The Puritans (American Family Portrait #1)

by Jack Cavanaugh

  Disappointed, the boy was about to leave when the bishop tore half a page from the pamphlet and placed it in his mouth. Slowly, with forced determination, he chewed the paper and swallowed. He tore another piece off and chewed and swallowed it. Then another and another. As the bishop chewed page after page, his face grew redder and redder, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead and ran down the sides of his face.

  The only sounds to be heard were the tearing of the pages and the eerie noise of a man forcing himself to swallow. Minutes later, he was finished. The pamphlet was gone. The bishop stared at the fire, his face still red and drenched with sweat.

  Then, a low rumbling came from his chest and formed into words, “‘I will meet them as a bear that is bereaved of her whelps, and will rend the caul of their heart, and there will I devour them like a lion: the wild beast will tear them,’ Hosea chapter 13, verse 8.”

  Chapter 6

  Morgan Hall, the lavish country estate of the Morgan family, was disputed territory between two generations of Morgans. Built during the glory days of Queen Elizabeth and financed with pirated gold from Spanish ships—a practice encouraged by the queen— Morgan Hall was originally designed to reflect the personality of its seafaring owner. However, in recent years the stately mansion was systematically being refurbished to suit the tastes of a new generation of Morgans who were more concerned with wealth and status than with the wishes of the original builder.

  Admiral Amos Bronson Morgan, one of England’s most revered naval heroes, built Morgan Hall in 1590. The unschooled son of a Plymouth shipbuilder, Amos was an articulate man, his education coming from extensive reading. He was an expert on modern ship design and Greek classical literature.

  Amos Morgan’s vast knowledge could be attributed to his father; some his father taught him directly, and some Amos learned because his father forbade him to learn it.

  A self-made businessman, Edward Morgan thought book learning a waste of time. He refused to let Amos attend public school and took it upon himself to give his son a practical education. The boy learned math by adding price columns of supply lists and workers’ pay slips; he graduated to higher math by calculating ships’ buoyancy distributions. Lessons in logic involved solving management resource problems on the docking berth. Amos’s reading primer was a stack of production orders, timber schedules, and delivery invoices. By the time he was fifteen, Amos knew every aspect of his father’s shipbuilding business.

  In spite of his father’s restricted syllabus, Amos developed a penchant for reading; by the time he was a teenager he craved books like most boys his age craved the opposite sex. He dreamed of matriculating at Oxford University with its magnificent libraries and robed professors, but Edward Morgan wouldn’t hear of it. The boy had all the learning he needed to run the family business. Subject closed.

  Edward Morgan had violated a principle of parenting—forbid a boy to do something, even if it’s studying, and that’s exactly what he will want to do. Such was the case with Amos Morgan.

  Amos used almost all the money he earned to purchase books from the local bookseller in Plymouth. At night or whenever he could steal a few minutes away from the docks, he pored over his forbidden purchases. He quickly developed a fascination with Greek literature. Homer was his favorite, especially the voyages of Ulysses. Amos read the Odyssey so many times he could close his eyes and recite lengthy portions of it word for word. It was Homer who convinced the boy his destiny was in sailing ships, not in building them.

  Amos Morgan’s first taste of nautical adventure came aboard the Minion. John Hawkins, the Minion’s skipper, was the son of an English family that made its fortune trading African slaves.

  One spring afternoon, while the senior Morgan negotiated a contract to build four new ships for the senior Hawkins, Amos negotiated his future with the younger Hawkins. Impressed with the boy’s determination, John Hawkins signed Amos on as a member of his crew. When Edward Morgan learned of the deal between the younger men, he was so furious he nearly scuttled the shipbuilding contract. But Amos was of age, and there was nothing his father could do short of physical violence to prevent him from going. Amos Morgan paid a high price for his change of career: his father never spoke to him again.

  Although John Hawkins was twenty-six years his senior, he and Amos became close friends. Their friendship was based on shared danger, like the time they put in for repairs at San Juan de Ulua.

  There were ten English ships in all. For months they had been on a slaving expedition in the Caribbean, exchanging Africans for West Indian sugar, gold, and hides in defiance of Spanish commercial regulations. The Spanish thought they owned the New World and made regulations accordingly. The English had little regard for Spanish claims or regulations. If there was anything an English seaman liked as much as raiding Spanish territories, it was breaking Spanish regulations.

  The day after John Hawkins’ ships dropped anchor at San Juan de Ulua, Spanish ships appeared. The Spanish captain relayed a note to Hawkins that his ships needed supplies; would Hawkins be so kind as to make room for them in the harbor? Since the Spanish fleet was already blocking the entrance to the harbor, Hawkins didn’t see that he had much choice. He maneuvered his ships close together, and the Spanish proceeded to squeeze into the harbor next to them. No sooner had they dropped anchor than armed Spanish sailors began pouring over the sides of their ships. The English were overwhelmed.

  It was Amos Morgan’s first battle; it was also the first day he ever killed a man; by sunset he was quite experienced at it.

  The day did not go well for the English sailors. Only two ships escaped, the Minion and Drake’s Judith.

  For months afterward, the incident at San Juan de Ulua worked in Amos’s belly like a bad potato. He lost several friends that day. He also developed a hearty hatred for Spanish arrogance and was constantly formulating ideas and schemes for revenge. However, there was little he could do about it—until John Hawkins was appointed treasurer of the English navy. When the new treasurer called upon his shipbuilding knowledge to settle the score with the Spanish, Amos responded eagerly.

  John Hawkins and Amos Morgan developed a new class of English ships. The design was risky. To begin with, the ships were smaller than the Spanish galleons. All the guns were moved broadside and toward the center line, thus improving stability. Then the ships’ sides were sloped inward from the lowest gun deck up to the weather deck. The result was that these ships were lower, faster, and more seaworthy than any others sailing the ocean.

  Reducing the size of the ship meant reducing the size of her guns as well. Hawkins and Morgan equipped the ships with a long range culverin type of gun, with shot ranging from nine to thirty-two pounders. The guns were much smaller than the Spanish fifty pounders but had greater range and accuracy.

  The new design called for new strategy. The standard naval warfare tactic was to run at the enemy, fire the guns, ram the ship, and loose a boarding party. These new English ships, however, were designed for off fighting. They would be no match for the Spanish if they used traditional tactics. For a new battle plan, Hawkins called upon Sir Francis Drake who devised a strategy for the English fleet. When the strategy was complete, everything was in place. All that was needed was an opportunity to put their new ideas to the test. The opportunity came in July 1588.

  The great Spanish fleet was first sighted off Cornwall, heading toward England. Philip II of Spain, with the blessing of the pope, had sent his seemingly invincible armada to conquer England and return the country to the benevolent fold of Roman Catholicism. Neither Philip nor the pope cared that England didn’t want to be returned to the fold; they had decided it was God’s will and set out to accomplish it.

  The alarm sounded. Amos Morgan, now captain of his own ship, the Dutton, responded with the rest of the captains. Charles Howard, commander of the English fleet, summoned the ships to assemble at Portsmouth. It was nearly a fatal mistake. The converging Spanish ships almost succeeded in trapping the Engl
ish fleet in the harbor. With the ships bottled up in the harbor, the English would be forced to fight a close battle, one they would most certainly lose. It was the new ship design that saved the day.

  The lighter, faster English fleet bolted from the harbor and tacked westward across the bows of the Spanish ships, which were not fast enough to cut them off. Upon reaching open sea, the English now had the wind advantage and could implement Sir Francis Drake’s new strategy.

  In three encounters, the smaller, faster English ships danced out of reach of the heavy Spanish guns. The long range culverin guns peppered the tightly bunched Spanish ships with shot. The smaller guns weren’t large enough to destroy the Spanish ships outright, but like bees they swarmed and stung the ships repeatedly. Powerless to hinder the assault, the Spanish ships retreated to the Calais harbor.

  For days the Spanish sat there, hoping to lure the English into the harbor where they could fight a traditional battle. The battle was a stalemate, at least until Sir Francis Drake came up with another plan.

  Just after midnight, six English ships were set on fire and sailed into the harbor of Calais. The Spanish captains were forced to cut loose their anchors and flee the harbor, sailing right into the guns of the waiting English ships. The Spanish Armada was routed; they never again regained their fighting formation.

  Even the winds turned against the Spanish fleet. “The winds of God,” Drake called them, as if God Himself were fighting for the English cause. The Spanish fleet was scattered and largely wrecked. Of their 130 ships that sailed for England, only 76 ever made it back to Spain. For the English it was a total victory. They suffered fewer than 100 casualties, and not a single ship was sunk by the once invincible Spanish Armada.

  The Spanish threat thwarted, people and queen were eager to show their gratitude to the daring Englishmen who had saved them. John Hawkins, Francis Drake, and Amos Morgan became national heroes. Among other rewards, Amos was promoted to admiral. He soon became a regular at court functions and was showered with adulation and wealth—more wealth than he could possibly spend in a lifetime, especially considering the fact that he led an austere life centered around his ship and a growing library of books.

  It was Queen Elizabeth herself who suggested an investment for his growing estate. Buy some land and build a house, she advised. When he expressed little desire to own a house he would seldom occupy, the queen predicted that things would change as he got older, that one day he would welcome a place where he could sit comfortably in front of the fire and read his books. More out of politeness than desire to own a home, Amos Morgan began looking at houses and land. The more he looked, the more interested he became.

  It was the idea of a personal library that most captivated him, a desire for a repository for his growing number of volumes and a place to which he could escape when he was not sailing. So Amos Morgan purchased a large tract of rolling acreage just east of Winchester, not far from Portsmouth where his ship was docked.

  Maybe it was his shipbuilding skills rising to the surface or maybe the wisdom of the queen’s words were taking hold, but for the first time in his life Amos Morgan was consumed with a personal building project. He involved himself in every aspect of the house, from design to interior detail. When Morgan Hall was finished, Amos Morgan’s creation proudly took its place alongside England’s finest country homes.

  There was Longleat, a glorious Italian Renaissance home constructed in 1580, known for its magnificent tapestries, paintings, porcelain, and furniture, and, of course, its great hall with massive wooden beams and giant Irish elk antlers mounted on the walls.

  And there was Theobalds, with its woodland motif—King James’ favorite retreat. It had indoor trees, bushes, and branches so natural looking that when the doors were left open birds flew in and roosted in them. Theobalds also had garish touches of the spectacular, notably the room displaying the stars of the universe on its ceiling, complete with a clockwork mechanism that moved the sun and planets in keeping with the seasons.

  Morgan Hall was a handsome addition to the stately manors. Like the others, it reflected its builder’s interests. The mansion was a mixture of Amos Morgan’s three great loves: classical Greece, the ocean, and the printed word.

  A visitor to Morgan Hall would ascend eight marble steps formed in a half-circle to reach the twelve foot arched doorway, passing between six majestic Corinthian columns.

  Inside, he would find himself in a domed entryway with three identical open arched doorways leading to different parts of the house. Between the arches stood twin pillars, these too of marble and of ancient origin, having been discovered and excavated from the bed of the Tiber River in Rome.

  Glancing up, the visitor would look past the railings of the second floor to the dome overhead where there was a painting of God in His heavens, surrounded by the seemingly mandatory cherubs and half-clothed women so prominent in classical art.

  Passing through the northern archway, the visitor would find himself in the drawing room. Continuing farther, he would be in a cedar dining hall.

  The eastern archway led to two sets of stairs, one against the wall on the right and one against the left wall, each with a corner landing. The left stairway was for women, the right stairway for men; the difference between the two was the panels of the railings. The men’s panel was an elaborate cut wood design. The women’s panel had the same design, but only in relief, protecting the ladies’ ankles from the crude stares of men. The admiral was more of a gentleman than most of those who sailed under his command.

  The south portal in the entryway was the one used most often by guests. It led to the great hall where parties, balls, and banquets were held. The hall was long and expansive with a wooden floor so shiny that details of the wall hangings could be clearly seen in its reflection. The walls were adorned with huge panoramas— tapestries as well as paintings—of ships at sea. The ceiling had several circular bas-relief designs which featured oval paintings of blue sky and friendly clouds in their centers. Standing in the room one always had the feeling of fair weather and good sailing.

  In the middle of the eastern wall of this great hall, two heavy oak doors led to the admiral’s favorite room, his personal library. It was here that he kept his most treasured possessions—his books, mementos from the queen, and a variety of weapons, including his first cutlass, the one that saved his life so many times in the bay of San Juan de Ulua. His book collection included Cicero, Livy, Suetonius, and Diodorus Siculus. He also owned Gerard’s Herbal, Elyot’s The Governour, and the poems of Sidney.

  Three of the four walls of the library were lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. The eastern wall was a series of double glass doors leading to a covered walkway and then out to the gardens. Except in inclement weather, these doors were always open, flooding the room with light and fresh air. When the weather was bad, the admiral could still enjoy the outdoor light as it streamed through the glass panes. Morgan Hall was one of the first houses in England to use glass for windows, let alone for doors. The glass had been imported from the Continent at great expense. The thick square panes were set in lead casings, and the glass itself was not very clear; one could see only vague shapes moving on the other side of the doors when they were closed, but they were clear enough to let the light in, and that’s what the admiral wanted.

  In the private living quarters upstairs, the rooms were in the center of the house, without outside windows or doorways. A hallway along the perimeter of the house and glass doors led to small balconies at regular intervals around the circumference. Often, the admiral walked the perimeter of the house, spyglass in hand, surveying his property, much the same way he walked the decks of his ship at night before turning in.

  Morgan Hall was the admiral’s retreat and the site of the occasional party required of a man in his position. To everyone’s surprise, especially the admiral’s, Morgan Hall also became a newlyweds’ love nest.

  The admiral wasn’t looking for a wife. He had always tho
ught it unfair for a woman to be married to a sailor, since her husband would be gone for months or possibly years at a time. His philosophy regarding the fairer sex was rational, considerate, and typical for a confirmed bachelor. Its fatal flaw was that it neglected to factor love into the equation.

  Georgiana Reynolds was serendipity. Or, as the admiral would tell it, she was a sailor’s dream—a tropical paradise that unexpectedly crested the horizon of his life.

  Their meeting was not by accident. A powerful force, Queen Elizabeth, brought them together. The queen had always liked the admiral; he was modest, kind, and not self-seeking, thus a rarity in the English court. It was her royal opinion that such a man needed a good wife, so she took it upon herself to find him one. When she settled on Georgiana Reynolds, the queen all but decreed they get married, an action that was unnecessary since the two were smitten with each other from the moment they met.

  Georgiana was as fair as a sunny day. The young, modest daughter of an English nobleman, she became the light and life of Amos Morgan’s existence. Two months after they met, Amos and Georgiana were married. Life at Morgan Hall had never been so sweet. The couple shared a love of books and the outdoors. Morgan Hall was always open to the wind and sun, and each evening the giddy couple strolled arm in arm around the grounds.

  Amos Morgan’s new bride expanded her lover’s horizons by introducing him to the wonders of their native isle. Amos discovered that traveling in a coach with Georgiana was better than the best day at sea. Knowing his love of history, Georgiana charted a tour that took in several major historical sites. In the north they saw Housestead’s Roman Fort along Hadrian’s Wall and remnants of the Fosse Way in the south. They visited Stonehenge, Scarfell Pike, and Land’s End. For five months the couple toured in wedded bliss. Then, quite suddenly, their tour came to an abrupt halt. Georgiana took to her bed. She was with child.

  The admiral had never really thought about being a father. The more he thought about it now, the less he liked the idea. A baby would be an intrusion, an unwanted rival for Georgiana’s attention and affection. He knew he was being selfish, but he didn’t care. His beloved wife had become the center of his existence. It wouldn’t be the same with a baby in the house.