John Barth - The Sot-Weed Factor

" 'Twas a desperate resolve, was't not?" Ebenezer smiled. "The more since you knew not whence the canoe had blown, or where the ship o'ertook it."

"It was indeed," Burlingame agreed, "though a desperate resolve may sometimes meet success. In any case, 'twas that or give over my quest. I had a fortnight's time ere the Hope sailed, and like a proper scholar I ransacked the records of the Customs-House. My end this time was to search out all the Burlingames in Maryland, for once in the Province I meant to make my way to each, by fair means or foul, and dig for what I sought."

"Well," said Ebenezer, "and did you find any?"

Burlingame shook his head. "To the best of my knowledge not a man or woman of that name lives now in the Province, or hath ever since its founding. Next I resolved to search the records of all the other provinces in like manner, working north and south in turn from Maryland. The task was rendered harder by the many changes in grants and charters over the years, and farther by the fear of civil war, which ever works a wondrous ruin to the custom clerk's faith in his fellow man. I started on Virginia, working back from the current year, but ere I'd got past Cromwell's time my fortnight was run, and off I sailed to Maryland." Burlingame smiled and tapped ashes from his pipe. "Had the wind held bad another fortnight, I'd have found somewhat to fan my hopes enormously. As 'twas, I waited near two years to find it."

"What was that? News of your father?"

"Nay, Eban — of that gentleman I know no more today than I knew then, nor of my mother or myself."

"Ah, 'twere better you'd not told me that," Ebenezer declared, clucking his tongue, "for it spoils the story. What man could pleasure in a quest, or the tale of one, that he knew ere he launched it was in vain?"

"Would you have me forego the rest?" Burlingame asked. "The news was merely of my grandfather, or so I believe — I've come to know somewhat of that fellow, at least."

"Ah, thou'rt teasing me, then!"

Burlingame nodded and stood up. "I know no more of my father than before, but 'tis not to say I'm no nearer knowing. Howbeit, the tale shall have to keep."

"What! Thou'rt not affronted, Henry?"

"Nay, nay," Burlingame replied. "But I hear our driver harnessing the team in the yard. Stretch your legs a bit, lad, and relieve thyself ere we go."

"But surely you'll take up the tale again?" Ebenezer pleaded.

Burlingame shrugged. " 'Twere better you slept if you can. If not, why then 'tis good to have a tale to wait the dawn with."

At that moment the new driver burst in, cursing the rain, and told the travelers to make ready for departure. Accordingly they went outside, where a high March wind was whipping the light rain into spray.

Once settled in the carriage for the second leg of their journey, Ebenezer and Burlingame tried to sleep, but found the road too rough. Despite their weariness, a half hour of pitching and bouncing persuaded them the attempt was vain, and they gave it up.

"Fie on it," Ebenezer sighed. "Time enough to rest in the grave, as Father says."

"True enough," Burlingame agreed, "though to put it off too long is but to get there the sooner."

At Ebenezer's suggestion they filled and lit their pipes. Then the poet declared, "As for me, I welcome the postponement. Were my bladder full of Lethean dew instead of Bristol sherry, I still could ne'er forget the tale you've told me, nor hope to sleep till I've heard it out."

"Thou'rt not bored with it?"

"Bored! Saving only the history of your travels with the gypsies, which you told me years ago in Cambridge, I ne'er have heard such marvels! 'Tis well I know thee a stranger to prevarication, else 'twere hard to credit such amazements."

"Methinks then I had best leave off," Burlingame said, "for no man knows another's heart for certain, and what I've said thus far is but a tuning of the strings, as't were."

"Prithee strike 'em, then, without delay, and trust me to believe you."

"Very well. 'Tis not so deadly long a story, but I must own 'tis a passing tangled one, with much running hither and thither and an army of names to bear in mind."

"The grapes are no fewer on a tangled vine," Ebenezer replied, and Burlingame without further prelude resumed his tale:

" 'Twould have pleased Dick Hill well enough," he said, "to keep me in his crew, for a week aboard caused all my sailor's craft, which I'd not rehearsed for over fifteen years, to spring to mind. But once in Maryland I left his vessel and, not wishing to bind myself to one location by teaching, I took a post on Hill's plantation."

"Was't not equally confining?" Ebenezer asked.

"Not for long. I began by keeping his books — for 'tis a rare planter there can do sums properly. Soon I so gained his confidence that he trusted me with the entire management of his sot-weed holdings on the Severn, declaring that though 'twas too considerable a business to let go, yet he had small love for't, and had rather spend his time a-sailoring."

"I'faith, then thou'rt a Maryland sot-weed planter before me! I must hear how you managed it."

"Another time," Burlingame replied, "for here the story makes sail and weighs its anchor. 'Twas 1688, and the provinces were in as great a ferment as England over Papist and Protestant. In Maryland and New England trouble was particularly rife: Baltimore himself and most of the Maryland Council were Catholics, and both the Governor and Lieutenant Governor of New England — Sir Edmund Andros and Francis Nicholson — were also known to be no enemies of King James. The leader of the Maryland rebels was one John Coode — "

"Aye, I had that name from Baltimore," Ebenezer said. "He is the false priest that snatched the government."

"An extraordinary fellow, Eben, I swear't! Haply you'll meet him, for he's still at large. His counterpart in New York was Jacob Leisler, who had designs on Nicholson. Now it happened that winter that Leisler came to Maryland for the purpose of conniving with Coode. Word had just reached us of King William's landing, and 'twas their design to strike together, the one at St. Mary's, the other at New York. To be brief, Captain Hill got wind of't and sent me to New York in January, ere Leisler returned, to warn Nicholson."

"Then Captain Hill is a Papist?"

"No more than you or I," Burlingame replied. " 'Twas not a matter of faith, in Maryland. Old Coode is no more for William than for James: 'tis government itself he loathes, and any kind of order! Leisler's but a fop beside him."

"May I never meet this Coode!" said Ebenezer. "Did you reach New York?"

"Aye, and Nicholson swore like a cannoneer at the news I brought him. He himself had come to Andros in '86 as captain of an Irish Papist troop, and in New York he'd celebrated the birth of James's son; he knew well the rebels marked him for a Romanist and would lose no chance to turn him out. He tried in vain to keep the news suppressed, and inasmuch as Dick Hill had placed me at his service, he sent me on to Boston to warn Andros. I gained the confidence of both men, and at my own request spent the next few months as private messenger betwixt them — my virtue being that I was not a member of their official family and hence could move with ease among the rebels. Nay, I will own I more than once took it upon myself to pass as one of their number, and thus was able on occasion to report their doings to the Governor."

"But thou'rt fearless, Henry!"

"Eh? Ah well, fearless or no, I did the cause of order small good. The rebels seized Andros that spring, as soon as they heard of William's progress, and clapped him in the Boston jail. In New York they spread a tale that Nicholson meant to fire the town, and on the strength of it Leisler mustered force enough to take the garrison."