Becoming Americans (31 page)

      A bearded man came from the house. His age was hard to judge from the distance, but his general appearance was a little frightening to the boys. His hair was matted and wild, as was his beard. He wore no shirt, and his chest and face and arms were dark with filth and bear's grease, to keep away the mosquitoes—in the manner of the Indians.

      "The boat be coming," the man yelled back, in an accent the boys didn't recognize. The ferryman hauled on a rope that was attached to a rig pulling the flat ferry across to the three of them. Richard secured the ferry when it arrived and, with much yelling and coaxing, he and the boys forced the ox onto the boat, which they rode across to the other bank of the amber-colored river.

      "Richard Williams, you be trading boys now, are you?" the stranger asked.

      "Not yet, Maddog," Richard said. "These are my sons, John and Joseph. Boys, this here's Maddog. That's the only name he's got. That's all he's going to tell you, so don't rile him by starting with your questions."

      "Fair warning," the wild man said, and sent shivers down the boys' spines with the look that came with the words.

      "I'm heading down to Dean's Landing to get me some whale oil, Maddog," Richard said.

      "I know what you're doing, Williams," the man said. "I'm cooking your supper for you. Come in the house."

      The house was made of logs, cut and piled atop one another. Some of the mud caulking remained, but the boys could see through between most of them. The dirt floor was packed and greasy. Bearskins lay piled in two corners of the room, a chest leaned in one corner, and a table with split-log benches sank into the middle of the fifteen-foot square hovel. John was disgusted that someone would live in such a place, and Joseph was worried that they might be staying here the night.

      "Supper smells good," Richard said. "Then we're going on down the river. I'm hoping to make Dean's Landing before night."

      "Why you think I cook the supper so early for?" Maddog said. "Dean's ain't but four mile down the river. I'll have you something cooked tomorrow."

      John and Joseph looked to their father. They'd be in Albemarle for a few days. Richard saw their questions.

      "No, Maddog, we'll be down in Carolina for a couple of days," he said.

      "I know all about it" Maddog said, and stabbed the thick slices of sizzling bacon and put them on a wooden trencher. "I get you drink."

      The boys sat on a bench beside their father and ate the hot bacon with pieces of bread they'd left over from home.

      "I be getting the boat ready," Maddog said, and left the dark cabin, leaving the door open for light to enter the windowless hut.

      "Isn't he about the strangest man you've ever seen?" Richard asked the boys as he chewed the tough pork skin. "Carolina's full of 'em."

      They were reassured that their father felt the same way they did; yet he didn't seem surprised or frightened.

      "I've spent many a night in this infested hovel," he said, "and I never walked out without scratching myself bloody afterwards. Careful you don't get near that bedding."

      As the boys finished chewing on the last two pieces of bacon, their father rose from the bench, gulping down the last of his beer.

      "Let's finish this up, boys, before it gets dark," he said.

      Maddog had loaded the ox and cart onto a narrow flatboat that Richard rented with a good-sized chunk of "sweet-scented" rope. He and his sons jumped aboard, found their spots, and grabbed their poles. They gently pushed off from the riverbank and entered the barely moving flow of the narrow river.

      Progress was slow as they dodged cypress knees rising in the river, or ducked down to avoid low-hanging branches. The ox nearly overturned them once when it saw a large snake drooping from a nearby branch. The ox calmed when Richard removed his shirt and threw it over the beast's eyes.

      There was barely an hour of light left when they emerged from the swamp canopy and entered a broad, grassy marsh. The river widened, and soon there was flat farmland, drained by ditches such as they had at home. In the twilight, they drifted to a landing where two men were waiting to help them all ashore.

      "Maddog sent word you'd be on time," the older man said.

      John and Joseph looked to each other, asking with their eyes how that could be?

      "You know my boy, Francis," the man said to Richard. "I suppose these lads be your sons."

      "My oldest boys, John and Joseph, Mister Dean. Boys, this here's Mister Dean and his son, Francis."

      Everybody said hello, and touched their hats. Francis Dean looked suspiciously at the boys. They, in turn, felt awkward in front of men who knew about them, but of whom they'd never heard.

      "We've other visitors to the house, Richard. They be searching for an escaped prisoner of the Marshal's. There's a hue-and-cry been issued," Dean said.

      A hue-and-cry! The boys' eyes widened. A felon was afoot, and everyone was obligated to stop what he or she was doing and to pursue the criminal. John was bursting to ask who the man was and what he'd done, but he felt the stares of the two Dean men searching Joseph and himself.

      "What about the ox and cart, Pa?" John asked instead. "Want me to stay with the tobacco?"

      "I'll take care of all that," Francis said, and moved to guide the animal from the boat. John watched the young man lead their slow-moving ox to an old outbuilding that was leaning precariously towards a corner that had rotted away.

      "Now, let us visit for a while. My goodwife has prepared a cake and punch that's well known hereabouts. You'll like it, I wager."

      The Dean house was no larger than their own, but it was crowded with chests and two beds and a table with a chair and benches. A shelf beside the fireplace held pewter mugs and a large pewter trencher to hold big chunks of meat. A bowl, made from a huge gourd, sat on the table, full of the punch Dean had spoken of. Mistress Dean and a girl were dragging a covered iron pot with legs from the edge of the fire. The woman lifted the lid, and the sweet smell of cake reached the boys before she turned around.

      "Mother, Richard and his boys are here," Dean said to his wife.

      For the first time Richard and his sons saw two men step from the shadows with swords drawn.

      "Stop, you fools!" Dean said to the men. "This here's Richard Williams, the trader, with his two sons. Has Miller got you so spooked you'd run through an honest man and his children?"

      The two men sheathed their swords and removed their hats, bowing to Richard in apology.

      "Our apologies, Mister and Mistress Dean, for baring our blades in your home, and trader Williams, we beg your understanding of the urgency of our concern. The scoundrel, Thomas Miller, has escaped the Marshal and we're fair certain that he's headed to Virginia."

      "Then you're to be encouraged in your vigilance," Richard said. "We have no use for such as Thomas Miller in Virginia. I pray you capture him and run him through before he reaches friends. Though, I think he has none."

      "None but those who be as guilty as he in misadventure and thieving governance," one of the men said.

      The men continued to talk of the rascal, Miller, but young John was no longer hearing. His eyes and his mind were captured by the yellow hair that fell down from beneath its intended hiding place, the white skullcap worn by all girls and women. Wisps of curls fell from behind and beside one ear, capturing light of the fire she leaned over. Her apron clasped a tiny waist, and her bodice flared up, out, and full. John watched her as she shoveled hot coals into the oven by the hearth, preparing for the night's baking. Joseph punched him in the side, and John saw the chunk of steaming cake that Mistress Dean was holding out to him on a trencher.

      "Thank you, ma'am," he said, and Joseph, who was staring at their piece of cake, led him to a bench.

      The two armed men drank from their tankards as Mistress Dean dipped into the bowl for Richard.

      "Your daughter has your grace and comeliness, Mistress Dean," Richard said. "She'll have your husband's height, I think, but she'll owe, to you, her beauty."

      Dean beamed with pride, and his wife flushed with the compliment. The girl looked down and slightly curtsied in response.

      "May I present my sons to the child?" Richard asked her father.

      "Forgive my manners, Richard, please. In this heated confusion over Miller…. I forget, at times, my child is nearing womanhood. Catherine, these young men are sons of Richard Williams. John and Joseph, I believe it is?"

      Joseph nodded to the pretty girl, and John removed his hat and bowed low.

      "I am John Williams, Miss Catherine, and am honored by your family's hospitality." He wanted to tell her that he'd never seen anyone or anything to compare with her, but her father would have knocked him to the ground for the boldness, and he'd never have a chance for her.

      "My family always anticipates a visit from your father, and I'm sure you and your brother will be equally welcome, John Williams," Catherine said, and demurely bobbed another curtsey. She returned to working with the oven.

      "Don't the children talk pretty, nowadays, Richard," Dean said, and refilled his tankard with the punch.

      "Civilization is coming to the wilderness," Richard said. For the first time in his life, his son John had amazed him. The boy was taken—absolutely—by the girl. He'd have her in time, too, if Richard knew his son at all. Not a bad match, he thought, as he noticed the pewter pieces.

      "So, you think Miller will try to flee north through the swamp?" Richard asked casually of the two armed men.

      "He escaped from Lepper on the Pasquotank River, so we don't know, for sure, his route," one of them said.

      "On the Pasquotank? Why, then, are you here by the North West River and the Currituck Sound?" Richard asked. "The man's a fool, no doubt, but not such a fool as to detour eastward through the Devil's swamp to Gibbs Landing. But, now, if he's planning to escape direct to England through the Currituck Inlet, that would make sense." Richard pretended to ponder this possibility.

      "No, that way's blocked by our ships. He's headed to Virginia, no doubt," the man said.

      "Then let's all be glad that he's the fool we know him to be, for he'll surely be drowned or eaten alive if he tries to get
here
from the Pasquotank!" Richard laughed and raised his tankard. Dean and his son laughed too, and the two armed men looked a little sheepish before they raised their tankards and joined in the derision of Thomas Miller.

      The damp August night was clinging to their clothes, and soon the men had emptied the bowl of punch. Mistress Dean had prepared another batch and refilled the gourd bowl.

      The young people sat outside and talked. John and Catherine talked. Joseph spoke occasionally, but it was as if he weren't there. His brother didn't hear him, and the girl wasn't allowed time to pay him any mind. Joseph recognized his brother's move to claim something he wanted, but he was puzzled that what his brother wanted was the full attention of this girl. He soon grew bored with them both and wandered to the shed to sit by Hal, the ox.

      As it grew late, and the men's talk moved from politics to sport, Francis Dean said that he was leaving for a great cockfight that was being held this night at a nearby Old Field.

      "Whose birds are fighting?" Richard asked, and when told, replied, "God's blood, I'd love to see it! I've seen that bird of Nansemond and I'd love to wager on him. If I didn't have to meet with James Powell before tomorrow noon, I'd be off with you, Francis."

      "James Powell?" one of the armed men asked. "James Powell of Dawes Island?"

      "The same," Richard said. "I'm to trade some of the sweet-scented you're chewing for some of his whale oil."

      "Then you've not heard," the man said, "that poor James was stricken by illness that left him dead and swollen on the beach. He was found that way. Some say it was a snake-bite done it."

      "Powell's dead?" Richard said, and looked to the fire in silence. "Another one," he said. "Death comes so fast. And most viciously, it seems to me, as I get older."

      All the men were silent but for their own quick version of, "God rest his soul."

      "You don't expect a man like Powell to fall dead. He's too quick to let something easy, like a snake, to get at him," Richard said.

      "His funeral's tomorrow. Should be a big one, I hear tell. Will you be going to it, then?" Dean asked.

      "Well, I…I don't think so, Dean. I've other business pressing me in Norfolk. My men are making tar and I've got orders for a dozen hogsheads. I'll be going back first thing in the morning."

      "Then you can go with me to the cockfight!" Francis Dean said.

      Richard hesitated a moment.

      "I'd hate to impose on the hospitality of your father and mother by leaving my boys here…."

      "Don't you worry, Williams. We are most happy to have them, and Catherine seldom meets new friends her age," Mistress Dean said.

      "Go along, and wager a few pounds for me, you know the Nansemond bird so well," her husband said.