From: Accounts of Maryland, Liber 13, folio 87
1735: The account of Elizabeth Cicell of the estate of Philip Cicell, of Prince George’s Co., dec’d: For small charges allowed £2: Due from dec’d to John Belt/Ball £10; Due from Dec’d to Harry Wrightson £4/7/6; Due to Hon. Charles Calvert, Esq. £1/11; Due to Deputy Commissioner £0/25/2; Due for my commission as Admnx, £1/14/4. Total payments: £20/17/10; Inventory: £15/13/9 ½; Overpaid the estate: £5/4/0 ½.
/s/ Peter Dent, Deputy Commissioner
The heirs are Philip, John, William, Joshua, Eliza, and Mary Cecill, children of ye deceased.
The Colony of Maryland, 1745
Bess Cobham was two years older than Rebecca White, but the girls had been good friends since their brief attendance at Mistress Greenup’s little dame school many years before. The tobacco plantations of Prince George’s County were spread about, and travel was limited to streams, trails, and the rutted muddy roads of the county. There were few opportunities for socializing other than church, school, and family gatherings, but the girls had been able to continue their friendship. After all, they lived only a five-hour ride from each other …
Rebecca had not enjoyed her time at Mistress Greenup’s and had felt confined by the daily routine of early rising, prayers, lessons on reading, writing, and basic arithmetic, followed by hours of genteel embroidery and garden lore. Bess, however, had loved her year of this orderly life, and both girls had appreciated the considerable sacrifices that their families made to get them this small amount of schooling. Even Old William Cobham had contributed a hundred pounds of tobacco yearly for his granddaughter, Bess, to attend.
Bess’s mother had been a member of the wealthy and influential Gittings family. When the young Elizabeth Gittings had announced that she was with child by Philip Cobham, her outraged parents whipped her soundly. It fell to Philip Cobham’s uncle, the influential judge, Joshua Cobham, to arrange a marriage before the scandal could move beyond the families involved. Philip’s father, William, was in England, and it would have been months before he could be contacted regarding the situation.
The child who had caused so much trouble, named Susannah in honor of Philip’s long-dead little sister Susan, died very soon after birth. Elizabeth Gittings Cobham changed from a feisty, tomboyish girl into a bitter, frustrated woman. She knew that God had punished her for loving her brother’s friend, Philip Cobham. But Philip had been so handsome and kind to her! He knew poetry and could make her laugh. He never talked about tobacco culture or pricing problems with the English trade as did most other men of her acquaintance. She once loved riding with her brother and Philip, and they told her scandalous stories about their trips to taverns and big towns that she would never see.
But after marriage and the death of her child, Elizabeth Gittings Cobham was confined to a small and unprofitable tobacco plantation that her family had sold for very little money to Philip when they married. Philip, she found, hated farming and cared very little for marriage. Although they had several more children, Philip was an indifferent father and spent much of his time gadding about with his brother-in-law, drinking in taverns, and attending cockfights and horse races. He talked of running off to England when he was very drunk. Elizabeth did not know how she would have survived if her family had not been about to assist her.
Philip was forty-one years old when he died, and left Elizabeth more debts than assets. In desperation, Elizabeth sent her oldest daughter, Bess, to Philip’s brother, John, and his wife, Elizabeth Sollers Cobham. They had five sons and no daughter, and were happy to have the girl join their household. They were able to send Bess off to Mistress Greenup’s school for some education.
Elizabeth Gittings Cobham, weary with the struggle and grieving more than she had thought possible for her charming and unreliable Philip, took her younger children and went to join the household of a distant cousin who had recently lost his wife. In time, she married him and moved to the New Scotland Hundred settlement in Prince George’s County. She wanted nothing to do with the rest of Philip’s family and unfortunate memories of the past.
Bess, however, was happy with her Uncle John and Aunt Elizabeth. John Cobham was serious and devoted to his lands. Aunt Elizabeth was a small, sweet woman who treated her with loving kindness. Their five sons were loud and large and very messy, but generally ignored Bess.
Bess met Tom Witten at one of the Harvest Home celebrations given by the Greenup family. Although she was not a beauty, her curling reddish hair and small freckled features were pleasant, and she had a sweetness of person that drew the rather wild Tom. He was devoted to her, and they hoped to marry when he could afford a household.
Tom’s best friend was Samuel Cobham, and the two of them had managed to get into many scrapes during their boyhood. Bess was shielded from very little that happened in the Cobham household, even when John was forced to admonish his sons for such things as drunkenness and consorting with evil women.
Bess, like many a child from an unhappy family, was very perceptive when it came to human emotions. When the Cobhams returned from church on that autumn Sunday, her cousin Samuel approached her as she stood drying dishes from the family’s late supper.
“So, Bess—” he began uncertainly. “Your friend at the church today … do I know her?”
Bess smiled and stacked pewter plates. The Cobhams were lucky to have twelve of the precious items, and used them only for Sunday dinner and other special occasions.
“Who?” she asked innocently.
Samuel took the plates from her and placed them on their shelves beside the big stone fireplace. He scowled. “You know, the fair one. In blue.”
Bess frowned in mock puzzlement. “Let me see now … who wore blue to church this morning?”
Samuel pulled his pipe from a pocket of his doublet. He stuffed it with tobacco from a small leather pouch, and lit it from a nearby candle. He puffed uncomfortably for a few moments. “Do you want me to tell Mother about you and Tom behind the elm trees during the last racing meet?” he asked after a long silence.
Bess flushed. “Nothing happened. Tom is a gentleman!”
“Don’t look too good for a young lady to go off like that,” Samuel said with a grin.
“Rebecca White,” snapped Bess.
“The one in blue?”
“Yes. She’s a very nice girl, so don’t be getting ideas. Her mother is a widow lady, but the family has property. Besides, you met Rebecca years ago when Aunt Elizabeth’s nephew, John, married Mary Stockett. Remember what a mess that was because Mary was related to poor Frances Duvall, and my mother didn’t want any of us to go to the wedding?”
Samuel ignored her explanations. “A scrawny blonde wench?” he mused.
“Not so scrawny now, I think,” said Bess lightly. “Here—you can take this basin outside and empty it onto the flower beds.” She handed him the big half-bucket in which she had been washing dishes. “I think that some of the roses are still in bloom there.”
Samuel took the basin, and Bess knew that he rode over to see the White family on the following day. But it took Bess several days to find a reason to visit. Fortunately, John Cobham decided to ride down to the parish hall at Queen Anne’s in their little chaise with several pounds of tobacco for trading, and agreed to drop her off at the White Plantation.
Rebecca was kneading bread in the kitchen when she arrived. “Gads, Bess, here I am up to my elbows in flour—but wait until I set these loaves to rising.” She divided the dough quickly into four greased pans, covered them with a cloth, and set them near the fire. “Mother and Ben have gone into the parish to see about the last shipments, so I’m left with all of the work today! So—how are things are your house?” she asked casually, wiping her hands and swinging the black kettle nearer the flames to heat water for mulled cider.
“Oh, very well,” said Bess. “The tobacco is curing well, and Uncle John hopes to make a profit this year.”
The girls were silent for a few moments. “Samuel came to visit,” said Rebecca suddenly. “He brought roses.” She mixed a bit of the hot water with cider in two clay mugs, and handed one to Bess. “’Tis new, and a bit sweet, but we’re out of cinnamon and cloves until the store opens next week.”
The girls pulled stools closer to the fire and sat down. “I didn’t tell Sam that I was coming over here today. Should I?”
Rebecca’s blue eyes widened. “Why not?”
“Well, you might not want to encourage him,” said Bess. “He really isn’t interested in marriage.”
“Marriage? I have no desire for marriage,” mumbled Rebecca, taking a sip of her cider and frowning at the bland taste.
“Liar. What else would you do? You can’t live with your mother forever.”
Rebecca shrugged. “The right man has yet to appear for me. I want one who is rich and handsome and young and can give me a large house in town! What would Samuel have to offer me?”
“Nothing, dear Rebecca, nothing at all. He is only one of five boys and doesn’t hope for an inheritance. But then, neither does my Tom,” said Bess sadly.
Rebecca sighed and stuffed errant strands of hair back into her muslin cap. “Oh Bess—” she began. “No, I’m not certain what I want to do. I know what everybody tells me that I must do …” She paused and shuddered. “No matter. I am so glad that you’ve come to visit. My mother has a new packet of needles, and we have begun working on a gown. Now that we are both of a size, I can wear it also!”
Since both new needles and new gowns were rare in their lives, the girls dismissed worries about the future with a lengthy discussion of bodices and trimmings.
The Colony of Maryland, 1745
Samuel Cobham, second son of John and Elizabeth Cobham, was twenty-five years old and had no intention of marrying. His mother always called him “my wild one,” with both affection and dismay on her gentle face. He was born during the years of his parents’ greatest struggle to make a life together. He could remember the time when he barely saw his father, who was working in the tobacco fields with one slave, one bondsman, and his brother, Zephaniah.
His mother was also constantly involved with cooking, washing, sewing, or working in the vegetable gardens. Then there were the babies—five came after Samuel, and only three of them lived. From the moment he could walk, he was given chores to do. At first he fed the animals and harvested vegetables from the garden. Then he carried water, maintained the fire, and chased his little brothers and sisters when the adults were busy. In time, he chopped wood, helped his father in the fields, and rounded up the animals from the nearby woods. On occasion, he went hunting with his father and, as a special treat, went into town with him to buy supplies. He and his older brother, Zephaniah, sat in the cart with the horses while their father made obligatory stops at the local courthouse and tavern.
It always pleased Samuel that his father rarely became drunk and nasty, as did so many of the men who came out of the tavern. He knew that drinking and arguing and fighting were as essential to being a man as an ability to shoot straight and ride a wild horse. But he also learned that all too often, a man who sought to prove his manhood ended up dead. Zephaniah, who was much like their father in his easy, quiet nature, thought that men were foolish for risking themselves for such stupid reasons as drinking an entire bottle of rum on a bet, or pursuing another man’s pretty sweetheart. Samuel also thought that these men were foolish, but only because they weakened themselves with too much drink before getting into an argument. Samuel generally enjoyed a good fight.
On quiet evenings in the summer, or during winter storms when outside work was impossible, his mother made an effort to educate him. When his parents could afford it, he attended some classes with an elderly old scholar, who squeezed out a living teaching some of the local planters’ children. Samuel learned to read and write, but had little interest in the finer points of education. In this he had some support from his father, who had never been particularly interested in book learning, but his mother was firm in the matter of her sons’ education.
“You are not the oldest, Sam,” she said in her quiet manner. “Your father has to leave his lands to Zephaniah—he’s the oldest. He will need all of our lands to support a family. You will need a trade, and it does not seem that planting will suit you. There is much more to the world than what you have seen here.”
Samuel often went to stay with his grandfather, William Cobham, who lived nearby in a small leased house in Upper Marlboro village. There he learned more in mathematics and science that his mother could teach him, for his grandfather had received considerable education in England prior to migrating to Maryland.
He loved to sit with his grandfather, William, and hear tales of England, with its big cities and great lords. Grandfather had traveled; he had even known some of these influential men. In the end, it was Grandfather who convinced Samuel that he would need skills other than shooting and planting tobacco to make his way in the world. “I never settled on the land,” he told his favorite grandson. “When I met your Grandmother Mary, bless her soul, I knew that I was being unfair to her. She should have wed a man who would have given her a better home and more comfortable life.” His old gray eyes would get slightly bleary at this memory, and Samuel quickly learned not to invite more stories about the grandmother he had never known. Grandfather would go on for many boring hours about her.
“But you’re not like her, Sam. Nor in many ways are you much like me. I always enjoyed scholarly things.”
Grandfather William lit his pipe and puffed for a few moments. “This is nasty stuff, this sotweed,” he murmured. “The good tobacco has proved itself as strong as John Barleycorn ever was.”
Samuel sat in silence, waiting for his grandfather to return from long-gone landscapes and conversations with the dead. “No, my Sam, you’ll not be happy settling on these lands. You must seek something else or you’ll meet some sweet-faced girl and twist your life about for her. My Philip, God rest his soul, would have been happier if he had never tried to be a planter. I will write to your grandmother’s brother, Matthew. He’s got a likely business in Philadelphia.”
Grandfather had written to Matthew Beall, recommending his restless, dark-haired grandson as an apprentice. Samuel, with his appetite for new places and quick way with numbers, would be helpful to his great-uncle, a surveyor and land broker. Since Matthew had no sons or grandsons of his own, this boy would be a link to the future.
John and Elizabeth Cobham had been both sad and relieved to see their second son leave them when he was thirteen years old. Both knew that Samuel was the odd one of their brood—impatient and chafing at the life they lived. Although they had achieved modest comfort on their lands, they would not be able to gain security for all of their sons. There was simply not enough land to support everyone. The other boys would have to marry well or seek their own fortunes.
Samuel had hoped to go into a new life in Philadelphia without constant chores and following orders during every waking hour. In this he had been disappointed at first. He had much to learn from his great-uncle, Matthew, about land laws and surveying and the political problems of coping with unending streams of new immigrants and defining boundaries where none had existed before. Dealing with deeds and documents and maps was essential but tiresome. Even more irritating was the grasping nature of the rich men who had much but wanted more, and the endless hunger of the new citizens for land and more land.
The best part about working for Matthew Beall had been when Samuel went with the other employees on trips into the backcountry of Maryland and Pennsylvania. Although he was accustomed to riding and shooting and dealing with all kinds of weather, the area of Prince George’s County where he lived had been relatively settled and peaceful. This new country was wild, and the Indians were not always friendly to those who were rapidly appropriating their lands. When he was not yet sixteen, he killed his first man when their surveying party was attacked by a band of Indians. One of their surveyors was badly wounded, and the two men who had been hired as helpers were professed Quakers, and they refused to lift guns to defend themselves. Samuel, who was an excellent shot and still possessed that sense of immortality so common to youth, saved five lives with his cool thinking and good eye. He was surprised that he suffered very little remorse for taking another life, and had no nightmares about the experience. He did, however, receive a scar on his cheek from sliding for cover too close to an unexpected tree branch. It added character to his face, or so his cousin, Margaret Beall, told him.
As the years went on, he came to enjoy his life very much. He acquired sufficient skill in surveying land and defending the boundaries he had created both in the forest and on paper. It was only Matthew’s death that ended his work—that and Samuel’s refusal to marry Matthew’s granddaughter, Margaret. If he had wed this young lass, the business and much property would have gone with her. Samuel Cobham did not wish to be married, even if it meant returning to his father’s lands and tobacco.
Samuel had grown up with parents who were, in general, very happy together. Yet he had seen their struggles to feed the family and keep the tobacco plantations going. He thought that his grandfather William had led a much better life—he was not tied to land, crops, livestock, and children. To Samuel, marriage meant responsibility, hard work, and boredom.
Margaret Beall was a small, shy girl, and Samuel always suspected that she was frightened of his rough country ways. Marrying Margaret also meant becoming tied to the Beall business in Philadelphia, and Samuel balked at the idea of spending his days behind a desk ordering the work of others. So Margaret married another suitor, one James Fairfax, and Samuel moved on in the world.
He returned to the Cobham Plantation only to visit his parents and decide what to do next. Then he saw Rebecca, lively and laughing Rebecca, with her golden hair and bright knowing eyes.
“Grandfather, she’s like a siren from the old stories,” he admitted to William Cobham. “I’ve seen her a few times, but every glimmer of sunshine suddenly turns my mind to her golden hair.”
William, who was now almost eighty years of age and increasingly weary with life’s troubles, sighed and put a gnarled hand on his grandson’s dark head. They sat near the fire, alone in the late evening when everyone else was in bed.
“Sam, it is in the nature of man to see one woman and think that she is above the others. I felt so with your Grandmother Mary, and I am quite certain that your father feels so about your mother. As for my Philip, well, that is another matter and we’ll not discuss it. We cannot seem to help ourselves—perhaps it is God’s trick on us ever since Adam saw Eve in the Garden. It blinds us …”
“Aye. I’ve seen many girls, Grandfather,” Sam paused and met his grandfather’s knowing eyes. “Well … I’ve done more than just look at them. I just keep thinking of Rebecca!”
“Yet young Rebecca is not one to be trifled with. She comes of a good family and although she’s as lively a lass as I’ve ever seen, there’s no ill talk of her behavior.”
“I’m not ready to marry,” said Sam slowly. “I have no property, no home but with my parents. I’m young yet …” He clenched his fist and reached again for his mug of hot hard cider. “Yet here I am, so few times that I’ve seen the wench and already marriage is in my mind. I want her, and can have her no other way.”
“An evil thought,” laughed William Cobham. “You must talk with your father about this—or maybe your mother. Elizabeth is a wise woman.”
“She is also my mother, and I know what father would say. No, I must find means to leave here soon or my cousin, Bess, will have me wed to her friend! I’ve thought of going with the militia when they move north after the freeze. A few months marching and arguing with those blasted British regulars should take my mind off of a certain lady’s golden hair. Mother will not like it, but I think that Father will understand.”
“God willing, your parents will approve, Sam. You’ve a restless soul … and I recognize that as a part of my own blood coming through. To wed and settle now would bring you much grief,” replied Grandfather William. “Get the girl out of your blood before she gets too deep in your heart.” Something in William Cobham was beating a familiar cadence—the beautiful Rebecca was already Sam’s lady in the young man’s deepest heart. Perhaps she would wed another man soon, and free Samuel from the chains of which both young people were yet unaware.
William sat back in his chair and pushed his feet closer to the fire. He noted that his boots were wearing through again, and wondered if he should bother to buy a new pair when he might not outlive these. He sipped his rum and began to sing softly:
Summer to winter fadeth,
Gloomy night, happy light shadeth
Time hath a while which none can stay
So come away, while I thus sing,
Come away, come away, my darling!
Samuel smiled. He knew when Grandfather had taken off on a journey to the past.
In December, when the frozen ground permitted easier movement of horses, men, and wagons, Samuel Cobham signed up with the local militia and marched north. Matters with the French were always uneasy, but at the moment there was no active war. He had not expected to have so much time to think during long marches and cold nights in the field. He was surprised to realize that he actually missed his family, and even more surprised when he began writing to his parents and ended up including some brief messages to Rebecca White tucked in beneath his wax seal.
Rebecca was completely surprised when Samuel Cobham left Maryland without declaring himself to her. True, she had seen very little of him during the two months between their autumn meeting and his winter departure. But their eyes met often across churchyards and halls and bonfires. She did not think that she was misinterpreting his gaze—and had struggled to hide her excitement at their every encounter.
She celebrated her twenty-third birthday to the lamentations of her mother, who was certain that this beautiful child would never be married. Rebecca felt somewhat numb, and for a time her usual vital personality dimmed as her energies were diverted to coping with the unhappiness inside. Her misery was aggravated when Bess Cobham suddenly married Tom Witten and both moved onto the Cobham Plantation at Cabbin Branch Creek.
But one day she encountered Samuel’s mother, Elizabeth Cobham, after church. Elizabeth was devout but often prevented from regular attendance at the parish on Sundays due to her own heavy responsibilities. On this day, Bess had remained home to attend to the needs of the large Cobham household. Rebecca noted that Elizabeth was dressed in a fine silk gown of a very dark crimson shade, trimmed with rose embroidery. She wore pearls in her ears, and her graying black hair was well arranged beneath a white lace cap. As she approached Rebecca, she pulled on her gloves and then clutched at the purse tied to her waist.
“Good day, Mistress White,” she began uncertainly. Rebecca stood considerably taller than Elizabeth, and she bobbed a quick curtsey before looking down into Elizabeth’s dark eyes.
“My son, Samuel, often much amazes me,” began Elizabeth. “He is, as you no doubt have heard, up in New York with the militia. He has written to us that he is well, and not in immediate danger. He also sent this.” Elizabeth reached into her purse and pulled forth a folded sheet of parchment. “It is addressed to you.”
Rebecca’s heart began to pound and she hesitated before reaching out to take the letter. “Mistress Cobham, I do not know—” she began.
Elizabeth smiled slightly and shook her heard. “No, child, do not think that I am jumping to conclusions. It is not improper for a young man to send a note to a young lady. Unless, of course, there is something unseemly in the letter or the memories that prompted it.”
Rebecca blushed. She could not remember every having blushed like this before, and here she stood outside the church on a cold February day, in front of people who had known her for her entire life, and her cheeks were as red as apples in September. They were beginning to stare.
“Mistress Cobham, there has been nothing between Samuel and myself. In truth, I think that he avoids me,” she said with an embarrassed laugh.
“Then he must be very fond of you,” sighed Elizabeth. “My Samuel is a man of contradictions. He is restless yet, child.”
“I know,” replied Rebecca.
Elizabeth noted that there was pain in the girl’s large blue eyes. For a moment neither woman knew what to say. Elizabeth suspected that Rebecca had formed an attachment to her son, and Bess had told her of Samuel’s interest.
“You and your mother must come to visit me soon,” said Elizabeth, reaching out from something soft in her heart. “Bess will be glad of your company.”
Rebecca nodded. “I had thought that she and Tom Witten were to have their own place.”
“Not yet,” sighed Elizabeth. “They’ve an eye to buying some lands if Tom can get the money. He means to plant it to grain, not tobacco.” Elizabeth was not particularly fond of her niece’s husband, but appreciated the assistance that they gave on the Cobham Plantation.
Rebecca nodded. She understood as did all intelligent folk of the province that the time of endless lands for tobacco was gone. Too many now sought to own farms and plantations, and the best properties were occupied. If a man had no money or powerful relatives to back him, the chances of becoming a successful planter were small.
Elizabeth’s family had been gentry, proud men, who signed their names followed by the coveted term “gentleman.” Her husband John was not a gentleman but a simple planter. Heaven only knew what position her sons would hold. As Old William often said, the time of opportunity here in Maryland Province was over. The gentry were rebuilt, and once in place would tend to run the province to their own benefit. Newcomers and poor younger sons would not be acceptable in this society.
Elizabeth Cobham reached up and patted Rebecca’s cheek gently. “It is freezing here, child. I must return home.” She paused for a moment. “When John and I were young, he asked me to wait for him until such time as he could support a wife. But the times were different.”
Rebecca watched Elizabeth as she climbed into the Cobham wagon with her sons, Zephaniah and William, and a heavyset black slave woman. She walked back into the foyer of the church and opened Samuel’s letter with shaking hands.
Dear Mistress White:
I hope that this finds you well. We are marching north once more to assist in the settlements along the Pennsylvania border. The new Irish and Germans who have come expecting endless free land have created much trouble with the Indians, and the Frenchies are using this as an occasion for mischief. I fear that blood will come of this. I am well.
Yours truly, Sam’l Cobham
There was something scratched out at the bottom, which Rebecca could not read no matter how hard she tried. The note said little but told much. He was thinking about her.