Bell Harry

by Nicholas Best

  A friend in Canterbury advised him against the enterprise. He told Cushman that the Puritans were mad even to think about it.

  ‘America is full of savages,’ he pointed out. ‘They flay white men alive with seashells. They cut off their members and broil them on hot coals. They won’t allow you to live peacefully in their land, let alone practise religion as you wish.’

  ‘They will,’ Cushman assured him. ‘Once they’ve heard the word of God. We must teach them the errors of their ways.’

  Trading goods would buy the savages off. There were all sorts of commodities the Puritans could bring with them to exchange for valuable furs. The word of God could come later, after the savages had become dependent on their benefactors for all the manufactured goods that came with them.

  The English flag was coming too. The Puritans planned to plant it on fresh soil, next to the colony of Virginia, where no flag had flown before. It would benefit everyone, white man and savage alike, to live under the protection of the English flag. The Puritans meant to bring the best of England to the New World, while leaving the worst behind.

  ‘The Merchant Adventurers are chartering the vessel,’ Cushman told his friend. ‘My job is to fill it with everything we need for the crossing. I have to get a lot of other stuff as well to help us start a new life in a new land.’

  ‘What d’you need?’

  ‘Everything. Beer, wine, beef, pork. Hard tack and dried peas. Clothes, tools, muskets, fishing tackle. Trade goods for the savages. I’m looking for a screw jack as well. It’ll come in useful for lifting heavy weights.’

  ‘And you sail when?’

  ‘Spring next year, if the Adventurers have found us a ship. We want to reach the New World before the winter storms at sea.’

  The voyage was certainly not for the faint-hearted. The risks were so great that several financial backers had decided to pull out after thinking about it. They preferred to invest their capital in something less hazardous. Quite a few Puritans had withdrawn too, dismayed at the prospect of a perilous sea crossing and an unknowable life thereafter. Cushman understood their concerns.

  ‘None of us really knows what we’re doing,’ he confessed to his friend. ‘We’re all of us learning as we go. There’s no one to tell us what we should do. We just have to muddle through and hope the Lord will provide in the end.’

  The worst moment came in June 1620. The Puritans were ready to leave, but the Adventurers still hadn’t managed to find a ship for the voyage. The Puritans needed to sail almost at once if they were to cross the ocean before the bad weather. They knew their plans would come to nothing if they didn’t leave England soon.

  A flurry of correspondence followed as they tried to resolve the problem. It resulted in the Puritans pooling their resources to buy a small ship of their own. The Speedwell lay in the Dutch port of Delfshaven. She was less than fifty feet long and rated only sixty tons. It would be a miracle if they managed to sail such a tiny craft across the Atlantic and arrive in one piece. But they could use her for fishing if they did.

  The Puritans clearly needed a bigger ship as well. The two vessels could rendezvous in Southampton and set out together. There would be safety in numbers, if they remained in contact throughout the voyage.

  ‘I wish I could be sure it was going to happen,’ Cushman confessed. ‘There’s been so much confusion. If we don’t go soon, we’ll have eaten half our food before we even leave England.’

  Others shared his pessimism. There had been incessant arguments among the Puritans, as well as confusion. Everyone was at loggerheads with everyone else. The Puritans were very close to abandoning the whole enterprise when better news arrived from London. The backers had managed to charter a ship at last.

  ‘She’s already on her way to Southampton,’ Cushman told his friend. He was cockahoop as he came to say goodbye. ‘I’m off there too. It looks as if we’re really going to leave England at last.’

  ‘What kind of ship?’

  ‘She’s a three-decker apparently. Much bigger than the Speedwell. About a hundred feet long. She can carry 180 tons of cargo as well.’

  ‘That sounds promising.’

  ‘It does. We’ll certainly need the space. There’ll be a hundred passengers on board, if we can fit them all in.’

  ‘That many?’

  Cushman nodded. ‘It’ll be a tight squeeze, but it does look as if everybody who wants to go to America will be able to, now that we have a bigger ship.’

  ‘So you’re really on your way?’

  ‘Yes, we are, at long last. She’s called the Mayflower. I think she’s going to be just what we need for the voyage.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  King Charles I Consummates his Marriage

  There was something distinctly dubious about the two bearded men and their attendant taking the ferry across the river Thames on a cold February morning in 1623. Their beards looked false, for one thing. They were very furtive, for another. The men clearly wanted to keep a low profile as they paid the fare from Tilbury and wrapped themselves in hooded cloaks for the journey across the river to Gravesend on the south bank.

  They were both young men, calling themselves Tom and John Smith. They didn’t have the right money for the crossing, so they gave the ferryman a gold piece instead. He looked at it in disbelief.

  ‘I can’t change that. It’s far too much.’

  ‘Don’t worry. You can keep the change. It’s no bother to us.’

  The ferryman’s suspicions were aroused at once. Nobody threw cash around like that. Not unless they had something to hide. The men were on their way to Dover. The ferryman wondered if they were fugitives from justice, fleeing abroad before the law could catch up with them.

  His suspicions were confirmed when the men asked to be taken to the outskirts of Gravesend, rather than the usual landing stage. They clearly had something to hide if they didn’t want to be seen in the town.

  The ferryman rowed himself to the landing stage as soon as he had deposited them. Tying up his boat, he went ashore in search of a magistrate.

  ‘The men are going abroad under false names,’ he told the official. ‘I think they might be going to fight a duel. Someone should stop them, if they are.’

  ‘A duel?’

  ‘Something. I don’t know what. They’re up to no good, whatever it is.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘On their way to Rochester. They’ve hired post-horses.’

  The magistrate mulled it over. ‘You’re right,’ he decided, after a while. ‘We should know what they’re up to. I’ll send someone to Rochester. The magistrate there can find out what’s going on.’

  A post-boy was despatched at once. He arrived in Rochester to discover that the two men and their attendant had only just passed through, en route to Dover. The post-boy hurried after them.

  The men weren’t far ahead when they ran into a problem coming the other way. It was a royal carriage escorted by horsemen. Whoever was in the carriage, John Smith and his companions didn’t want to meet them for fear of being recognised.

  ‘We’ll have to go across country,’ Smith decided. ‘Come on. Over the fields.’

  Turning off the road, the three men spurred their horses across the fields, making a wide detour behind the hedges to avoid being seen by the royal cavalcade. They had only just disappeared when the post-boy arrived. Reining in, he asked the royal party on the road if they had seen the three men anywhere.

  ‘Why?’ asked the man in charge of the escort. ‘What have they done?’

  The post-boy explained. Sir Henry Mainwaring listened carefully. As the Lieutenant of Dover Castle, he was escorting the Flemish ambassador to London in the coach. He didn’t want anything to happen to the ambassador while the man was in his charge.

  The idea of the two men going abroad in disguise to fight a duel seemed far-fetched to Mainwaring. He came up with another explanation instead.

  ‘They’re not duellists,’ he decided, after
listening to a description of the men. ‘They’re that Dutchman’s sons. What was his name? The one who was beheaded.’

  Johan van Oldenbarnevelt had been a Dutch leader in the fight for independence from Spain. His execution for alleged crimes against the government had caused outrage in England. The trial had recently been a play on the London stage.

  ‘They’re his sons,’ Mainwaring declared. ‘That’s who they are. They’re on their way to Holland to assassinate the Prince of Orange and avenge their father’s death. We must stop them before they do.’

  Scribbling a note authorising their arrest, Mainwaring handed it to one of his own people.

  ‘Ride like hell,’ he told him. ‘Canterbury first, then Dover if you have to. Alert the authorities and tell them what’s happening. Make sure the men are intercepted before they have a chance to leave England.’

  The man did as he was told. He had the advantage of the road as he started off. The three suspects were still hacking across country on inferior horses. By the time they had returned to the road, they were some way behind him as he reached Canterbury and demanded to see the mayor at once.

  He handed him Mainwaring’s note. The mayor read it carefully. Sir Henry was the Member of Parliament for Dover as well as Lieutenant of the Castle. His signature on the document was all the authority the mayor needed to make an arrest.

  ‘Right.’ The mayor summoned the watch. ‘We’re looking for three suspects,’ he told them. ‘Possible assassins. They’ll have to change horses here if they’re heading for Dover. We’ll check the post inn first.’

  The White Hart lay on the London road, just outside the West Gate. The mayor led the way as they hurried down the High Street.

  He wasn’t a moment too soon. Three men answering the right description had just hired fresh mounts at the inn and were preparing to saddle up. The mayor stepped in to stop them.

  ‘Who are you?’ he demanded. ‘What are you doing in Canterbury?’

  ‘We’re on our way to Dover.’ The older of the two Smiths spoke. He was a flamboyant man in his late twenties, obviously an aristocrat. ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘I’m the mayor of Canterbury. I’m responsible for law and order in the city.’

  ‘Well, good for you. We’re not doing anything wrong, so we’ll be on our way, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I do mind. I want to know your business. What are you doing here?’

  The elder Smith was about to reply but changed his mind. It was the younger Smith who spoke.

  ‘What we’re doing is none of your business,’ he said. The younger Smith was a small man, just over five feet tall. He spoke with a stutter. ‘We don’t have to tell you, if we don’t want to.’

  ‘Right, take them in.’ The mayor wasn’t going to be spoken to like that, not in his own city. ‘We’ll soon see if it’s my business or not.’

  The watch arrested the two Smiths and their attendant. They were frogmarched to a room at the inn where they could be questioned properly. The mayor took a seat while the three suspects stood in front of him under close guard.

  ‘All right, then,’ the mayor said. ‘What’s this all about?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The false beards, for a start. Why are you in disguise?’

  It was a hard one to answer. The elder Smith blustered for a while, then abandoned the attempt and tore his beard off.

  ‘We’re travelling incognito,’ he told the mayor.

  ‘I can see that. Why?’

  ‘We don’t want anyone to know who we are.’ It was the younger Smith who answered.

  ‘Wait your turn,’ the mayor told him sharply. ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’

  ‘We have reasons for not wanting anyone to know.’ The older Smith didn’t want to say any more. ‘You shouldn’t speak to my companion like that.’

  ‘I’ll speak to him however I please. I’m the mayor here.’

  ‘And I’m the Marquess of Buckingham. We’re travelling on official state business.’

  Oh Lord. The mayor reeled. He hoped it wasn’t true. The Marquess of Buckingham was King James’s very special friend.

  ‘I’m the King’s admiral,’ the Marquess went on. ‘I’m on my way with my companions to Dover to inspect the fleet. We want to assess the navy’s state of readiness in the Narrow Seas.’

  ‘Is that so?’ It was the mayor’s turn to bluster. ‘And who is your companion then?’

  The younger Smith had had enough of this. He too took off his beard.

  ‘I am Charles Stuart, Prince of Wales,’ he told the mayor. ‘I’m the King’s son.’

  And heir. The mayor had just arrested the future King of England. Oh dear God! The mayor fell immediately to one knee and cringed in submission, waiting for the earth to swallow him up.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I had no idea. Believe me, my Lords. If only I’d known.’

  ‘You had no reason to arrest us.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. I see that now. I shouldn’t have done it. I can only apologise.’

  England’s future King didn’t seem mollified. Neither did the Marquess of Buckingham. Both were very irritated at their arrest.

  ‘We’re not breaking any law. We’re on a secret mission.’

  ‘I understand that. I should never have interfered. I’d been given wrong information.’

  ‘Well.’ Prince Charles struggled with his stammer when he was cross. ‘See that it never happens again.’

  ‘It won’t. Of course it won’t. I shall make sure that it never does.’

  ‘And see that you don’t tell anyone about this. You’ve caused us enough trouble already. There are very good reasons why we’re travelling incognito.’

  ‘Not a word, my Lords. Not to anyone.’

  The prisoners were released. Bowing repeatedly, the mayor escorted them outside to their horses. The three men mounted up, gave him a look of contempt, and resumed their journey. Clattering across the drawbridge, they rode through the West Gate and disappeared up Canterbury High Street in the direction of Dover.

  They were on a secret mission, but it wasn’t to inspect the fleet. They were going to Spain to inspect the Spanish king’s daughter. If the negotiations went well, Charles was planning to marry her. But that was no business of the mayor of Canterbury’s.

  The negotiations didn’t go well. The idea was abandoned after much discussion and Charles decided to marry the King of France’s daughter instead. His next visit to Canterbury, two years later, was to receive his new bride and welcome her to England after her arrival from France.

  A great deal had changed by the time Charles returned to Canterbury in June 1625. His father had just died and he was the King now. He had no need of a cloak or a false beard as he arrived by coach from Rochester. Church bells rang out in every village and people turned out in large numbers to cheer him on his way.

  The mayor of Canterbury was no longer in office. He kept his head down and maintained a very low profile as the King arrived. It was John Finch, recorder of the city and Member of Parliament, who swept off his hat and welcomed the monarch back to Canterbury.

  ‘The people of the city must humbly ask your pardon,’ he told the King, on bended knee. ‘We know what happened, the last time you were here. We’re all very embarrassed about it. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive us. One gracious look from Your Majesty is all we wish for.’

  The King did his best, but he couldn’t hide his lack of enthusiasm for Canterbury. It was obvious that the incident still rankled. The mayor who had arrested him was wise to remain out of sight for the duration of his visit.

  Charles stayed two nights at St Augustine’s before continuing to Dover to collect his bride. Fifteen-year-old Henrietta Maria was on her way from France but delayed by sickness and bad weather.

  The two of them had never met, but they were already married. The ceremony had taken place at Notre Dame in Paris, with a proxy standing in for the groom. All that remained n
ow was for the new Queen to come to England and commence married life with her husband.

  Henrietta arrived at length and was introduced to Charles at Dover Castle. His courtiers were relieved to see that she was tiny, almost a head shorter than him. It would have been awkward if she had towered over the King, as some women at court did.

  ‘I’m standing on my own feet,’ she told Charles in French, to emphasise the point. She indicated her shoes. ‘This is how high I am. Neither taller nor shorter.’

  They set out for Canterbury after lunch. The coach stopped at Barham Downs on the way, the traditional Kentish greeting place for a monarch. Tents and a picnic tea awaited them. The route thereafter was strewn with flowers and crowded with sightseers as Charles and Henrietta drove on in state towards the cathedral city.

  All the bells were ringing as they arrived. The new mayor and his aldermen were waiting at the West Gate to receive them. Henrietta spoke no English. She didn’t understand a word as the mayor formally welcomed her to Canterbury and wished her every happiness for the future.

  They drove to St Augustine’s after the ceremony. The streets were still full of people as they went. Everyone in the city had turned out to watch the procession. Henrietta was relieved to reach the abbey at last after a long day of travelling through her strange and unfamiliar new country.

  She went to bed early that night. The King followed after a polite interval. Two of his attendants helped him into his nightshirt before themselves retiring discreetly. The last noise they heard was the sound of the King bolting the door firmly behind them as they withdrew.

  He was famously an early riser, but it was past seven o’clock before he got up next morning. The two sentries outside his chamber exchanged knowing glances as they patrolled their beats.

  ‘Aye aye,’ one of them said. ‘I wonder what keeps the King abed so late on a lovely summer morning.’