Foreword and Excerpts

Foreword

The year 1620, when the pilgrims arrived in America, is sometimes considered to be the year the process of English settlements began in Northern Virginia, subsequently named New England. In fact, the New England coast had been the subject of numerous surveys, expeditions and attempted settlements during the previous twenty years.

The settlers on the Mayflower are referred to as Pilgrims but, in fact, that term was not used to refer to the settlers as a group with a capital P until about 1800. The settlers were Separatists who had fled England for Leiden in Holland in 1607, determined to separate from the Church of England entirely.

The Puritans wanted to stay within the Church of England but wanted to purify the Church from what they considered catholic influence and a desire for a clearer separation of church and state.

The Separatists are considered, in addition, to have travelled to an unknown country driven solely by their desire for religious freedom. In fact, many others explored and identified commercial opportunities in New England. The Separatists’ desire was fed and supported by those who wanted settlements in New England for commercial gain and to protect New England from encroachment by the French in the North and the Virginia Company in the South.

Two men, neither of whom ever went there, have been identified as principal players in the exploration of New England. The Reverend John White, Rector of Holy Trinity Church, Dorchester in Dorset, England, whom historians have called the Father of Massachusetts; and Sir Ferdinando Gorges, Governor of Plymouth Fort in Devon, England, whom historians have called the Founder of Maine.

This is the story of the settlement of New England, prior to and shortly after the arrival of the Separatists, seen through the eyes of a young man called Isaac Stanfield. While he with many others are imaginary, the story uses them to describe real people, especially John White, called the Patriarch by his parishioners, and Sir Ferdinando, and to explore their motivations in pursuing New England settlement.

When characters are added to an historical narrative, they tend to develop lives of their own over which the author has very little control. The essential facts are there. However, the fictional elements of the story have allowed a massaging of some of those elements. I offer no apology.

 Excerpt – Exploration

For the most part, my days were spent either with Epenow or Assacomet. Epenow has become an accomplished rider in just a few weeks. He has taken to riding Corbin without saddle and stirrups. He says it gives him a much better feel and understanding with the horse, and I must agree with him. As we spent the days wandering on horseback through the countryside, I realized Epenow was constantly alert. I watched and became intrigued. I began to ask questions about what he was doing. The only way I can explain what he told me is that he was using all his senses to be a part of the natural world around him. He saw, he heard, he smelt, he felt. He interpreted all the signs. He put everything in the right order. The movement, no, the very lives of the animals, rabbits, foxes, deer, and birds. He had extraordinary eyesight, and was able to separate smells into a hundred variants. As he moved through the woods and fields, he seemed to leave only minimal evidence of his passing without effort. Being a country boy, I was able to track animals and detect their behavior, but I was a total novice compared to Epenow. I watched and I learned, gaining much, but of little consequence compared to Epenow’s prowess. His skills came, I believe, from his belief that he was both part of and partner with nature. He was entrusted to care for it, to pass it on undamaged.

“Does that include people?” I asked Epenow.

“People are a problem,” he replied.

I asked him about fighting. Stories abounded from explorers that different Indian tribes were more or less warlike. How do young Indians train to be warriors? If one tribe is dominant, would they not overcome all the other tribes, resulting in one nation only? 

Complicated questions, he said. Tribes in his homeland were, for the most part, each fixed in their own locality. They grew, hunted, and cared for the land they called home. There wasn’t the sense of ownership that seemed to drive the English. Tribes didn’t fight over land that didn’t belong to them. Young warriors wanted to prove themselves as being brave, and it is much braver, and harder, some would say, to defeat warriors from another tribe without killing them. Sometimes, a tribe felt a wrong had been committed by another tribe, and it was not resolved peacefully. It still had to be resolved. There were various levels of non-peaceful resolution which could escalate into a major attack, the result of which could be a few deaths, but more likely the captured warriors would be enslaved and the women taken as wives to strengthen the breeding stock. 

He said new chiefs needing to make a mark could cause unrest, and that some tribes were inherently hostile, so neighboring tribes would make treaties with each other for protection. They needed to have warriors capable of defending themselves. More disquieting was the influence of the foreign traders. Greed was changing the attitude of the Indian towards ownership. What they had to sell, they wanted to protect.

We talked about his feelings towards England and the English coming to his country. He said his country was huge and beautiful, with unlimited resources. People lived well, looked after their land and each other. It was a perfect existence. 

Then he came to England and saw more people in an hour than he’d seen in his whole life. If England was more like London than the countryside where we were, then he was terrified of that teeming mass of humanity flowing like a huge wave over his land. England is powerful and wealthy, yet it has terrible poverty, the like of which he could never have imagined. 

Why is England unable to feed its own people? He sees Wraxall Court and other huge residences owned by single families. He sees palaces in London, and people dressed and living in incredible luxury. All of it surrounded by people with nothing. Nothing but the stench and diseases of their lives. Even in Clerkenwell, miles outside London, the smell of London was gagging. The specter of death from malnutrition or disease sat on every shoulder. It was a sobering judgment.

Excerpt – Retribution

A shout, a shot, something plucked at my sleeve and a further shout. I slapped Tess on the rump with my reins and she leapt away, Annie barely hanging on. I turned Maddie and drove her at a cluster of indistinct figures in the misty morning. My attack diverted them from the fleeing Annie. The figures, now distinct, scattered and then gathered, clutching at me. My sword caught in my cloak. I was hauled down and a pistol pressed hard against my throat.

“Don’t move. Put down your sword.”

I did.

“Get up with your arms above your head, slowly.”

Four disheveled men circled me. The ringleader was a thin young man with a hungry face, matted dark hair, scraggy beard, aggressive, pistol ready in one hand, leaning heavily on a crude crutch. He gestured with his pistol and I was grabbed and my hands tied behind my back by his nervous accomplices. The ringleader was the only person that mattered. I watched him. He was in a quandary. My riding companion had escaped, no doubt to fetch help but the nearest village was some miles away. He needed to deal with me, take my possessions and then abscond with his followers. I supposed he had to have a horse as it seemed he could barely walk. How the hell did he get here? He told his men to take me into a copse of trees.

“What are you going to do?” one of them asked.

“Kill him, strip and hide the body. We take everything.”

He raised his pistol. His men moved away from me. A mounted figure loomed behind them.

“Caleb, you bastard. Put that pistol down.”

The ringleader spun round.

“Annie? What the blazes are you doing here?”

Annie had my unloaded, spare pistol in her hand.

“Drop it or I will kill you.”

Caleb dropped it.

“Untie him.”

I was untied. Picking up sword and pistol I moved to Annie, looking like I had never seen her, formidable astride Tess. I peered up at her.

“You certainly know some interesting people.”

Annie was not amused. She ordered Caleb and his men away from the trees and to sit in a huddle. I approached the despondent group.

 “Well now, Caleb. Boot on the other hoof, so to speak. Who are you? How the hell did you get here? Where were you headed?”

Caleb didn’t respond to any of my questions. None of them did. With their leader deflated, they looked even more wretched. I noticed one who looked like a child, sniveling.

“You, come here.”

The lad slowly rose and shambled towards me like a cur to be beaten.

“Annie, take this boy out of earshot and find out what the hell they are up to.”

That left three of them. The mist was lifting. I looked around. Off to one side was a two-wheel hand cart with a long T-shaped shaft. I told the two followers to go and fetch the cart. They returned and I told them to put Caleb into it, tie his wrists together, and move well away. Caleb suffered the indignities with ill-grace, cursing them until I warned him off. While I was pondering, Annie called to me. Her interrogation revealed that the group had been in trouble at Widecombe, instigated by Caleb. They had escaped and somehow Caleb had convinced them that their salvation lay in helping him to get to a refuge near Exeter, so they had been pulling him there in the cart. It was by chance we came across them and Caleb had seized the moment to try and rob a couple of unsuspecting travelers and gain a much faster form of transport. With a horse there would be no reason to continue with his little band and I had to believe they would have been abandoned to fend for themselves. I needed to sort this out and find out where Annie and Caleb fitted in to the picture. I took each of the followers in turn and got them to tell me all their names and what villages they came from. Too scared to lie, they corroborated each other. I told them if I came across any of them misbehaving again I would have their guts out and to get the hell out of my sight. They left hurriedly. I then turned to Caleb.

“You, my friend, are returning to Widecombe with us.”

Muttering abuse Caleb flopped down in the cart to block out his miserable world.

I rigged up a harness attaching the T of the shaft to the backs of our saddles so the shaft ran between Maddie and Tess. I tied Caleb securely into the cart and off we rode.

“Now, Mrs. Stanfield, you have something to tell me.”

 Excerpt – Redemption

Johnny and I went below, the southeast winds of the night before had increased and veered to the south and then southwest causing Abigail to head north of her track. If the wind shifted further we would need to tack. In addition, the main and fore courses were taken down, all passengers confined. The bad weather continued for the next two weeks. We made little headway. We had been at sea for six weeks.

The conditions below went from bad to worse—the odors , unwashed bodies, mildewed clothes, urine, feces, vomit, the bilges, fouled water, rancid, spilled milk and butter, the cold, the constant damp, filthy clothing, skin sores, teeth and gums aching, stomach and head aches, women’s complaints. Skin lesions, sprains, bruises poorly cared for. Constant use of nit combs to remove nits and lice. Wooden and pewter chamber pots were in constant use. In the rough seas they often emptied themselves onto the deck. Sea water that regularly streamed into the cabin mixed with spilled human waste found its way into the bilges at the bottom of the boat making the overpowering smell a permanent feature. Algae, green, slimy growth appeared on the wood surfaces. I was reminded of the unsavory living conditions that caused us to flee Plymouth. At sea it was horrifyingly worse. The passengers who had come from towns seemed more inured to the smells. Those of us from the countryside were not so lucky. On days of prolonged calm, Annie organized the women to scrub the lower deck, the walls, and beams with a vinegar solution. They threw out lice, nit and flea ridden straw from old palliasses, and replaced it with new straw stowed in the hold. The hard work provided a short respite, hardly improving the general humor. When the smell from the bilges became overpowering, they were flooded with seawater and pumped out. The odor endured, as did the passengers.

 

On another day of severe storms, the conditions required Abigail to lie a-hull, sea anchor deployed, all sails struck except the reefed mizzen. Lifelines had been set for the benefit of the crew. Annie had sent me on an urgent errand to the cook room which meant I had to mount the for’ard steps to the main deck close by the cook room door. While in lengthy conversation with the cook over a beaker of hot soup, there was a muffled shout from outside requesting Mr. Stanfield’s attendance in the captain’s cabin. I finished my soup and went out on deck. A lifeline led from the fo’c’sle steps aft to the steps to the quarterdeck. In the howling wind, horizontal rain and bucking seas I dragged myself down the lifeline bracing against the pressure of wind trying to tear me away when, of a sudden, the lifeline went slack and I was blown across the deck and over the lee rail. I just managed to save myself by grabbing hold of a main shroud lanyard and was able to haul myself back onto the deck. Two crewmen tending the capstan holding the anchor line came to my aid and I was assisted aft.

The captain was surprised to see me. I had not been summoned.