0 Ann Fanshawe: A Memoir of Love

By Cryssa Bazos

Journaling became fashionable during the 17th century. Well-known diarists, such as Samuel Pepys, and John Evelyn documented the affairs of the day, but the memoirs of Ann Fanshawe are a charming testimony of her love for her husband, Richard Fanshawe. She wrote it for her only surviving son, Richard, who was only ten months old when his father died. Ann wanted him to know the character of his father and achievements during his lifetime.

Cornelis Janssens van Ceulen
via Wikimedia Commons

Ann Harrison Fanshawe was born in London on March 25, 1625, the eldest daughter of Sir John Harrison of Balls (Hertfordshire). She had a carefree childhood, and although she was taught the necessary skills expected of one in her station, she was high-spirited:

I learned as well as most did, yet was I wild to that degree, that the hours of my beloved recreation took up too much of my time, for I loved riding in the first place, running, and all active pastimes; in short, I was that which we graver people call a hoyting girl; but to be just to myself, I never did mischief to myself or people, nor one immodest word or action in my life, though skipping and activity was my delight.

Throughout her life, she never lost her passionate and spirited nature. If her words mirrored her essence, she was an engaging and charming woman. There is no doubt that this is one of the traits that endeared her to Richard Fanshawe.

Had it not have been for the English Civil War, Ann and Richard may never have become acquainted. Although Ann was related to the Fanshawes through her mother’s side, Richard, who was seventeen years her senior, spent years abroad on the Crown’s business, only returning before the war.

By Unknown painter (British school)
(BBC Paintings [1] date: 2012-01-19 01:47:52)
[Public domain] via Wikimedia Commons

Richard Fanshawe was born in June 1608 to an ancient family whose lineage traced back to the time of William of Normandy. Richard’s great-grandfather improved the family fortunes when he became a respected civil servant during the reign of Henry VIII. Richard followed in his ancestor’s footsteps. He attended Cambridge for law, but the subject did not suit him, and instead travelled to Paris and Madrid where he became secretary to the English Ambassador to Spain. When the English Civil War broke, King Charles I appointed Richard Secretary of War to the Prince of Wales (future Charles II).

He was ever much esteemed by his two masters, Charles the First and Charles the Second, both for great parts and honesty, as for his conversation, in which they took great delight, he being so free from passion, that made him beloved of all that knew him.

The couple was married on May 18, 1644. Even though they had good prospects, this was a time of war and uncertainty so had very little resources to get them settled.

We might truly be called merchant adventurers, for the stock we set up our trading with did not amount to twenty pounds betwixt us;

In her memoirs, Ann described Richard’s personality with a great deal of affection. She took joy in remembering their special times together.

He never used exercise but walking, and that generally with some book in his hand, which oftentimes was poetry, in which he spent his idle hours; sometimes he would ride out to take the air, but his most delight was, to go only with me in a coach some miles, and there discourse of those things which then most pleased him.

Here was an intelligent and reserved man, a complimentary opposite to Ann’s more vivacious nature. Ann’s love for her husband remained undimmed after twenty-two years of marriage. Theirs was a perfect match:

Glory be to God, we never had but one mind throughout our lives. Our souls were wrapped up in each other's; our aims and designs one, our loves one, and our resentments one. We so studied one the other, that we knew each other's mind by our looks. Whatever was real happiness, God gave it me in him;

Over the course of their marriage, there were times when they had to be apart due to Richard’s work, and Ann felt those separations keenly. The first time, and possibly the most difficult, was after the birth of their first son, when Richard left to join the Prince of Wales in Bristol as his personal secretary. The child was sickly and did not survive.

I then lying-in of my first son, Harrison Fanshawe, who was born on the 22nd of February [1645], he left me behind him. As for that, it was the first time we had parted a day since we married; he was extremely afflicted, even to tears, though passion was against his nature; but the sense of leaving me with a dying child, which did die two days after, in a garrison town, extremely weak, and very poor, were such circumstances as he could not bear with, only the argument of necessity;

Richard sent for her as quickly as he could and in May of that year, Ann joined him in Bristol. By then, the war was not going in the King’s favour, and the Fanshawe’s were forced to move around as dictated by the changes in Royal fortune. They lived one year in Ireland, when Richard was Treasurer of the King’s navy, but were forced to leave for the continent when Cromwell arrived with an invading army.

They set sail on a sixty-gun merchant ship, laden with rich goods, and encountered a Turkish galley. Fearing to be taken as a prize if the Turks realized they were not a man o’ war, the captain locked the women in their cabins and prepared for battle. Ann was beside herself with worry for Richard, who joined the ship’s crew armed with gun and sword. As a true heroine, Ann was determined to meet this enemy by her husband’s side. Resourceful woman that she was, she bribed a cabin boy to release her:

I, all in tears, desired him [the cabin boy] to be so good as to give me his blue thrum cap he wore, and his tarred coat, which he did, and I gave him half-a-crown, and putting them on and flinging away my night clothes, I crept up softly and stood upon the deck by my husband's side, as free from sickness and fear as, I confess, from discretion; but it was the effect of that passion, which I could never master.

Richard must have been shocked when she appeared on deck dressed as a cabin boy. The first chance he could, he “snatched me up in his arms, saying, ‘Good God, that love can make this change!’ and though he seemingly chid me, he would laugh at it as often as he remembered that voyage.”

The next years were financially difficult for them, and rather than live on credit, Ann made frequent trips to England to obtain funds for her husband. In 1650, a year after the execution of Charles I, Richard left for Scotland to join Charles II in his bid to win back his father’s throne.

Richard fought at Worcester on September 3, 1651, the fateful battle of the civil war when the King lost to Cromwell and barely escaped with his life. Ann went wild with worry not knowing what happened to her husband.

When the King being missed, and nothing heard of your father being dead or alive, for three days it was inexpressible what affliction I was in. I neither eat nor slept, but trembled at every motion I heard, expecting the fatal news, which at last came in their news-book, which mentioned your father a prisoner.

She wasted no time and left for London. By chance, she met an acquaintance who gave her information about Richard and promised to make arrangements for her to meet him. She arrived at a Charing Cross inn with her father and the friends, not knowing if that would be the last time she would see him. When Richard saw Ann crying, he said, “Cease weeping, no other thing upon earth can move me.”

After this, Richard was taken to Whitehall and held prisoner in isolation for ten weeks. Not even Ann was allowed to visit him, but every day she would go to Whitehall and see him at his window:

During the time of his imprisonment, I failed not constantly to go, when the clock struck four in the morning, with a dark lantern in my hand, all alone and on foot, from my lodging in Chancery Lane, at my cousin Young's, to Whitehall, in at the entry that went out of King Street into the bowling-green. There I would go under his window and softly call him: he, after the first time excepted, never failed to put out his head at the first call: thus we talked together, and sometimes I was so wet with the rain, that it went in at my neck and out at my heels.

It was Oliver Cromwell who was instrumental in gaining his release. Richard’s health was poor, and he advised Ann to get a doctor’s certificate stating that her husband was near death. Cromwell argued in favour of his release so he could receive treatment, and Richard was released on £4,000 bail.

Richard was now on parole and would continue to be until the death of Oliver Cromwell. When he was released from his bond, he relocated his family to Paris where he remained with the exiled King until the Restoration. At Charles II’s coronation, Richard occupied a place of honour, riding upon the King’s left hand with “rich foot-clots, and four men in rich liveries.” Ann’s pride in her husband could not be surpassed.

On June 26, 1666, Richard fell ill of the ague and died abroad, leaving Ann to raise their son and four daughters alone. She made arrangements to bring him home for burial where he was eventually laid to rest at St. Mary’s in Ware.

Ann included a lengthy prayer in her memoirs that spoke of her grief, even eleven years after Richard’s death. She admitted that she considered withdrawing from society in Richard’s memory but her duties as mother prevented her from doing so.

Ann Fanshawe passed away on January 20, 1679 at the age of 55, just over twelve years after Richard died. I believe that she was at peace in her final moments with the knowledge that she would soon be reunited with her love.

CC BY 4.0
(http://creativecommonsorg/licenses/by/4.0)
via Wikimedia Commons

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

References:
Memoirs of Lady Fanshawe, Wife of Sir Richard Fanshawe
Complete Baronetage, Volume III, 1649-1664, by George Edward Cokayne.

Bio:
Cryssa Bazos is a historical fiction writer and 17th Century enthusiast with a particular interest in the English Civil War. For more stories about that period, visit her blog.

Detail: Ann Fanshawe: A Memoir of Love

0 Romantic Negligence - Seventeenth Century Fashion

by Deborah Swift

When investigating mid-seventeenth century fashion, you might well be misled by portraits of the time. This is because there was a craze during the mid and late seventeenth century for women to be dressed (or rather undressed) in what appears to be a lot of drapery. The portrait below of Moll Davis exemplifies this kind of look.

Moll (Mary) Davis by Peter Lely (wiki)

Mid-seventeenth century court etiquette demanded that only someone of a superior rank could receive a person of lower rank when in a state of undress. However, a person of inferior rank had to be formally attired, right down to hat and gloves, when attending a person of superior rank. Sitting for a portrait in a state of undress emphasized the fact that the sitter belonged to the upper classes, and soon the idea caught on, and everyone demanded these 'superior' portraits.

Barbara Castlemaine,  Royal Mistress

The drapery was often open at the front like a loose sleeveless coat, and was in fact known as a nightgown. It was worn over a chemise which was (to modern eyes) only just decent and showed the curve of the breasts. At the time a woman's neck and shoulders were considered extremely beautiful, and the clothing for portraits was designed to show off this décolleté neckline. It was fashionable to mimic the romantic clothing of fifty to seventy years earlier, very much as 'vintage' is fashionable today. Women wanted to look like the portraits of Van Dyck, with flowing curls and rich swathes of deep-hued fabric. In wealthy circles, satin was the most popular fabric, followed by velvet and textured brocade.

When not sitting for a portrait, the wealthy woman's dress was much more fussy. France was a large influence on fashion and the flamboyant Louis XIV (1638–1715) and his palace at Versailles became the leading fashion influence of the century.  The French led the production of silk, lace, (known as point) and brocade. Londoners imported French wares, along with the French taste for excessive embellishment with ribbons, bows, buttons and embroidery. Italian lace and ribbon was also popular.

Anna Maria Louise von Medici

From the 1650's over-skirts began to be parted to reveal decorative petticoats.  A mantua was where the over-skirt was hitched up at the front and sides to reveal an embroidered or fancy petticoat, a fashion which persisted into the 18th century. The outer part was often worn very long to form a train. This is an example (from the Met Museum) which must be for winter wear, as it is of a heavier and more durable fabric. Click on the picture for more information.

Poorer women might wear gowns made of wool or cotton with much simpler tailoring. A rich woman's bodice might be seamed together with dozen different panels to fit perfectly, but a poor woman's was often less shapely and designed to be handed on to other members of the family to get maximum wear. 

We have very few English portraits of women from the lower classes, but must rely on our Dutch and Flemish neighbours to show us what 17th century dress might have looked like. This picture by Gabriel Metsu shows a woman of servant class, and her skirt is of a much more practical length (no trailing train) and the skirts are protected by an apron. When writing novels set in the seventeenth century it is easy to take a simplistic view of what people wore, but the truth is immensely complex, and much more fascinating.

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Thank you for reading! Find out more about me and my seventeenth century books by clicking the picture.

Her characters are so real that they linger in the mind long after the book is back on the shelf - Historical Novel Review

Detail: Romantic Negligence - Seventeenth Century Fashion

0 Until death - of loyalty at all costs

by Anna Belfrage

There is a picture in the National Portrait Gallery that I have always been particularly fond of. Originally, I was drawn to it more because of the formal garden in the background than the sitters in the foreground (this was when I was thinking BIG when it came to garden design), but every time I’ve visited the gallery, I have ended up standing a long time before this depiction of a seemingly happy and content family – mainly because they don’t look all that happy. The father looks somewhat shifty (but I love his flashy green stockings), the wife looks worried, and only the toddler leaning against his father’s leg looks alert and relaxed. So, dear readers, today I thought we’d meet the 17th century Capells – and especially Arthur Capell, the pater familias in the picture.

The Capells were relatively new to the world of the hoity-toity. Only a couple generations back, the Capells were merchants, and one William Capel was a London draper, became mayor and laid the foundations of the family fortune. By the time our Arthur was born in 1603, the family was well-to-do landed gentry and had been so for the last eighty years or so, long enough to distance themselves from their tradesmen roots.

Little Arthur grew up as the cosseted heir to a large fortune and as the member of a huge family, seeing as his grandparents had twenty children (and I’m thinking poor, poor woman…). His parents both died while Arthur was young, he spent some time in Cambridge and in 1627 married a young woman called Elizabeth Morrison who brought even more money to the Capell household. Upon the death of his grandfather in 1632, the not quite thirty-year-old Arthur became one of the richest men in England.

Despite all this wealth, Arthur was not much of a material boy. Devout and serious, he was a man for whom words like duty and honour meant something. So when he became an MP, he had a genuine desire to change things for the better – among other things he considered it important to ensure the King acted in accordance with Parliament’s directives. The King, rather obviously, did not agree. After all, Charles I had been raised believing in Divine Right. It is therefore not entirely strange that the first years as an MP, Arthur mostly voted with the Parliamentarians. But as the radicals grew more vociferous (and more radical), Arthur started feeling somewhat queasy. It was one thing to curb the King’s wilful behaviour, another thing entirely to question his authority – or his existence - altogether.

Arthur Capell

The fledgling Parliamentarian began drifting in the direction of more moderate men, and the King, being at times quite astute, made Arthur Baron Capell of Hadham and gave him a seat in the House of Lords – and what a dashing baron he was our Arthur, well over six feet tall and rich enough to flounce around in silks should he feel like it. (He mostly didn’t.) Thus, the former fervent believer in a king ruled by Parliament was seduced into the Royalist camp, and being Arthur, once he had sworn the King fealty, there was no going back. Given the times, this meant our Arthur was in for a long and hard ride, because as we all know, the discord between Parliament and King swelled until it exploded into Civil War.

In 1642 Lord Capell fought at Edgehill as a member of the King’s bodyguard. He had dipped into his considerable riches and equipped an entire regiment at the outbreak of the first Civil War, and he was to dip deeper and deeper into his personal wealth as the fighting progressed. While brave and audacious, creative when needed, it soon became eminently clear that he was not one of those men gifted with the skills required to make a great military leader. He lacked strategic vision and had a tendency to become bogged down in tactics, winning minor skirmishes while losing out in the bigger picture.

So in 1645, Lord Capell was instead sent to Bristol to serve on the council of the Prince of Wales. At this point in time, the previously so wealthy Capell was strapped for cash. His Essex estates were under sequestration, and only the fact that his wife had Parliamentarian connections kept his family in relative safety. In 1646, after fierce fighting in which Capell was wounded, what remained of the Prince’s advisors fled to Jersey and from there to France where the Prince was reunited with his mother.

Charles I

As Lord Capell was uncomfortable in the very Catholic household of Queen Henrietta Maria, he spent the coming months in exile in the Netherlands, but by 1647 he was back home where he was first placed under house arrest. By July he was back at Hadham Hall. Things, it seemed, were over: Parliament was in charge and the King was its prisoner. Well: as we know, Parliament was not exactly a united front, with deep divisions between Independents and Presbyterians. King Charles attempted to exploit this, and in November of 1647 he escaped, making for Isle of Wight.

The King had hoped to be well-received at the Isle of Wight. Instead, he was incarcerated – in comfort – at Carisbrooke Castle. He decided to further deepen the divisions among the Parliamentarians, and in December of 1647 he signed a secret treaty with the Scots: if they supported him, he promised to implement Presbyterianism throughout England for a minimum period of three years. (Good luck with that, one can’t help thinking, but given the way events unfolded, this would never be put to the test.)

In May of 1648, the Royalists rebelled, the Scots army – as per the agreement with Charles I - invaded, and disaffected Parliamentarians took the opportunity to join the fracas. In Essex, things exploded, and Lord Capell felt honour-bound to join the uprising, despite the potential risks to himself and his family. As the New Model Army rose to the challenge, the Royalists took cover behind Colchester’s walls, and just like that, one of the more memorable sieges of the Civil War had begun.

Cromwell

Oliver Cromwell rode north to deal with the Scots, and in Essex, Thomas Fairfax was charged with sorting out the pesky insurgents who had holed up in Colchester. "A walk in the park," I imagine Cromwell saying to Fairfax. "You deal with the pretty boys and I'll go and maul the Scots, okay?"

Initially, Fairfax attempted to breach the town by force. His men charged, were fought off, charged again, and voilá, they’d made it through the gates. A ruse, as it turns out, because suddenly the gates swung shut behind them and the men were trapped, shot at from all directions. It is said our Arthur was one of the men behind the plan. Whatever the case, Fairfax lost very many men that day, the Royalists substantially less.

The Parliamentary forces settled down for a long siege. Having discovered that Lord Capell was one of the leaders, they had his sickly son brought over from Hadham Hall to hold as some sort of hostage, parading him within sight of the city walls. There were loud protests at this behaviour, and the boy was released. I guess his father heaved a sigh of relief. The siege ground on, with the people behind Colchester’s walls soon reduced to eating cats, dogs, rats, leather – well, anything, really. The townspeople attempted to appeal to the Parliamentarian forces for food, but Fairfax was not giving them as much as a loaf of bread as he feared any victuals provided to the civilians would end up with the Royalists.

There were constant skirmishes, leading to loss of life and limb. The Parliamentarian forces ate their way into one Royalist position after the other, and for the men trapped in Colchester, things went from bad to worse, but they dug in and refused to budge, hoping the Scottish Army would succeed in trouncing Cromwell's army. Unfortunately for our trapped Royalists, it wasn’t Cromwell who hit the dust at the Battle of Preston. Instead, the entire Scottish Army was vanquished and the Second Civil War was thereby over – well, except for the stubborn men in Colchester.

Handsome Fairfax

In Colchester, the news were received in silent despair. Hungry and outnumbered, the only thing the besieged men could hope for was generous terms for their surrender – but frankly, in the present situation Fairfax had no reason to be generous. All he had to do was wait.  However, Black Tom Fairfax was a pragmatic man, less interested in spilling Royalist blood than in establishing some sort of peace, which is why he offered the common men quarter, while the “Lords and Gentlemen” who had led the uprising had to surrender unconditionally, with no guarantees as to how they would be punished.  For the sake of their men, Lord Capell  and his fellow commanders had no choice but to accept Fairfax’ terms, and on the 28th of August 1648 the Royalists capitulated, after more than eleven weeks.

Fairfax disbanded the weakened Royalist troops, hauled two of the commanders before a military court and had them executed at Colchester (which he felt entitled to do as they weren’t peers) and had Lord Capell and his remaining companions dragged off to stand trial for treason. None of the captured men held any hopes about coming out of this alive.

For some months, Arthur languished in the Tower. Meanwhile, the King was desperately attempting to negotiate some sort of truce, but while a majority of Parliament wanted to find a solution, Oliver Cromwell didn’t. In his opinion, the king was a tyrant and a danger to permanent peace – and the King’s recent secret agreement with the Scots proved his point. In early December of 1648, Oliver and his comrades “purged” the Parliament of those considered too lenient vis-à-vis the King. The remaining MP’s, the so called Rump Parliament, voted to indict the King for treason. A very novel – and shocking – approach.

As we all know, Charles I was found guilty and beheaded. Arthur Capell did not have to witness the death of his king – but he was more than aware that a second court was being convened, and that one of the defendants would be him. So Capell did what any man would have done, he escaped. Now, it may be worthwhile to point out that very, very few have escaped the Tower. But Arthur somehow got himself over the walls, jumped into the moat – and nearly drowned in the mud. Only his uncommon height saved him.

Ultimately, his burst of freedom was short-lived. He was recaptured in Lambeth, stood trial and was, as expected, found guilty. On March 9, 1949, he was beheaded in the Westminster Palace Yard. After he was well and truly dead, his head was sewn back on his body and his remains were dispatched to Hadham Hall to be buried – minus his heart, which at a future date would be presented to Charles II. I assume his wife wept, not only for her husband, but also for her family, now in substantially reduced circumstances. But that, sadly, was how life was during the Civil War and its immediate aftermath.

Eleven years later, Charles II was restored to the throne. And in 1661 Arthur Capell’s eldest son (also named Arthur) was made Earl of Essex, his father’s estates restored to him. A gesture, I believe, made more on behalf of the man who died for his king than for the son. Whatever the case, the Capells were back on top. And as to Arthur Capell Junior, well, I do believe he deserves a post of his own!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anna Belfrage is the successful author of seven published books, all of them part of The Graham Saga. Set in 17th century Scotland, Virginia and Maryland, this is the story of Matthew Graham and his wife, Alex Lind - two people who should never have met, not when she was born three centuries after him.

Anna's books are available on Amazon US,  Amazon UK, or wherever else good books are sold.
For more information about Anna and her books, please visit  her website. If not on her website, Anna can mostly be found on her blog.

Detail: Until death - of loyalty at all costs

0 A Royalist Highwayman

by Cryssa Bazos

Late one Sunday night on November 9, 1651, a company of dragoons descended upon a barber’s house on Fleet Street to arrest one of his lodgers. The soldiers burst into the man’s quarters, pistols drawn, and hauled him to the Speaker of the House of Commons, William Lenthall. The next day, they brought their prisoner to Whitehall to be questioned.

The state had finally captured Captain James Hind, notorious highwayman, but their interest in him went beyond common thievery. He had become a political figure.

James Hind by Unknown artist.
NPG D29227 (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0)

James Hind was born in the Oxfordshire town of Chipping Norton in July of 1616, the tenth of thirteen children. His father was a respectable saddler and served as a churchwarden. Hind married Margaret Rowland on February 24, 1638, and their affectionate marriage produced four children: Alice, James, Samuel and Charles. But Hind’s domesticity masked a nearly twenty year run as a highwayman.

The seeds of Hind’s nefarious career had started in the local grammar school. His father had recognized his son’s sharp mind and diverted a portion of his income to educate the boy. Unfortunately, Hind preferred the study of pranks to letters, and he loved tales of high adventure, particularly crime stories. By the age of fifteen, Hind had outstayed his welcome in school. His father apprenticed the lad to a butcher, but subservience did not suit Hind. Fed up by the beatings he received for his impertinence, he ran away to London.

Imagine the world of corruption that suddenly opened up for this clever Chipping Norton lad: drinking, carousing, and visiting houses of ill repute (he hadn’t married to Margaret yet). His life took on a new direction, or rather an inevitable one, when he met Thomas Allen in a holding cell following a drunken spree. Allen, also known as Bishop Allen, led a gang of highwayman working the London suburbs. Allen took the young Hind under his wing and introduced him to life on the highway.

During his coming-out robbery at Shooter’s Hill, Hind held up a gentleman and stole £10. To the dismay of his new crew, he returned part of the booty, a sum of forty shillings, to see the gentleman safely back to London.

Hind’s wit and generosity became his calling card and he developed a reputation as a gentleman robber, often jesting with his “clients” and giving good sport. Not surprising many of his exploits had a Robin Hood feel to them. Once, when travelling through Warwickshire, Hind came upon two bailiffs and a usurer who were trying to collect from an innkeeper a debt of £20. Hind intervened to save the landlord and settled the bond on his behalf. After the bailiffs received their due, Hind ambushed the usurer and stole back not only his £20 but also another twenty for good measure. When he returned to the inn, he gave the innkeeper £5 and said that he “had good luck by lending to honest men.”

James Hind by Unknown artist.
NPG D29226 (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0)

Then in 1642, the English Civil War broke out, and Hind turned his talents for the benefit of the King. Together with other members of the Bishop Allen gang, he joined the Royalist army. Hind’s leadership and courage drew the attention of his superiors, and he became particularly attached to Sir William Compton, third son of the Earl of Northampton of Warwickshire. In 1647, Hind received his captain’s commission from Compton at Colchester. In later years, Compton would found the Sealed Knot, a secret society that conspired to place Charles Stuart (later Charles II) on the throne.

Following the end of the second civil war (1647-48), Hind began to operate alone, for sometime in 1648, Allen and most of his crew were captured after a foiled attempt to assassinate Oliver Cromwell. Hind had managed to escape and returned to highway robbery with a new purpose: harassing Roundheads, and his preferred quarry were regicides when he could get them.

According to legend, Hind held up the man who presided over the King’s trial, a regicide by the name of John Bradshaw. Hind caught the judge on the road in Dorsetshire. When Bradshaw tried to intimidate the highwayman with his reputation, Hind retorted, “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.”

Hind had become more than a highwayman; he was now a symbol of resistance for the Royalists and a burr in the saddle of Parliament. But he didn’t stop there. At one point, he must have realized that he could contribute more to the Crown than stealing from Roundheads.

On May 2, 1649, Hind sailed for The Hague and stayed there for three days before continuing to Ireland laden with the “King’s goods”, supplies destined for the Royalists' resistance against Cromwell. Not surprising, the Earl of Northampton, William Compton’s eldest brother, spent his exile in The Hague.

Hind remained in Ireland for nine months and served as corporal in the Marquess of Ormonde’s Life Guard. He eventually arrived in Scotland and presented himself to Charles Stuart. In Hind’s declaration, he “sent a letter to His Majesty acquainting His Highness of my arrival, and represented my service, &c, which was favourably accepted of, for no sooner had the King notice of my coming but immediately I had admittance to his chamber and kissed his hand.”

While Charles may have been desperate for men, this special treatment stands out as unusual. Were the King’s actions a result of his relief over receiving the services of a courageous, resourceful soldier or had Hind arrived with a recommendation? Though naturally audacious, that he dared send a letter to the King suggests he expected to be received.

Hind joined the King’s army and stayed with him through the invasion of England in August 1652, which ended with defeat at the Battle of Worcester on September 3, 1652. At the battle, Hind “kept the field until the King was fled” then headed for the anonymity of London, lying under hedges and in woods. When he arrived in London, rumours were already circulating that the infamous highwayman, Captain Hind, had helped the King escape Worcester. He managed to elude capture for five weeks, but eventually the dragoons found and arrested him.

Over the next several months, Hind went through three sensational trials. The bizarre twists would have today earned him round the clock media coverage.

His first trial occurred on Dec 12, 1651 at the Old Bailey. Hind admitted to a few ‘pranks’ and even confessed to fighting with the King at Worcester. Though they could have charged him with High Treason, no Bill of Indictment or witnesses were brought against him. But he remained in close custody at Newgate.

"Old Newgate". Licensed under 
Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Hind’s second trial was held in Reading on March 1, 1652. The state charged him with the murder of a local man who had once tried to stop Hind in Maidenhead Thicket. In fact, this was the only reported murder attributed to him throughout his long career as a highwayman. Hind stated that he fired on the man in self-defence.

At this point, Hind claimed benefit of clergy, a legal loophole that dated back to 1170 when the clergy were considered outside the jurisdiction of secular courts. To succeed, the defendant would need to read the scripture given to him (because in the 12th century, few except the clergy could read). Unfortunately, Hind failed the test, and they sentenced him to death. He must have regretted not applying himself better in school.

But reprieve came from the most unlikely source. The next day, before the sentence could be carried out, the Act of Oblivion came into force. The Act allowed for many crimes committed prior to September 3, 1651 (the Battle of Worcester) to be pardoned as an act of war, all except High Treason.

Now Parliament became desperate. Chapbooks and broadsheets tallying Hind’s exploits flooded London. One local publisher even released The Declaration of James Hind, an official account of his service to the King. All this publicity made Parliament look bad.

The gloves came off. The state turned to the Act of Oblivion for their cue and indicted Hind with High Treason for his participation at Worcester. For Parliament, the third trial was the charm. The court found Hind guilty and sentenced him to be hanged, drawn and quartered.

On September 24, 1652, Captain James Hind, royalist and notorious highwayman, climbed the scaffold and addressed the gathered crowd. With his typical courage, he pledged his continued loyalty to the King. His last words were, “I value it not threepence to lose my life in so good a cause. God’s will be done. If it were to do again, I protest I would do the like.”

So ended the life of Captain James Hind, Royalist Highwayman.

References:

·         Declaration of Captain James Hind, printed for G. Horton 1651

·         The Adventures of Captain James Hind of Chipping Norton: The Oxfordshire Highwayman by O.M. Meades

·         No Jest like a true Jest

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Cryssa Bazos is a historical fiction writer and 17th Century enthusiast, with a particular interest in the English Civil War (ECW). She is a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association (RNA) under the New Writers’ Scheme, the Historical Novelist Society and is a board member of the Writers’ Community of Durham Region (WCDR), an organization with over three hundred members.  Cryssa has published articles in the Word Weaver and Canadian Author.  Her short stories include Warwick Market in Canadian Tales of the Heart (Red Tuque Books), Confessions of a Tooth Fairy in Canadian Tales of the Fantastical (Red Tuque Books), and The Dragon in Word Weaver. Cryssa has recently a historical fiction novel, Highwayman, a tale of adventure and romance set during the English Civil War. Highwayman is the first in a series of adventures spanning from the ECW to the Restoration. For more stories about the English Civil War and the 17^th Century, visit her blog http://cryssabazos.com