I fell in love with the period of the English Civil War when my father, who loved reading aloud, read me THE KING’S GENERAL by Daphne du Maurier. In hindsight it probably was not the most suitable book to read to an eight year old but it fired my imagination into what was to become a lifelong passion.
Du Maurier wrote the book during the dark days of World War II when her own husband, as she describes him in the dedication “Also a General but hopefully a more discreet one”, was away from her side. Renovations to her home Menabilly (that was later to also become Manderlay in “Rebecca”) during the nineteenth century had unearthed a secret room hidden in the buttress. In the room the skeleton of a young man, dressed in the clothes of a cavalier was found. With no clue to his identity, Du Maurier wove the story of The King’s General around this bit of local history.
The King’s General of the title is Sir Richard Grenville (grandson of the Elizabethan sailor immortalised in the poem “At Flores in the Azores, Sir Richard Grenville lay...”).
History is not kind to Sir Richard Grenville, his majesty’s general in the West country during the English Civil War. Even before the war had begun, his violent temper had destroyed his marriage to Mary Howard and earned him two spells of imprisonment. Escaping to the continent he filled in his time fighting in the continental wars until the King raised his standard at Nottingham in 1642. Sir Richard returned to England and initially showed his colours for Parliament, but it was an elaborate ploy to obtain men and money and once he had been given both, he joined the King at Oxford.
The years from 1643 to 1646 were marked by his temper, his hot headed responses and his refusal to accept the authority of superior commanders. Added to this were allegations of hanging prisoners without trial, extorting money for his own purse and other atrocities.
In January 1646 he was captured at Launceston and imprisoned on St. Michael’s Mount from where he escaped to the continent where his temper and impetuousness earned him the enmity of Clarendon and banishment from the exiled King’s Court. He died in Ghent in 1658 aged 57.
It is hard to find anything to love about the historical “Skellum” Grenville as contemporary accounts describe him but Du Maurier, who researched him extensively for her book, gave him a hitherto unknown humanity and the love of a good woman, the fictional Honor Harris. It’s not a romance, there is no happy ever after, but it is a love story and a good one too. I am rereading it again and had forgotten what an exceptional writer Du Maurier.was. If you love this period then read THE KING’S GENERAL and find out Du Maurier’s tragic solution to the skeleton in the buttress.
I no longer have young children so the BBC series of “Horrible Histories” has only just come to my attention (I now record them and watch them in guilty secret over my lunch). I am therefore ashamed to say that this blog is inspired entirely by a “Horrible History” on the seventeenth century highwayman, Captain James Hind.
The writer in me immediately jumped to the conclusion that Captain Hind would make a marvellous character in a story (a sort of precursor to Dick Turpin and the highwaymen of romantic literature) but he was indeed a very real person. The Newgate Chronicles record his life and exploits in detail and indeed the popular press of the day made much of his exploits.
He began life as an apprentice to a butcher but quickly tired of this life and absconded to London where he fell into bad company, discovering the twin pleasures of the bottle and a mistress. Sadly the lady concerned was apprehended in the act of pick pocketing and she and James were confined to Newgate where he fell into the company of a notorious highwayman, Thomas Allen. On their release, Allen took Hind on as his “apprentice in crime”.
According to the chronicle “Their first adventure was at Shooters Hill, where they met with a gentleman and his servant. Hind being perfectly raw and inexperienced, his companion was willing to have a proof of his courage, and therefore stayed at some distance while the captain rode up and, singly, took from them fifteen pounds; but returned the gentleman twenty shillings, to bear his expenses on the road, with such a pleasant air that the gentleman protested he would never hurt a hair of his head if it should at any time be in his power. Allen was prodigiously pleased both with the bravery and generosity of his new comrade, and they mutually swore to stand by one another to the utmost of their power.”
It is not clear from the chronicle how Hind (and his companion) came to their political beliefs. One is left to assume, like most young men of the period, they had fought in the first Civil War for the King’s side. However following the execution of Charles I in 1649 Hind and Allen became zealots for the royalist cause, vowing “never to spare any regicides who came their way”.
As incredible as it sounds, one such regicide (the first of several!) did come their way shortly thereafter – Oliver Cromwell. Unfortunately for our heroes, Oliver had a train of 7 men with him and Allen was overpowered and subsequently executed. Hind made good his escape,
killing his horse in his haste to get away.
Hind’s reputation began to grow and among the stories told of him we find the following anecdotes:
•Several wonderful stories about how he procured a new horse!
•An encounter with the puritan Hugh Peters in which he bested him at quoting the scriptures (and stole 30 gold coins and Peters’ coat).
•He held up the man who had presided over the trial of Charles I, Bradshaw, sparing his life and saying "I fear neither you nor any king-killing son of a whore alive. I have now as much power over you as you lately had over the King, and I should do God and my country good service if I made the same use of it; but live, villain, to suffer the pangs of thine own conscience; till Justice shall lay her iron hand upon thee, and require an answer for thy crimes in a way more proper for such a monster, who art unworthy to die by any hands but those of the common hangman, and at any other place than Tyburn. Nevertheless, though I spare thy life as a regicide, be assured that, unless thou deliverest thy money immediately, thou shalt die for thy obstinacy."
•After holding up another regicide, Colonel Harrison, and relieving him of his purse, he very nearly got caught and unfortunately his pursuer died at his hand.
My favourite story is that of his encounter with a coach of young ladies.
“He went up to them in a genteel manner, told them that he was a patron of the fair sex, and that it was purely to win the favour of a hard-hearted mistress that he travelled the country. "But, ladies," added he, "I am at this time reduced to the necessity of asking relief, having nothing to carry me on in my intended prosecution of adventures." The young ladies, who had most of them read a pretty many romances, could not help conceiting they had met with some Quixote or Amadis de Gaul, who was saluting them in the strain of knight-errantry. "Sir Knight," said one of the pleasantest among them, "we heartily commiserate your condition, and are very much troubled that we cannot contribute towards your support; but we have nothing about us but a sacred depositum, which the laws of your order will not suffer you to violate." Hind was pleased to think he had met with such agreeable gentlewomen, and for the sake of the jest could freely have let them pass unmolested if his necessities at this time had not been very pressing. "May I, bright ladies, be favoured with the knowledge of what this sacred depositum, which you speak of, is, that so I may employ my utmost abilities in its defence, as the laws of knight-errantry require?" The lady who spoke before, and who suspected the least of any one in the company, told him that the depositum she had spoken of was three thousand pounds, the portion of one of the company, who was going to bestow it upon the knight who had won her good will by his many past services. "My humble duty be presented to the knight," said he, "and be pleased to tell him that my name is Captain Hind; that out of mere necessity I have made bold to borrow part of what, for his sake, I wish were twice as much; and that I promise to expend the sum in defence of injured lovers and the support of gentlemen who profess knight-errantry." At the name of Captain Hind they were sufficiently startled, there being nobody then living in England who had not heard of him. Hind, however, bid them not be affrighted, for he would not do them the least hurt, and desired no more than one thousand pounds out of the three. This the ladies very thankfully gave in an instant (for the money was tied up in separate bags), and the captain wished them all a good journey, and much joy to the bride.”
Sadly for our hero his days were numbered. He joined Charles II’s abortive attempt to regain the throne which ended at the battle of Worcester on September 21 1651and although he escaped the battle, he was captured in London and tried in Worcester, not for the murder of the man
at Knole, but for high treason. He went to the gallows professing that he had only ever targeted parliamentary supporters and shown unerring generosity to those of the royalist adherence.
He was hung drawn and quartered at Worcester on September 24, 1652 aged 34.
And now you know the facts enjoy the Horrible Histories take on our hero.
Was the Sun King's mistress—Madame de Montespan—guilty or innocent of using Black Magic? This is a debate that has been going on for centuries.
Jean Lemoine is a French historian I admire greatly. I read his Madame de Montespan et la Légende des Poisons (Madame de Montespan and the Legend of the Poisons) eagerly, anxious to know the historian's verdict regarding the guilt or innocence of the Sun King's infamous mistress, Madame de Montespan (Athénaïs). Was she guilty of dealings in Black Magic, Spanish Fly, infanticide?
Lemoine's thesis, interestingly, is no (or at least, not entirely). He argues that people were encouraged by Louvois, the Minister of War, to embellish their testimonies against Athénaïs.
What had the King's mistress done to earn such scorn?
As with so many things in the 17th century, it was all about status and family. Athénaïs had blocked Louvois's attempt to marry his daughter into her family. Worse, she then arranged for her nephew to marry a Colbert instead. In doing so, she had publically thrown her favour to Louvois's arch-rival.
When it was discovered that people were being poisoned, King Louis XIV put Louvois in charge of prosecuting the guilty. In essence, Louvois was put in charge of a witch hunt. How coincidental that a number of those brought before the tribunal were on his personal black list.
I'm a writer of historical fiction, and Louvois delights me—he's a perfect villain.
Fellow Hoyden, Alison Stuart, has written an excellent blog about "The Gallant She-Soldier." To add to it, I'm going to take a slight break from the 17th century because I recently found an incredible story of a 19th-century hoyden. Unfortunately, I can't even tell you her name because the reporter in the 1863 Missouri Democrat article withheld it to retain her privacy. He described her in typical Victorian style, "... large lustrous dark eye... ruddy and fresh looking..." But from there on out, he let her tell her own story.
Even before the American Civil War, her story was far from mundane. She lost her parents at a fairly young age, and at fourteen she was married to a member of a minstrel troupe. Widowed after eighteen months of marriage, she was supported by her two brothers. Then, the war broke out, and both of her brothers enlisted.
Not knowing what to do with herself, she grew restless. She traveled to Baltimore to be near her brothers and became a nurse, caring for the sick and wounded. Before long, she got tired of being on the receiving end of "insults and ungrateful returns" from some of the recovered soldiers. An idea came to her, and she asked her brothers' permission to "dress in male attire and join their regiment."
Her younger brother brought her to some "rough places" for her to learn how to act more like a man. No one noticed, and she enlisted as the major's orderly. Shortly after, the regiment was sent to New Orleans. Her younger brother was wounded in a skirmish and later died. She had no time for grief. In the second assault on Baton Rouge, she received a "severe sabre cut on the right arm. A ball grazed one of the lower limbs, and a number passed through my clothes."
As a result, the inevitable happened. The major of the regiment discovered her gender. During the war, if a female soldier was discovered after she had proven herself in battle, she was often allowed to stay. So it was for this woman.
For the most part, she lived as any other soldier, doing her job as best as she could. Another man learned her identity and attacked her in an "out of the way place." Her would-be rapist failed to realize that a female soldier could defend herself. She shot him. "I meant to disable his arm, but he stooped... the ball entered his face and found its way under his skull-cap." Instead of being angry at him, she tended him until he was out of danger. He sent her a written apology "in such a manner that I forgave him."
Although the article is unclear as to how long she remained in the regiment, she continued working for the major until he resigned. When she went home on furlough to Michigan, she had every intention of returning to her brother. Unfortunately before she could get back, he died from a fever.
Alone and uncertain what to do with herself, she had a few non-military adventures before enlisting once again. In a familiar job as a major's orderly in Rolla, Missouri, she met a young officer from Iowa where she fell "desperately in love." He had no clue of her true identity until she finally told him. "The result was that we engaged to be married this fall."
I salute this 19th-century Hoyden, and truly hope that she lived a long and happy life with her Iowa officer. And rest assure, next time, I'll return to blogging about the 17th century.
Five and twenty ponies,
Trotting through the dark—
Brandy for the Parson,
‘Baccy for the Clerk;
Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie—
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!
Rudyard Kipling
During the English Civil War, a new tax on domestic consumption, excise, was levied by Parliament to pay for the war. By 1660, this applied to chocolate, coffee, tea, beer, cider and spirits. All exports of wool were forbidden to promote the English wool trade, the penalty being the gallows for transgressors, or the ‘owlers’ as they were called due to the fact they worked at night. In 1688, the excise was extended to include essentials such as salt, leather, and soap.
Collecting taxes was a cumbersome and inefficient process with a hostile population where communication and transport links were slow and inefficient, so whole communities tended to become involved in the 'free-trade', as it was euphemistically known. The farm labourer helped carry goods inland; the parson bought cheap tea and wine; the local squire lent his horses for transport; the wealthy merchant obtained cut-price supplies of silks and lace; and at the very pinnacle of society, members of the gentry conducted foreign business through intermediaries involved in smuggling. In the West Country, some houses would have a bottle bottom set in the plaster below a gable end of the house to indicate the owners were smugger sympathisers.
Whilst researching 17th Century smuggling in the Exeter area, I came across a character named Thomas Coumbe, known as The Smuggler Squire. Born in Devon in 1620, he married a tall, auburn haired beauty named Bridget, who was much younger than himself and reputed to be a descendant of Sir Ralph de Blanchminster, a Cornish Knight who followed Richard Coeur de Lion on the Third Crusade.
Coumbe became a church warden in 1666, subsequently gaining great wealth from his association with the smugglers at Bude, the chief entry points being Bude Haven and Widemouth on the North Devon coast, where signal flares from could be seen by the smugglers at sea.
Sand was used in these days to break up the heavy loam of Devon before the employment of artificial manures. The Smuggling Squire made a weekly trip between Tavistock and Exeter on his sand cart, in which he hid tobacco, silk, brandy and wine.
According to old deeds, he owned land from "Sea to Sea", i.e. from Exeter on the South Devon coast to Bude on the north, a distance of 53 miles. He had a number of illegitimate children, to whom no doubt some of the farms were bequeathed. Described as:
a brown, hard, stern looking man with one blue eye, over the other he wore a patch having lost an eye in a duel, and regularly dressed in leather with a *bob wig.
How could I resist adding this colourful man to my story?
* The most popular undress wig was the shorter, bob wig originally worn by tradesman who could not afford the longer wigs. Bob wigs were also the standard wig worn by Protestant clergymen of the 17th Century
