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Show Page 67 A watchtower stood on the corner to my right, the corner nearest the thick forest. Again a man stood watch. "Have to look sharp for savages," William explained. He spat. "Waste of a worker to my way of thinking. Ever since Powhatan died in 1618 and Opechancanough made hisself werowance, the natives have been friendly. They are e'en wont to come and go as they please. And now that we have a new chief lieutenant to look out for us, we should even be safer." At that moment a man passed through the gate in the fort palisade. He carried a matchlock musket and a sword hung at his side. He was encased in armor, his head topped by a close helmet with only a slit for his eyes and a few holes for his breathing. It was a warm day and I could not imagine how he could breath at all, for even I, in my fustian gown, was finding it uncomfortable. The man started to march down the muddy track before the fort. It was then his strutting step made me know him as Richard Kean. One by one the people working on the barn and in the nearby tobacco field raised their heads to look toward Richard. Some stood with their mouth open, some with their lips curved upward into a grin. Some turned away, their shoulders shaking in mirth. "Why do they find Lieutenant Kean so amusing?" I asked William. |