Daughter of Satan (27 page)

Then she fed the baby. It took a little milk and was not sick. All that night Tamar kept the children with her – her baby at her breast, the other two on either side of her.

Humility came in, but she sent him out, and he dared not protest. Annis lay at the end of the bed, and there was no sleep for either her or her mistress that night. Every time the child awakened, Tamar fed her.

Annis was sure she was watching magic. As she said to John later: ‘It was magic for sure, but
good
magic. Couldn't have been aught else.'

‘Nay,' answered John, ‘'twas devil's work, for God meant the child to die and she saved her, so how could that be good?'

But Annis believed that the dear Lord would understand and not be too hard on a woman whose sin was to save through witchcraft the baby He had decided to take.

The next day was warm and sunny and Tamar took the baby out into the shade of the garden. And Mistress Alton, watching from the windows with Jane and Moll, was certain that this was witchcraft.

In a week from that day when Dick and Rowan had run away from home, little Lorea was kicking her legs in the sunshine – puny still, but moving slowly away from the grave.

Tamar was triumphant. Her little girl was saved. She herself had worked the miracle and all her old power was back with her.

Richard saw trouble coming, and spoke of it to Humility.

‘Man, you must have a care. From the way things are going I see more and more restrictions coming, more and more persecutions of such as you.'

Humility answered as he answered all warnings: ‘Whatever should come to us would be through the will of God.'

Most of the Puritans were attending the service of the Established Church. That was necessary to avoid suspicion. But Humility refused to go. Nothing had happened so far, for nobody had informed against him; but, Richard pointed out, that state of affairs might not last.

‘What,' he asked, ‘if you were taken off to prison? You would not escape as easily as John Tyler did. Oh, we are fortunate here, I know. The law is not so strictly enforced in this part of the country. But . . . Humility, if you were taken, I doubt it they would ever set you free.' Humility was about to speak, but Richard interrupted impatiently: ‘I know what you will say. “It is the will of God!” But what of your family? What of Tamat and the children?'

‘They are well looked after here,' said Humility. ‘As you know, I have never supported my family. That I was prepared to do, but Tamar is proud. The life I could offer her was not good enough. She would not renounce her comfort for her duty.'

‘It may have been the comfort of her children she was thinking of,' said Richard coldly. ‘And it occurs to me that your pride is as great as Tamar's.'

Humility was astonished. Richard smiled. It amazed him that Humility – a man of learning and some culture – could be so blind regarding himself, could walk contentedly in the narrow channel he had cut for himself . . . a channel which was bounded on both sides by the strictures of the Puritan faith.

‘I . . . proud! Pride is one of the seven deadly sins. If I believed I possessed it . . .'

‘I know,' said Richard. ‘You would fast and pray. But sometimes when a man is aware of great goodness in himself he can be blind to that little which is in others. But let us not talk of this. I wish you to take more care, for there are trying times ahead of us.'

But what was the use of talking to Humility? He could only fold his hands in prayer and continue in his way of life, so putting himself in perpetual danger of arrest, imprisonment and even death.

Richard was right. The King was not pleased with his Puritans. He had returned from Scotland and had not liked the way the English kept their Sundays. He wished them to attend church, but once divine service was over, there was no need to be glum. In fact, loyal subjects were ordered
not
to be glum.

A proclamation was read throughout the land.

It was His Majesty's pleasure that his people should not be disturbed or discouraged from any lawful recreations, such as dancing, either of men or women, archery, leaping, vaulting or any harmless recreations. Morris dances should be danced and maypoles set up. These sports were within the law.

There was another point in the proclamation. Some people were to be excluded from Sunday sports – those who did not attend service in their parish church, or attended for only part of the service. The name of any man or woman guilty of this should in future be announced from the pulpit.

Richard said to Humility: ‘Mark my words, this is the beginning of new persecutions.'

In East Anglia, where the Separatist movement was at its strongest, persecutions were at their height. In London, where some bold Separatists were preaching their creed in the streets, there were riots and bloodshed. In Devon things were quieter, but to Richard the rumours were like the rumbling of a storm which was coming closer.

And one day two ships sailed into Plymouth Sound, and with the coming of these two ships came raised hopes and new plans to every Puritan who met in secret in that meeting place which had been founded by Humility Brown.

These ships were the
Mayflower
– a vessel of some one hundred and eighty tons – and her smaller companion, the
Speedwell
.

Here was a great occasion for the town of Plymouth; but for no one more than for Humility Brown and William Spears, because aboard these ships were men they had once known, men from their own county.

Humility had rarely been so excited as he was on that day. Where these men went, would he follow. He was certain now that God had meant him to be left behind so that he might save many souls and take them to the promised land.

Miles Standish, a friend from his past, was delighted to see him. They had long talks together, and Standish gave Humility details of provisions which must be taken on such a trip if there was to be any hope of survival in a new land. Humility listened eagerly, made many notes; and was more than a little sad not to be of their number.

‘But,' he said to Standish, ‘I am wrong. I am wicked. It is not for me to rail against the fate which God has ordained for me. I am not ready yet.'

‘Yea, Humility, my friend,' answered Standish. ‘It is clear that the Lord did not intend you to come with us. The captain of the
Speedwell
is faint of heart and declares his vessel to be unseaworthy. We might have taken you and your family and friends, but as the
Mayflower
goes alone, we have to take on board all those passengers whose hearts do not fail them. Everything must be carried in one ship instead of two, as we planned. Your turn will come, my friend, I doubt not.'

It was a moving sight to watch that lonely ship sail off into the unknown. Crowds stood on the Hoe while the
Speedwell
lay in the Sound and the
Mayflower
sailed with those men and women who had said their last farewells to their native land, that they might find a new life, a new country where they could worship God in peace.

After the Pilgrim Fathers left Plymouth, several years passed uneventfully. There was now a new King on the throne – King Charles the First – but with his reign persecution did not end.

Humility continued to hope that the day was approaching when he would follow in the wake of the Pilgrims; Tamar swayed between him and Richard; and it was not until a series of disasters occurred that Richard began to change his mind.

The first of these disasters concerned the Puritans. Several of them, it had been noted, were neither attending Sunday service in the church nor Sunday sports; their clothes were too sombre for fashion; they were, in short, living the lives of Puritans and breaking the law of the land.

Josiah Hough discovered that a trap had been laid to catch the Puritans at worship when they met in their barn on Thursday night at eight o'clock. He immediately brought this news to Richard, who lost no time in imparting it to Humility Brown.

‘I beg of you, do not go there on Thursday,' he said, ‘and warn all your friends to stay away.'

‘This,' said Humility, ‘is the protecting arm of God. He does not wish us to rot in prison. He has other plans for us. More and more I am convinced that He wishes us, when the time is ripe, to sail for the New World.'

So. that Thursday there was no meeting at the barn, and those who had surrounded the place, hoping to make arrests, were so angry that they burned it to the ground.

‘You have escaped this time,' said Richard. ‘Let it be a warning to you to take double care in future.'

A few months passed during which the Puritans seemed to have been forgotten, for a new witch hunt was engaging attention.

In Devon this began with Jane Swann. Jane was a pretty girl – golden-haired and blue-eyed, a quiet, good girl. Ned Swann and his wife had been two of the first to turn Puritan, and their girls had been brought up almost from babyhood in the faith. Moll was slow-witted, but Jane was a bright girl and pretty enough in her quiet way to attract the attention of the young men of the neighbourhood.

One afternoon she was gathering wood in a lonely copse which adjoined the Hurlys' farm when she was overtaken by a man. She knew this man to be a merchant of Plymouth, a man of some substance, an ardent churchgoer of pious reputation. He stopped and talked to the girl and she, believing him to be all that she had heard, had no fear of him until he made a suggestion which terrified her. She turned to run, but he caught her. She threatened to expose him if he hurt her. He laughed at that.

‘Do you think any would believe the word of a girl like you against mine?' he asked.

Poor Jane was bewildered by her fear. She quickly realized that she would be forced to sin; defiled, shamed, damned for ever, she would have to confess at the meeting place before all the Puritans. To a girl of her upbringing, death seemed preferable, for she would have no wish to live after such shame had overtaken her. She fought with all her might against this man as he tore her clothes from her and flung her to the ground.

He cursed her, but she screamed the louder. He silenced her
with a blow that partially stunned her, and proceeded then with his evil work.

He had forgotten that the copse was so close to the farm, and suddenly he heard a rush of footsteps through the undergrowth, and there, standing before him were Peter Hurly and his young brother, George.

The greatly respected citizen was caught in the very act; furiously angry, overcome with shame, he scrambled to his feet and made off – but not before he was recognized – leaving the half-conscious girl lying on the ground.

The boys helped Jane to her feet, and as she could not walk, between them they carried her back to the house at Pennicomquick.

Tamar was horrified at the story they had to tell.

‘Bring her to my room,' she commanded. ‘Poor child! I will look after her. And let everyone know what sort of a man this is! He must be punished for this. We will see that he falls from that high pedestal on which he has set himself.'

Tenderly she looked after poor, shocked girl, and all the time she was thinking: This might have happened to me! And the memory of Bartle all those years ago was as vivid as ever.

She herself lost no time in spreading the story of what had happened to Jane; nor did she omit to mention the name of the culprit. ‘Who could be trusted after this?' everyone was asking.

Mistress Alton blamed the girl, for she persisted in her belief that evil was only suffered by those who deserved so to suffer; but Tamar stood over Jane like an angel with a flaming sword.

It was deeply gratifying to learn that Jane's ravisher was now shunned in the town, that he had ceased to be regarded as a respectable merchant and would not long be a wealthy one, for people did not wish to trade with one who had so deceived them as to his real character.

Poor Jane was recovering under Tamar's care, for Tamar impressed upon her that what had happened to her was due to no fault of hers. ‘Indeed,' said Tamar with flashing eyes, ‘what happened to you might have happened to any of us!'

Even Humility admitted that what had occurred was Jane's
misfortune rather than her fault. He spent long periods praying with her for the purification of her soul, although he thought that only a life of extreme piety could make her pure in the eyes of Jesus.

And one day Jane went out and failed to return.

She was missed early in the afternoon, and when night came and she was not back, Mistress Alton narrowed her eyes and grumbled to Jane's sister Moll: ‘You can depend upon it, I was right. When that sort of thing happens to a girl there's more in it than meets the eyes. Oh, they are all very innocent when they are caught. It was rape, of course. It is always rape! Mark my words, young Mollie, your sister went out to meet that man and was willing enough until the Hurly boys surprised them. And it wouldn't be such a big surprise to me now if they'd gone off together where they can sin undisturbed.'

Tamar went down to the kitchen. ‘Has Jane returned?'

Mistress Alton smiled her secret smile. ‘She's well away by now. Like as not they're riding away on the other side of the Tamar. Or mayhap it's across the Plym, they've gone. But gone they have . . . and you may be sure they've gone together . . .'

Tamar faced the woman. ‘I tell you it is not true. I have never seen anyone so distressed as Jane was when the boys brought her home.'

‘Distressed! Oh . . . aye! They're all distressed when they're caught. And to be caught like that . . .'

‘How dare you blame
her
! She was forced. I have talked long with her.
I
could not be mistaken.'

‘You are too kind to the girl. Forced! Nobody ever tried forcing me.'

‘That,' said Tamar as she swept out of the kitchen, ‘does not surprise me.'

Tamar did not sleep at all that night. She felt convinced that something terrible was happening to Jane; and she believed that she knew this through her secret powers.