The Colony of Maryland, 1697
“March 1697 Court. To the Commissioners of PGCo. These are humbly to Sattisfie you that William Sesell, by the request of my wife as she lay upon her deathbed, I have disposed of my children to Marreen Douall (Duvall) and his heirs, till they are of age. John Sesell, age seven years the 24th of Dec. last past, Philip Sesell, aged 5 years the 18th day of this instant and Susan Sessell, aged 2 years of January last.”
Court records of Prince George’s County, Maryland, Liber A, folio 146
William Cobham’s wife was dying. She was not yet thirty years of age, and had once been a pretty girl with bright gray eyes and fair freckled skin. When she came to the new colony of Maryland with her cousin, Frances Duvall, she had been much sought after by men of all stations. In the end, she married the handsome Will Cobham for love, and that love had given them three children in seven years and unending labor on their struggling, leased tobacco lands. But now it was almost over for her.
She lay in her bed near the big stone fireplace in the main room of their drafty home. It was one of the shabby homes of this new colony—built on four posts dug into the ground, with walls of slatted chestnut chinked with mud to keep out drafts. A wooden floor, a table, a few chests for their household goods, and a couple of small stools filled the only real room in the house. A loft for the children and storage shed completed the structure. When she had been well, it had been tidy and smelled of stews, baking, and babies. Now there was only wood smoke and the scent of her own unwashed body.
Her cousin, Frances, often came to tend to the house and children, and Will had come back from his chores upriver working for wealthier families as an overseer on their tobacco lands. In her last few hours of awareness, she remembered the excitement once felt at arriving in the New World, the strange sights and fearful new animals, and the pervasive illness. Everybody had to be “seasoned” with the local diseases, or so she was told. Unfortunately, “seasoning” meant that many people died of the malignant fevers and bloody fluxes, and few children lived to adulthood with their own parents.
As her mind lingered in past happier days, she realized that her own babes would need more care than Will would be able to give them. Her nearest relatives were in Philadelphia, and Will’s only brother, Joshua, was a widower involved in his own affairs and would not take the children.
“Will … you must let my cousin, Frances, care for the children. She and Mareen are, after all, their godparents. They are such babes yet—and you cannot care for them every day.” She knew that Frances, as a married female, had no legal standing in the courts, and that William would have to bind the children to her husband, Mareen Duvall. “To the Duvalls, Will—promise me.”
William Cobham, kneeling at the side of his wife’s bed, looked back with bleary pale eyes. “Ssssh, my darling. You’ll be well soon,” he whispered.
“No.” She tried to gather her strength and form words. “Will, you must. Frances is a good woman and married to a wealthy man. She only has one son—the children love her.” She licked her parched lips. “Please … promise …”
Will took his wife’s warm hand, and glanced over at Frances Duvall, who sat beside the fire holding his two-year-old daughter, Susan, asleep in her arms. Frances’s black eyes met his and she nodded several times. “She’s right, Will. I’ll be glad to have them with me.”
His sons, John and Philip, played quietly in a dark corner of the room, pretending to battle with a few carved wooden soldiers. Their fair heads gleamed dimly in the firelight. Will knew that their mother’s ongoing illness no longer seemed remarkable to them. She had been sick for so many weeks now …
“All right, my wife. Frances and Mareen shall have the raising of our children while they are small.”
Mistress William Cobham closed her eyes with a slight smile. “I was pretty once, Will. Remember? I gave you cool ale on that afternoon when we met and we sat on the veranda and watched the storm—”
Shortly thereafter, her ragged breathing ceased. William Cobham put his head on the pillow beside his wife and wept. Two days later, he signed the papers to bind his three children to their Duvall godfather. For the next few years, he was rarely sober.