Chesapeake by James A. Michener
“That’s Fitzhugh,” Henry said proudly, “my grandson.”
“He’ll be counselor-of-state, with his winning ways,” the priest said, holding the child by the hand as he told the brothers, “It’s remarkable and a thing pleasing to God that our family has always been able to find Catholic girls to marry.” But as he said this he winced and had to drop Fitzhugh’s hand.
“Your hip?”
“Fell from a horse. It’s nothing.” He made no complaints about his harsh life, but he did lodge one protest, and that most sternly. “You haven’t rebuilt the chapel!”
“It was too conspicuous,” Henry said, shrugging his shoulders in self-justification.
“I was conspicuous on every river,” Ralph chided, and no more was said about the chapel. But as soon as he reached the house with its handsome new porch he asked that the family be convened for the reading of a Mass, and when the brood was collected and he had greeted each new acquaintance, he offered a family celebration. Afterward he pointed to the corner cupboard containing the pewter and told his brothers, “I like that. We had stern days and it’s good to remember them.”
He was voracious in his desire for details regarding the operation of the plantation, and told Henry, “It’s a shame the Eastern Shore cannot grow sweet-scented leaf like Virginia. The Oronoco you grow over here always brings less in London.”
“It does well in France,” Henry said. “They seem to like our heartier flavor.”
“I’ve brought with me some seeds of a tougher strain of sweet-scented. We should see if it will prosper in our soil.”
“It won’t. We’ve tried all possible strains, and it’s perverse. Sweet-scented, like beautiful ladies, grows only in Virginia. Oronoco, like real men, grows in Maryland.”
Father Steed also wanted to know how negotiations with Fithian were progressing, and Paul said, “I visited him in London last year. He’s older now and his sons are handling our affairs. Admirably, too.”
“He took possession of two plantations along the James last year,” the priest said. “There was ugly talk, and I feared for our relations with him.”
“That’s always been the story of the Virginia planters,” Paul said defensively. “They earn a thousand pounds with their sweet-scented and order eleven hundred pounds’ worth of goods. If they do this long enough, Fithian owns their land.”
“Are we in debt to him?”
“The other way around. We keep a cash balance in our favor.”
“How is that possible?”
“We’ve opened a warehouse at Patamoke Landing. People up and down the river come there to trade with us.” And he called for a bateau to take Ralph to the growing settlement. “The long low building is ours,” he said as the boat entered the harbor. “And that place by the wharf is a tavern. Only three houses so far, but I’ve deeded thirty acres to Lord Baltimore for the settling of a town, and he’s promised to issue an ordinance appointing Oxford and Patamoke Landing ports of entry for ships in general trade.”
“Any industry?”
“None yet, but I’ve been contemplating giving that land over there to Edward Paxmore for a boatyard.”
“You’ve spoken of him several times,” the priest said. “Who is he?”
“One of the best carpenters in England. Came to settle on our river. He’s a Quaker.”
“He is?” the priest said. “Oh, I should like to meet him. Wherever I go I hear of this new sect. Most contradictory reports. I’d like to meet one face-to-face.”
“That’s easy. His boatyard is on the way home. He’s building a ship for us, you know.”
“A real ship?”
“Wait till you see!” And on the way back the bateau diverted to the creek on whose banks Paxmore was completing his assignment.
“It’s enormous!” the priest said as he looked up at the huge construction. “How will you get it into the water?”
“From the stern we’ll run ropes around pulleys attached to those oak trees,” Paxmore explained. “Then we’ll get all the men available, and while they pull in this direction, we’ll knock out those timbers and the ship will edge forward in that direction ... to the water.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“It must.”
Father Steed spent more than an hour inspecting the work, and he could not hide his wonder over the fact that his brothers were building a ship that could sail to London, but when he voiced this surprise, Henry quickly corrected him, “It’s not us. It’s Paxmore.”
“I like that man,” Ralph said. “Couldn’t we meet with him?”
Henry took this question to the carpenter, who said, “I couldn’t leave now. I sleep here to be certain ...”
“I meant, when the job permits,” Father Steed said quickly.
“Yes,” Paxmore said. “I’m sure Ruth Brinton would want to talk with thee.”
“And who is she?” the priest asked.
“My wife.”
“Oh?” Ralph hesitated. “It wouldn’t really be necessary ...”
“She talks much better than me.”
“I’m sure she does,” Ralph said, “but I wanted to talk with you about Quakers.”
“It’s about Quakers that she talks best,” Paxmore said, and it was arranged that when work permitted, he would sail with Ruth Brinton for a few days at Devon.
It was a visit which created a powerful impression on two families. The multiple Steeds had known Paxmore as a workman of high quality, while the Quakers had thought of the Steeds as business people on whom fortune had smiled; they were roused by Father Steed’s stories of the repression experienced by his family, and when he spoke of the fire that had destroyed the chapel, Paxmore said impulsively, “I could rebuild it. I’ve already built a Quaker meeting house.”
“What makes you a Quaker?” the priest asked.
Paxmore deferred to his wife, and the long dialogue was joined. It took place in the formal sitting room, with Father Steed, a wise, battle-worn, fat old man sprawled in an easy chair, representing the world’s oldest Christian religion, and Ruth Brinton, a prim, bonneted woman in gray, perched on the forward edge of a straight-backed chair her husband had built, representing the newest. During parts of the conversation Henry Steed and Paxmore were present, but they did not interrupt, for they perceived that here were two theologians of high purpose comparing experiences after lifetimes spent in religious speculation.
QUAKER: You ask how I became what I am. When I was eighteen I heard George Fox preach, and he vouchsafed such an illumination that all distress vanished. His simplicity overcame me.
CATHOLIC: The world entertains many visionaries. Our church provides two or three a year, right down the centuries. And each has some one good idea, which prudent men should listen to. But rarely more than one. And that one can be fitted into the structure of the church. What was so special about George Fox?
QUAKER: His simplicity stripped away the unnecessary accretions of centuries.
CATHOLIC: Such as?
QUAKER: Thee asks. I would prefer not to embarrass thee, but thee did ask.
CATHOLIC: Because I feel a need to know. What unnecessaries?
QUAKER: Since God maintains direct accessibility with every human life and offers instant and uncomplicated guidance, the intervention of priests and ministers is unnecessary. The intercession of saints is not required. Musical chanting and pretentious prayers fulfill no need. God is not attracted by incense or ostentation or robes or colorful garments or hierarchies.
CATHOLIC: You pretty well abolish my church.
QUAKER: Oh, no! There are many in the world, perhaps a majority, who require forms and feel easier with rituals, and if this is the manner in which they approach God, then forms and rituals are essential, and thee would be delinquent if thee deprived them of that avenue to God.
CATHOLIC: But you feel there are others, perhaps a fortunate few, maybe the more intellectual.
QUAKER: There is no up nor down. In human beings there are
CATHOLIC: But what is your path? Which parts of the Bible do you accept?
QUAKER: All of it. Every sacred word. And especially the teachings of Jesus Christ in the New Testament.
CATHOLIC: Do you then reject the old?
QUAKER: No, but we do not belabor it.
CATHOLIC: How specifically do you utilize it?
QUAKER: Thee touches a delicate point, Father Steed. There have been some among us and there are now ... (Here Mrs. Paxmore hesitated, then spoke quickly with a certain confidentiality.) Indeed, my husband Edward is one of them who focus so strongly on the words of Jesus that they diminish the importance of the Old Testament—as if one could accept the New without comprehending the Old.
CATHOLIC: Would not this be serious error?
QUAKER: The same the Jews commit when they accept only the Old and ignore the New, as if one did not flow inevitably from the other.
CATHOLIC: And you?
QUAKER: Thy family asked Edward to build a shrine for thy pewter heritage, lest children born in ease forget. The Old Testament is a moral heritage upon which every word of the New is built. The New can never be understood except in reference to the Old.
CATHOLIC: Do you Quakers accept the divinity of Jesus?
QUAKER: Without question.
CATHOLIC: Do you acknowledge the Virgin Birth?
QUAKER: I have never heard it refuted.
CATHOLIC: But do you accept it ... in your heart?
QUAKER: I do not ponder such miracles. There is too much work at hand, crying to be done.
CATHOLIC: You reject faith as the core of Christianity?
QUAKER: I base my life on James two-seventeen: “Faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone.” I want faith, and I pray for its guidance, but the ultimate test for me is what the Christian does about it.
CATHOLIC: For example?
QUAKER: I can speak only for myself.
CATHOLIC: I’m interrogating a Quaker, not the Quaker abstraction.
QUAKER: I believe that jails as we have them now are a mortal sin against God. And I believe they must be changed for the better.
CATHOLIC: Is that single belief an adequate cause for initiating a new religion?
QUAKER: It is on such tendentious points that the soul of a revitalized religion rests.
CATHOLIC: And you would throw overboard the grand assembly of saints in order to reform a prison?
QUAKER: I would.
CATHOLIC: You would be making a poor bargain.
QUAKER: I would be directing my religion to the correction of a great evil, and God would approve.
CATHOLIC: What is this thee and thou?
QUAKER: It is the manner in which Jesus spoke.
CATHOLIC: And this hat on the head, even in church?
QUAKER: Jesus directed men not to uncover their heads in deference to any authority.
CATHOLIC: And this business of affirming in court rather than swearing?
QUAKER: Jesus directed us at many different places not to use God as reference for our actions. We attest on our integrity, and do not take refuge in His.
CATHOLIC: Is it true that your men will refuse to take arms in defense of our colony?
QUAKER: War is an abomination, and must be seen as such. This will be our greatest testimony. Does thee understand, Neighbor Steed, that for us it is not enough to believe that war is wrong—to have faith that it’s wrong—we must also act.
CATHOLIC: Are there other areas in which you feel impelled to act?
QUAKER: There are. (It was obvious to the listeners that here Ruth Brinton wanted to cite a specific, but that some delicacy restrained her.)
CATHOLIC: What was it you wished to say?
QUAKER: Is thee inviting me to speak?
CATHOLIC: I am indeed.
QUAKER: I am convinced that one day all churches will see the immorality of slavery and will condemn it.
CATHOLIC: Slavery? Why, slavery’s condoned in the Bible. Throughout the Bible. Old and New. Surely, Mrs. Paxmore, you don’t reject biblical teaching?
QUAKER: I reject biblical interpretation which gives one man control over the life and destiny of another.
CATHOLIC: I’m really quite ... You mean that all biblical teaching about the duties of the slave to his master ...
QUAKER: It will be seen one day as terrible error which has been superseded.
CATHOLIC: Do you mean to say that my brothers are sinful because they hold slaves?
QUAKER: I do.
CATHOLIC: So you see, Henry and Paul, you’re sinners. But, Mrs. Paxmore, doesn’t your husband hold slaves?
QUAKER: He does.
CATHOLIC: And is he also a sinner?
QUAKER: He is. (At this point Edward Paxmore left the room, followed by the Steed brothers.)
CATHOLIC: Let me understand what you’re saying, Mrs. Paxmore. You believe that on some day to come, the religious leaders of this world are going to convene and state that what the Bible has condoned since the days of Abraham, that what Jesus Himself approved of and against which He never spoke ... You believe that our leaders are going to tell the world, “It is all wrong?”
QUAKER: I expect to spend my life, Neighbor Steed, trying to convince my religion that slavery is wrong.
CATHOLIC: Aha! Then even your religion doesn’t condemn it?
QUAKER: Not now.
CATHOLIC: And you would presume, one frail human being and a woman at that, to negate all the teaching of the churches and the Bible and human codes? How can you be so arrogant?
QUAKER: Because God speaks to me as directly as he does to your Pope. And if I see that slavery is a dreadful wrong, it may simply be that God has spoken to me first. I am the weak vessel He has chosen, and I can do no other than obey. (This topic was returned to numerous times during the three days, and many ramifications were introduced, but in the end Father Steed stood confirmed in his belief that God had ordained a society in which some were inescapably intended to be slaves, enhancing the general welfare, while Ruth Brinton remained equally convinced that slavery was inhuman and must one day be eradicated. At the conclusion of one intense exchange, Father Steed raised an interesting question.)
CATHOLIC: I know you said that you accept the New Testament, but do you accept all of it?
QUAKER: I do.
CATHOLIC: How about First Corinthians fourteen-thirty-five?
QUAKER: I don’t know that verse.
CATHOLIC: “It is a shame for women to speak in the church.”
QUAKER: We Quakers do not hold much with Saint Paul.
CATHOLIC: But was he not speaking for Jesus?
QUAKER: It is quite possible to love Jesus but to wonder about Paul.
CATHOLIC: If I understand what you said the other day, in your church women can serve as priests.
QUAKER: We have no priests.
CATHOLIC: I correct myself. Women like you serve as religious leaders?
QUAKER: We lead no one, but we do speak in meeting.
CATHOLIC: Is not that contrary to the teachings of Jesus?
QUAKER: To the teaching of Paul, and I reject Paul.
CATHOLIC: You think it proper for women to speak in church?
QUAKER: I do. And further, I think it most improper that thy great religion places women in such an inferior position.
CATHOLIC: Never! We revere Mary. We revere women as the foundation of the home.
QUAKER: But thee accords them no place in the church. Men priests speak to men, never women to women, or to men either. Does thee consider us incompetent?
CATHOLIC: No, but as I said before, all places in this world are ordained. Some are kings and they rule. Some are slaves and they serve. Some are women and they enjoy their special role, an honored one which does not include speaking in church.
QUAKER: Thy church could use Mary as a symbol of salvation, a repairing of the damage done to women.
CATHOLIC: Mrs. Paxmore, you seem
QUAKER: As James said, faith without works is nothing. For the rest of my life I propose to work.
CATHOLIC: Do not underestimate the power of faith. Have you ever ministered to a dying man and seen the light come into his eyes when he hears from your lips that he is being embraced by the arms of his faith? Have you seen parents glow when they realize that their newborn is now baptized into their inalienable faith?
QUAKER: I believe in faith as a saving spirit, and the moments you speak of are sacred.
CATHOLIC: And don’t take arrogant pride in your silence. There must be singing too. In every part of the Bible men and women go forth with drums and psalteries. And I think there must be ritual, the same Holy Mass said in the same language in all corners of the universe. It binds us together.
QUAKER: I have often thought that if I were not a Quaker ... I thought this especially in Massachusetts where the religion was so dark and cruel. Once I looked up at the sheriff about to lash me and I could see no sign of God in that man’s face. If I were not a Quaker, I think I would be a Catholic.
CATHOLIC: You reject Paul. But you accept Jesus?
QUAKER: I do. I do.
CATHOLIC: Then you must know that He ordained our church. He told Peter that he, Peter, was the progenitor, and that Peter’s church would be the one and only church of Christ. What say you to that?
QUAKER: I say that forms change.
CATHOLIC: But never the one unchangeable truth, the one unchangeable church. (At this point Ruth Brinton shrugged her shoulders, a most impolitic response to what Father Steed had intended as a benediction, but when he saw her gesture he laughed.) My Massachusetts was Virginia. I was hounded out of Virginia.
QUAKER: I was shipped out ... at the tail of a cart.
CATHOLIC: Could we pray? All of us? Bring in the children, too, and fetch Paxmore.