Pistoleer: Pirates

by Smith, Skye

  "Nay, we'll not hurry away like skulking dogs," Daniel rejected the advice. "This is a tempest in an ale pot. If we run, then the warrant for not appearing will be more serious than the original charge." He told young Will to tell his father that they would attend, and then he tugged at Teesa's muddy sleeve. "Teesa love, for once in your life you are going to have to pretend to be a young lady. Go and borrow the best clobber you can from the other women. Have them clean you up, dress you up, and do your hair. Now go."

  * * * * *

  Daniel and Teesa were early to the church square because he wanted to find out how serious this really was while he still had enough time to load up the Freisburn and hop it. Young Bill saw them and rushed over to lead them to his father's office. At the sight of Teesa, he forgot how to speak for dressed as a girl, she was ... well ... stunning.

  "I will try to help you as much as I can,” William Ellis told them, "unfortunately the justice is Lindsey's man so there is only so much I can do. I was asked to summons not only you but the four men who were involved. This is a copy of the summons I sent to them." He handed Teesa a page of paper. Teesa glanced at it and handed it to Daniel. She wasn't a fast reader.

  Daniel read it to himself and then chuckled at Ellis's cleverness. "The four men are to come and give an account of how they were beaten by a young girl,” he told her. "Well they will certainly keep their distance for fear of becoming the laughing stock of the town."

  "Yes but that will not be enough." Ellis moaned. "Earl Lindsey is likely still in Westminster, but to impress him the justice will do everything in his power to have Teesa punished, and punished severely. Can you imagine a girl as beautiful as she at the mercy of our gaolers."

  "But surely the girls she muddied would not allow that, nor their womenfolk."

  "Of course they would,” Ellis told them, "Don't your realize that this is 'thee' Lord Lindsey. The man behind the Lindsey Levels. You know. Draining the village commons so that they can be claimed as private property under the enclosure laws. Destroying the livelihood of dozens of poor villages just so that he and the king can turn a profit from the land they steal by trickery."

  "We know what drainage enclosures are,” Teesa replied. "Our village is part of the Isle of Ely."

  "Ely? Then you must know Oliver Cromwell. Years ago in Huntingdon, he and I tried to stop these enclosures through the courts." Ellis sighed. "All we accomplished was to delay them and to spread the idea that they should be resisted, actively resisted. Because of our efforts a lot of local men were thrown in gaol for unlawful assembly. The sheriff would come and read the riot act to the protestors, and then arrested them as rioters, or worse, give them a severe beating and then arrest them."

  "Mr. Cromwell's daughter Bridget is my best friend,” Teesa told him with a smile.

  "Then I promise to help you all I can,” Ellis returned her big smile, but when he turned to face Daniel the smile turned into a worried look.

  "Come love,” Daniel said to Teesa, "let's to the ship and hop it."

  But it was too late. A crowd was now milling about outside of the justice offices, and amongst them were the two trouble making girls. "There she is,” they called out and the two men with them, obviously part of the town watch, grabbed Teesa and held her. They were not harsh with her, they just held her. "The justice will be here soon,” one of them said, "so you just stick around until then."

  Ellis told her not to worry, and then to Daniel, "The same crowd who mocked Teesa in the market are now on her side. Did you notice?"

  "Well of course. Now instead of looking like a tomboy, she is showing herself as a young beauty."

  "Perhaps," Ellis corrected, "but I think it more of a measure of how much Lord Lindsey is detested."

  "Then there is still a chance,” Daniel said. "Please stay with Teesa and make sure she comes to no harm." After an acknowledging nod from both Ellis and his son, he walked to the justice hall and climbed the front steps so that he could see over the assembled crowd. There were perhaps fifty curious folk all tolled. "Yo,” he called out in his sea captains bellow, and then again. When the folk had all turned to face him he continued his bellow.

  "I have just sailed home from the Americas where I was delivering London pilgrims to Plymouth in Massachusetts. I have news of what is happening in our colonies there. Gather round and I will tell it to you. Spread the word if you will, and I will wait a few moments while more come." With satisfaction he saw that boys were sent running in every direction from the square.

  "You mentioned Plymouth,” came a yell. "A good place to start. Many of us have thought of going there."

  "Life is good in Plymouth. At first they had terrible trouble with disease and hostile natives, but now so many of the natives have died of disease that there is peace. Better than peace, for there are many fields that were cleared and planted by natives who have since died, and so there is a need for farmers to plant them again. I must tell you though, that Plymouth may be where many new settlers step ashore, but they do not stay there for long. The empty fields are further inland."

  "So it's good for farmers, what about fishermen?" asked another man.

  "Its good for farmers yes, but also for foresters for there are fine tall trees without end. And fish. A barrel of cod with every cast of the net. Big cod, huge cod. Not the minnows you catch in The Wash."

  The crowd was now swelling as more folks came to listen to the news from the Americas. "If you wish to go to the Americas, then I have one bit of advice that everyone must note." The crowd shushed each other as they surged forward to hear. "In the Americas, the distinction between bond servant and chattel slave is being ignored or thwarted. You must land on those shores without debt, and then try not to go into debt. This is far easier to do in Massachusetts than Virginia."

  "My cousin went to Virginia. What's wrong with it?" a call came out of the crowd.

  "In a word ... plantations. Here in England, plantation is another word for settlement. Not so in the Americas. There a plantation is a large estate owned by a Lord like Lord Lindsey,” he paused while everyone hissed. "and while those lords get fat in England, their brutal managers run the plantations for the lord's profit. The best profit is made by using forced labour. If you land with a debt, you will become that forced labour. The managers will give you two choices, work yourself to death, or sign away your freedom and become their chattel slave and be treated far better. When you sign on as a chattel slave your children also become chattel slaves."

  "That's illegal,” a well dressed man on the steps with Daniel cried out to the crowd.

  "Illegal here, yes,” Daniel responded. "But English law is a long way from the Americas."

  "It's a long way from the Lindsey Level too, mate,” came a call from the crowd. Everyone jeered.

  Daniel waited till the jeers died and bellowed, "Most of the plantations are in Virginia where the king's Lords rule. In Massachusetts the folk rule themselves. There is a promise of a hundred acres for any who work hard for three years. After three years the settlers run their own farms and their own business for themselves. Some add their own land to one of the religious commune because life is easier when the toil and the risk are shared. While in Virginia the plantation profits are sent back to England to fatten the asses of the House of Lords, in Massachusetts the profits stay near to home and are used to better the lives of them that did the work."

  The crowd had doubled in size and then doubled again. It was market day, and the market was closing so these were not just town folk, but folk from the villages all around Boston.

  "I am a stranger here," Daniel stated, "but everyone I speak to seems to hate some lord named Lindsey."

  "He's a land thief hiding behind the king's crown." came a voice from the crowd which sounded suspiciously like Ellis's. "Worse, he has won. The drainage is almost complete and every time we gather to stop the work, we are arrested under the Riot Act."

  "That's a shame,” Daniel replied. "Well, I suppose that is bec
ause your lad's have never heard of the game of football. A true shame."

  "What's football got to do with it?" The words were repeated by almost every young man in the crowd.

  "Well, gather close and be quiet and I will tell you." The crowd surged forward, pushed by the young men now eager to hear more. "Over on the Isle of Ely, the digging and the drainage projects have completely stopped. You see, they kept digging up our football pitches. Every time one village challenged another to a match, the first thing we all had to do was to level the dykes and the ditches so that we could play on a level pitch."

  As the crowd began to understand the meaning behind the words, there was chattering which became louder and louder, until a great voice that made Daniel's seem like a whisper called out, "Bull shit. They would still just read the Riot Act and then beat us and arrest us." There was a sudden silence as if the crowds new found hope had been squashed.

  "Read the riot act for what? Arrest you for what? For a few villages getting together to play football? Nothing illegal about that. No breach of the peace. No disorderly conduct. No public nuisance. No unlawful assembly. Did you hear me at the back? Football is a very lawful assembly, especially on a Sunday." Surprisingly the silence continued.

  "Wait, did one of you say that the footballers would be beaten? You mean that the Sheriff's men would dare to join in the scrimmage? Have you ever tried to beat a footballer? Easier said than done." Daniel had to stop talking because no one would have heard any more. The crowd had become completely unruly as young men formed into tight circles so as to challenge each other to various matches.

  A yell came out of one of the circles to another, "Oy, you's is from Fishtoft ain't ya?"

  "Yeh what of it?" came the reply from the other circle.

  "We's from Freiston. We challenge you to a football match this Sunday. Bring your wives and sweethearts so they can watch us thrash you. Freiston common, after church. Oh and bring your shovels. The pitch needs a bit of leveling."

  "Right then. So long as there is a return match the next Sunday on our common."

  The planning was interrupted by a loud whistle. Everyone turned towards a constable standing on the step above Daniel. He whistled again. It was ear piercing. "Here ye, here ye. The justice has arrived for the inquest into the actions of this women in a breach of the peace." He pointed to Teesa. The justice was slowly mounting the steps as he nervously looked about at the size of the crowd.

  "Wha'd'she do?" came a cry from a circle of young men, none of whom were looking at the judge because they were too busy staring at the angel standing between two louts of the local watch.

  This was the opportunity that Daniel had been setting up. He had once watched John Pym, parliament's orator, do exactly this with a crowd of apprentices in London. First tell the crowd something interesting to get their attention, then tell them something that makes you one of them, and then use the power of the mob to enforce something completely different.

  "Teesa is charged with breaking the peace,” Daniel bellowed over every other voice, "She's charged with breaking the peace for teaching Lord Lindsey's daughter how to do a football tackle. Her crime is that the girl's dress got a bit muddy."

  The crowd became a jostling match as the circles of young men stormed forward through it. The two men of the watch who were holding Teesa suddenly found themselves being shouted at by a lot of young, fit, burly men. They did what watchers were paid to do, they backed away a safe distance and watched and memorized faces. To do this they had to leave go of Teesa, for she had been lifted onto the shoulder of two brawny lads to be carried through a cheering crowd and out of the square. Daniel stayed close behind so that the crowd closing in behind her would not cut him off.

  Another man kept pace with him ...William Ellis. "I recognize those mob twisting tactics," he said. "You must know John Pym."

  "I once helped save him from Lollards tower back when Archbishop Laud had him arrested. Pym is a master at controlling a mob."

  "Aye, he gives them an idea, but makes them believe it is their own idea. Just like you just did with football. Football, unbelievable, so simple, brilliant. You do realize that you have just cost Lord Lindsey and the king a fortune. I wouldn't go spreading your name about, if I were you."

  "Good point, Oye, Teesa, tell those lads to put you down at the edge of the square. They've got football matches to organize, and you've got to get those clothes back to their owners." She waved her understanding and bent low to speak to her brawny steeds. "Master Ellis, do you happen to drink Genever? Why don't you come to my ship and we'll swap some news over a pot or two."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Pistoleer - Pirates by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14

  Chapter 14 - Footballers at Freiston in October 1641

  The five ships had an easy sail on a well behaved norther wind all the way across The Wash to the quays at Lynn. The twenty recruits from Freiston and the twenty women from Wellenhay were divide up evenly amongst the ships and since rarely did an oar touch the water, the journey was more like a pleasant social gathering than work. Taking the Freiston men home once the four new ships were safe at Lynn was a very different journey.

  For that journey everyone was on the Freisburn. The norther was still well behaved when they left Lynn but they were running against the wind so they had the sail down and every oar was manned and pulling hard into it. As the shadows grew long the wind strengthened and the ship slowed. Daniel put it to the Freiston men that they would be welcome guests in Wellenhay if they would rather turn back to Lynn and travel home on another day.

  "Nay, Daniel," one man spoke for all of them, "it is a generous offer which we will accept if the wind grows stronger, but we would rather be home tonight if you don't mind. Tomorrow is Sunday and we have challenged Fishtoft to a football match, and that is the one match that none of us can afford to miss.

  "So be it then," and Daniel called out to everyone. "We have crew enough to double up on most of the oars. One man on the end and one woman on the shaft, and make sure that the strength across each pair of oars is balanced. The women will add their muscles to the power stroke, the power stroke only. Leave go or loosen your grip on the lifting stroke. The women scrambled and ducked under and between the men to get in between them and the gunnels and to squeeze their bums down to share the sea-chests that served as benches.

  As the women practiced matching their body movement to their partners, Cleff began to hee-haw in laughter. "Danny come up here and look down the line of them. Faith if they don't look like married couples in a chapel, all bending and bowing at the same time as if they wus praying. Praying to me up here at the tiller, the alter of this ship."

  Once Daniel was standing beside Cleff at the tiller, he had to agree, and he too laughed at the elder's imagery. "This is exactly the situation where the new Bermudan rigs would prove their worth. With this old rig we have two choices... wait the wind out or row into it. Just look at the number of rowers it takes. With the Bermudan rig, we would have made a long tack starting in Lynn, and switched tacks when halfway, while never once touching an oar to the water until we reached the quay."

  Those on the oars were completely exhausted by the time the Freisburn entered the mouth of the Haven and the Wellenhay crew were most thankful to have had the Freiston men aboard. It was now pitch dark but they had local seamen aboard who knew the waterways around Fishtoft by sound and smell and by the position of the lights in village houses. Under their guidance Cleff turned the ship towards the muddy shore and then two of the locals leaped down into the muddy water and ran the anchors up to firm land. It was they who also dragged the inlet's wooden walkways towards the ship so no one else would suffer muddy feet from stepping ashore.

  While a few men ran ahead to Freiston to arrange billeting for the Wellenhay crew, others went to fetch friends from the surrounding Fishtoft houses to serve as a night watch on the ship. Though it was but a half mile walk to Fishtoft and then just another mil
e to Freiston, it was a seemingly endless walk for the women who had rowed all the way from Lynn. The women of Freiston had been forewarned to expect this exhaustion, however, and immediately led them to warm soft beds. The Fens villages were famous for their warm soft beds because each village had their own professional fowlers to supply the feathers and down.

  * * * * *

  The next morning, Sunday morning, the Wellenhay women were fed breakfasts in the houses they had slept in, for Freiston no longer had communal longhouses like Wellenhay did. The Christians of Boston had long ago declared that longhouses were evil, likely because they competed with the churches as places for folk to congregate. Over their eggs and turnip mash even the men who had done the rowing were complaining of aching backs and shoulders, but though this was enough to keep them home from church, it was not enough to keep them from a football challenge.

  Though the entire village would turn out for the match, only the fitter of the men would play. It was doubtful that any but the most radical of Puritans had attended church that morning, for the village had the feel of a fete day rather than a holy day. It was a short walk along Priory Road towards Boston to the proposed football pitch on the village common. When the footballers reached a brand new bridge over a brand new drainage canal they did not cross but instead turned up stream to a large grazing field. The new canal had cut the Freiston Common in half.

  The flood gates at both ends of this section must have been closed for there was no running water in the canal. Not that it was dry ... for any hole dug in the Fens would cause water to rise up from the bottom. "They are nearly finished shoring the sides of the canal and then they will open the sluice gates and it will be like a river,” Daniel's host, one of the village elders, told him. "They try to charge us an effing toll to cross the bridge so mostly we ford the empty canal and suffer the muddy feet. Once it is flooded we will be held for ransom by the bridge tolls just to reach our stock and our fields on the other side."