“Yes, sir,” I responded, instantly glad the rector had apparently not informed Captain Morgan of my failure to tether my horse before shooting at the bird.

“I’m also told you know how to navigate and can use a sextant, surveyor’s transit, and a circumferentor.6 How did you learn all that?”

“My father taught me how to use these devices so I could help him map property boundaries and building sites.”

“So you can find your way in the wilderness and know how to shoot. What’s the biggest game you’ve bagged?”

“Last spring, while Father and I were surveying a plat for Mr. Jefferson near Charlottesville, I shot a charging bear.”

“At what range was the bear?”

“About seventy yards, sir. Thankfully my one shot felled her for I had no other weapon but my hunting knife. She had two cubs and we had nowhere to run.”

“What did you do with the cubs?”

“They were too young to survive—not yet weaned. Father and I brought the meat to Mr. Jefferson. His slaves had them for ­dinner.”

The Captain nodded, leaned across the table, and quietly asked, “Have you ever shot another person?”

“No, sir. But I would gladly shoot the person who killed my brother.”

He stared as me for a moment and asked, “How old are you, son?”

“I will be seventeen in August, sir.”

He nodded again and said, almost to himself, “Not much older than I was when I arrived here.” Then, “If you march with me you will likely see action by your birthday. Is that what you want to do?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have any duties here other than the work you do at Casselman’s ferry over the Shenandoah?”

“No, sir. My father’s indentured tenants, Pieter Van Buren and his wife, Lotte, live behind our house. They have a key to our home and will tend to the livestock and crops.”

“Do you trust them?”

“Yes, sir, my family trusts them. They have been with us for over a year. They are Dutch and they hate the British.”

“What crime did they commit to become indentured?”

“I do not know all the facts, sir, but it is my understanding they are both bound by a seven-year sentence that began in December 1774. I believe Pieter and his wife, Lotte, were accused and convicted of importing Dutch East India Company tea into Virginia in violation of the 1773 Tea Act. Father purchased their sentences from the Royal Customs and Revenue Court in Norfolk.”

When Captain Morgan smiled, the scar on his cheek wrinkled. It did so now, “They must be good people. The usual sentence for that crime is three years. If the Van Burens got seven years, they must have slipped a fair amount of good Dutch East Indian tea under His Majesty’s big nose.”