Becoming Americans (37 page)

      Richard met George and the other three men by his bridge over the stream that was Deep Creek's headwaters. Richard told the men whom Etheridge and Hodges had sent of his plan. They divided into two groups—one led by Richard and the other by George—and followed deer paths that ran beside the road, north to Craford's Point. At the place where the main road turned west, across the top of the Great Swamp into Nansemond County, and the local road went straight to the Point, the men came back together at the edge of the woods where Craford's tobacco fields began.

      Richard's guess had been right. There were a dozen of Craford's men scattered about the open fields and beneath the dead, girdled trees that weren't yet felled. These stood out, ghostly, underlit by flaming torches of pine knots.

      The five men scattered, staying at least three rows from the torch bearers. They quietly crawled down the rows and around stumps, stabbing at the tap roots of the healthy plants on either side of them, then crawling to the next. They could hear the torch bearers calling to each other and laughing. The men crawling in the field could tell that the guards were taking turns returning to an ancient, dead oak, beneath which stood the night's ration of beer—a bonus for this night's work from Captain Craford. When a guard went to fill his tankard, the man nearest that deserted row crawled across and severed the plants that had been guarded.

      Captain Craford's other fields were separated by low, swampy areas, and areas of uncut woods. After two hours in the main field, the cutters had to separate and move to smaller fields on their own. As Richard finished the last corner of his portion, he heard a sharp grunt from the rows he knew George Dawes was cutting. He stopped. He heard one of the guards calling to another, "Did you hear that?"

      Richard could tell that George was running down his row, headed to the road. He lifted his head high enough to peek in George's direction, then ran the same way, head down. At the edge of the road, George lay shivering, and he looked with panic into Richard's face, as Richard knelt close, listening for his friend's words.

      "I've been bit by a moccasin!" he whispered to Richard, and pointed to two small drops of blood that came from tiny punctures on his forearm.

      There was alarm and confusion in the field as the guards rushed to the place where they'd heard the noise.

      "Watch out, there's a huge moccasin!" one of the men called to the others, and they circled the snake as the leader chopped at it with his sword. As they killed the flailing serpent, the guards bumped into tobacco plants that fell to the ground with the slightest touch.

      "There's cutters been here!" one of them called. The men ran up and down their rows, knocking over plants in hopes of finding the vandals.

      The Etheridge man and the two Hodges men made it to the northern end of the field and fled towards Nansemond. Richard helped George up and told him to go as fast as possible to the house; there, Anne would doctor him with the snake root poultice and drink she always kept prepared. Richard would divert the guards while George got away.

      He let George get onto the dark deer path as he sat in the damp sand, pulling off a boot. He scooped sand into the boot, filling it to mid-calf, then raised his head above the leaves to see what the guards were doing.

      Eight guards had come together as one of them shouted directions and ordered a slave boy to run to the manor house and alert Captain Craford.

      Richard stood in the dark and lifted the long boot above his head, held by the laces. He swung the boot around his head, as he would have his boyhood slingshot, then let the boot fly as if it were a pebble to skip across a pond.

      The twirling boot cut across and into row after row of tobacco plants tops before it fell. The men turned and saw row upon row of tobacco falling, seemingly, on their own. They ran in that direction with their torches as Richard ran to Deep Creek.

      He caught up with George by the bridge. He quietly helped the man into the house. Anne rose in the bed and Sarah Alice turned on her pallet.

      "Snake root!"

      Richard's demanding whisper frightened Anne.

      Richard threw a skin before the fire and lay George in the light. Anne saw that the man's arm had swollen twice its normal size. She reached into her bag of medicines and took out what she needed. She tied a red string around George's arm to ease the pain, then mixed the powdered snake-root with wine for him to drink, and mixed more with spit and vinegar for a poultice. Richard filled a mug with his strongest brandy and poured it into George. The man's face was swollen, now, his eyes forced shut, and he gasped and coughed as he drank. George lay by the fire, softly moaning as Richard and Anne watched him swell and strain to breathe. Anne prayed aloud, even as she prepared a fresh poultice. She stopped praying when she saw how dirty the fronts of both men were, and that Richard wore but one boot. She began again.

      "Quiet!" Richard said. "There'll likely be men here soon. They must think that we're asleep. We must move George."

      He looked about the room for a hiding place, then up to the loft opening. John and Joseph were peering down, awakened by the activity, but hesitant to let themselves be known.

      "Here, boys. Now! Help me move George up there."

      The three Williams men struggled with the dead weight of the big man, and pulled him up the ladder to the loft.

      "Now, everyone, back to your sleeping places. We'll soon have visitors at the door, I warrant," Richard said.

      "Why are you both so dirty, Richard. And you've only one boot!" Anne whispered urgently.

      "Silent, woman!" He'd never been more demanding.

      The house was silent but for the soft moans of George up in the loft. Sarah Alice had set up for a moment, then lay back down to sleep. Edy had never moved, nor the younger boys.

      Edward's dog began to bark outside. Those awake inside waited for a knocking on the door. They waited, and still no knock. Edward's dog kept barking, and soon was joined by the other dogs, as well as the loud and persistent neighing of Anne's horse, and the deep voices of awakened cows.

      Finally, Richard put his feet to the cool floor and, after a moment's hesitation, went to the door and pulled it open wide. On the top step was the dirtfilled boot he'd thrown across the field, and in the Creek was a bright orange reflection of fire. He reached down for his knife, then ran out and around the house to see his shed of tools and staves and tar ablaze. A shadow moved, and he ran to the torch-bearer. The man saw the glint from Richard's knife and threw down the torch, reaching for his own knife.

      Richard rushed the man and swung up to stab at his gut, but the man sidestepped him and swung back with the same gesture. Richard was pushed by the blow of blade in fist, then fell back against the chest of the man. He looked into the surprised and horrified eyes of his old friend, Thomas Nash, one of Crawford's men.

      "Thomas?" he said, and fell to the ground.

      The shed of staves and tar was sending flames and black smoke high into the air. John was first around the house, and the first to see his father.

      "Mother!" he screamed. "Joseph!"

      The family came into the bright light and heat to see the horror. Anne rushed to her husband, who told her—calmly—to get him inside, but to have the children and the servants start a bucket brigade to keep the house from catching afire, too.

      By dawn, the fire of tar and staves and shingles had burned itself out, though it was smoldering still, and giving off the stench of burned tar. Though gallons upon gallons of water had been poured onto the roof of the house, and thrown against the back wall, the inside was still hot from the night's blaze. Neighbors had arrived throughout the night, awakened by the lighted sky, to help in carrying and throwing water. Joseph had fetched Old Nancy from her hut in the swamp to treat George's snakebite. He slept fitfully, though Old Nancy was hopeful of his recovery.

      George had gone to the shed, Richard whispered to the Constable, where he was bitten by the snake and dropped his torch. Richard had seen the fire and, when running to put it out, had fallen on his own knife. Thomas Nash was the first to arrive and direct the fire-fighting, Richard said. Thomas seemed more upset than anyone.

      Only Anne and her two oldest sons knew more of the truth. But, they'd told the story so many times that it came out like a church litany or a childhood rhyme that was embedded in the mind. Edy could remember her father rushing out of the house. Edward could remember his dog barking. Sarah Alice just cried. Young Richard could only remember being pulled from his bed to be taken to the creekside to stand with Lucy and Edward, watching the fire and frantic neighbors.

      Sarah Biggs came to help nurse Richard's wound, but there was little to be done.

      "But he's been pale since the General Muster!" Anne had insisted, in denial. "He'll come around!"

      By noon, she accepted that it was merely a matter of time. She acceded to Richard's request that an official be summoned to write his will.

      William Porten, the County Clerk, was staying nearby with John Ferebee, the County Surveyor, it was said, so John rode Anne's horse down to the Great Bridge and across, up to the manor house of Mister Ferebee to plead with the men to come.

      Mister Porten and Mister Ferebee were in serious discussions with other county officials about last night's cutting and reports of rioting when John arrived. He insisted to the servants that he be admitted to the room. The men immediately ended their meeting, and William Porten gathered his quills and ink and paper into a small chest. The party then rode off to Deep Creek.

      As Anne sat with her husband, waiting for the men, she saw a look of pleading in his eyes.

      "Please tell me, beloved husband, what I can do for you," she said.

      "Friend Charles Shaw is here, is he not?" Richard asked.

      Anne was surprised by the question, but told him, yes, the old man had been among the first to arrive, although he'd been of little help.

      "Bring him to me," Richard said.

      Anne hesitated, and her look of puzzlement and hurt were seen by her dying husband.

      "Dearest," Richard said. "Wait. I will tell you first, though it will cut me deeper than this dagger wound."

      "Then don't!" she pleaded.

      He pulled at her hand, and she sat back on the bed.

      "My darling Anne, how poor a husband I have been," he began.

      "No," she said, and softly put her hand across his mouth. "I'll hear no such lies as that."

      "I've lost it all," he said. "Near all, and maybe all, if we don't get help."

      Anne stared into his pained eyes and could understand none of it.

      "At the Muster." He tried to begin. "The Captain saved me, but he only gave me time."

      Anne understood nothing.

      "I began by winning, but…."

      Slowly, Anne took hold of the concept.

      "Four thousand pipe staves. Twelve barrels of tar," he finished.

      A tear dropped from Anne's face onto Richard's hand. This was the last day of her life, she thought. Tomorrow she'd have no husband. Soon, there'd be no land or home.

      "If Shaw will do as Caswell did, you'll still be left the manor house and one hundred acres," Richard said.

      "Rest, husband. I'll go find Friend Shaw," Anne said, and dried her tears. She must let go of her grief, for the moment, and do what she could to save the family.

      Charles Shaw was sitting on a stump by the Creek's edge. He was trying to talk to Sarah Alice, but the child was frightened, and pulled away to cling to Lucy's apron. Anne saw him and rushed over, shaken by her anger. How dare the disgusting old man be playing with her daughter when the child's father lay near death? Why couldn't it be Charles Shaw who was dying!

      Shaw saw her coming and stood up. The Quaker didn't remove his hat, of course. Anne wanted to slap him.

      "Friend Shaw, my husband wishes to speak with you."

      "With me?" the man asked, in surprise.

      Anne wanted to laugh in his face to ridicule the lisp. She wanted to hurt him. To hurt somebody! She strained to be nice to him. It was an effort not to scream and lose her mind.

      "With you, Friend Shaw. Would you come?" She led him into the hot, dank house.

      Anne hadn't realized how hot it was inside the house. She couldn't open the windows, or leave the door ajar—there'd be a draft—but she stood over Richard, and gently waved the feathers of a turkey wing to stir the air.

      "Shaw." Richard's voice was weak.

      "Yeth, Withamth," were the sounds Shaw made with his thick tongue.

      "I'm dying, Shaw. I must make arrangements for my widow and children."

      "God's will be done," Shaw said.

      Anne's grip tightened on the old turkey wing and snapped the dried bone inside.

      "I leave a debt that could make them homeless. You can prevent their ruin, Friend."

      "I'm not a rich man, Williams. Thee knows that for a fact," Shaw spoke defensively.

      "But, in a year you could pay my widow's debt and have my three hundred acres on this side of Deep Creek. "