      They both looked to Edward's feet. He wore bucket boots, a type that was popular and easily as expensive as Richard's suit. The boots were funnel shaped and shorter than the thigh-length boot that folded down and over with ornate cuffs. The tops of these did fold down—the resulting shape was why they were called bucket boots—but they were made of firm leather and were lined with a white fabric.

      "You're on," Edward said, and they both looked quickly to the men behind them on the floor. The man whose nose was missing—the result of some fight he'd doubtless lost—was holding the two cubes in his hand and murmuring over them. They flew against the wall and settled to the dirt, one of them showing a single spot, the other bearing two.

      "I will wear my new suit tomorrow," Edward said. "I'll sit by you in court so that my glory might reflect on you." He grinned, pleased with himself to be on top again, in this old competition.

      "You idiot!" Richard yelled at the man without a nose. The disfigured man stood and leaned into Richard's face.

      "Guard your tongue, Pretty Man, or you'll soon be looking like my twin," he said.