History's Mysteries: The Mystery of the 'Black Box'

By Anita Davison

Lucy Walter, a dark-haired, blue-eyed Celtic beauty referred to as 'a browne, beautiful, bold, but insipid creature,' by John Evelyn, was one of the earliest loves of King Charles II while the eighteen-year-old Prince of Wales lived in exile on the Continent after his father King Charles I was beheaded in 1649.

Already the mistress of Colonel Robert Sidney at The Hague, she met Charles in September 1648, they soon became lovers and bore Charles a son  in April 1649. Despite being short on funds, Charles provided money which enabled Lucy to live in “great splendor.”  The child was named James "Crofts" (after his guardian Lord Crofts).

In June 1649, Lucy accompanied Charles to Paris where he resided for three months, leaving Lucy behind when he returned to The Hague. During the summer of 1650, Lucy is said to have become the mistress of either Colonel Bennet, or Theobald, second Viscount Taafe and in May of 1651, Lucy’s daughter, Mary was born, though speculation was rife as to which man was the child’s father. Both men were living at the Louvre, much to Queen Henrietta Marie’s indignation but she could not afford to pay Lucy to leave when Taafe was keeping her and her children. Charles’ behavior was characteristic, in that he had done with Lucy, but was willing for her and Taafe to remain under the same roof as himself, as long as he didn’t have to support her and could keep in touch with his son.

In the summer of 1651, Lucy went to London with her brother, Justus, to recover an inheritance from their mother. Taken for a Royalist spy, she was arrested on Cromwell’s orders and sent to the Tower of London, where she called herself the wife of King Charles II. She was deported to Flanders, from where she proceeded to Paris to find that she had “lost all favor with Charles II.” While publicly denouncing her, he still sent her messages promising her money and support, ostensibly to prevent her from publishing “certain papers which Charles was anxious to obtain, possibly the contents of the mysterious ‘black box’.”

By 1655, Lucy came under the protection of the married Colonel Thomas Howard, brother of Earl of Suffolk and master of the house to Mary of Orange. Lucy neglected James’ education, and threatened Charles with creating public scandals while he was still dependent upon the goodwill of foreign royalty. Lucy lived with Henrietta Maria, the queen mother, and Princess Mary, Charles's sister, on and off for five years. These Royal ladies’ affectionate letters to Lucy Walter show a close relationship and deep family feeling which many believe would have not existed toward a mistress.

However by this time, Charles’ sister Mary regarded Lucy as an obstacle to the hoped-for restoration of the monarchy, which looked increasingly possible. Oliver Cromwell was dead and the Commonwealth became increasingly unpopular.

Unfortunately for Charles, Lucy had in her hands both his beloved son and a number of letters and papers apparently of critical importance to him, papers she threatened to make public.  When Lucy went to live in Brussels, the King, arranged for her to be lodged with his agent and Lord Bristol’s secretary, Sir Arthur Slingsby.

Slingby tried to have Lucy arrested, at which she ran into the street weeping and crying, clutching her son, James. When passersby came to her aid, Slingsby made matters worse by declaring that he was acting on behalf of the English King. This provoked such an uproar, the Governor of Brussels was forced to intervene. Charles could do nothing but find Lucy alternative housing, and explain to the Governor that Lucy’s “wild and disgraceful course” had exasperated all those concerned.


Charles sent his agent Edward Prodgers to Brussels to remove young James from his mother’s care, during which Lucy made another public scene. However, this proved too much for her and, exhausted and ill, she  surrendered James to his father.

In December 1657, James was delivered to the Queen Mother, Henrietta Maria, who put him in school at Port-Royal near Paris. Lucy’s objections were finally subdued by the threat that Charles would disown the boy if she tried to get him back and she was then driven from Brussels and moved to Paris, presumably to be close to her son in his nearby school.

Lucy died in late1658 in abject poverty according to John Evelyn, while others claim she became a penitent of Dean Cosin, later Bishop of Durham, who, while pretending to be converted from her loose manner in life, Lucy continued her vicious ways. James II unkindly said that she died of a “disease incident to her profession.”

Charles II brought the young James Crofts to London, and at fourteen, married him to Anna Scott, Duchess of Buccleuch one of the richest heiresses in the country. James took her name, and was made the Duke of Monmouth.

By the late 1670s, it was clear that Charles’ Portuguese queen, Catherine of Braganza, was unable to provide a legitimate heir, and with the prospect of the Catholic James, Duke of York as the next king, panic set in among certain Whig courtiers, such as Anthony Ashley Cooper, 1st Earl Shaftesbury.

The Parliamentarians were pushing hard to legitimize Monmouth by supporting Lucy's claim that she and Charles had been married, the Duke of Monmouth declared legitimate, and the Duke of York excluded from the line of succession due to his Catholic proclivities. James, Duke of York and his supporters were equally eager to prove Monmouth’s illegitimacy, so the long-dead Lucy’s name had to be blackened, and she was labelled unjustly a ‘whore’.

During the ‘Black Box Inquiry’ in 1680, where witnesses claimed Lucy kept her marriage records. She was reputed to have given the box to the late Anglican Bishop John Cosin, who was by then unable to testify that a contract of marriage existed and was signed at a ceremony performed by Dr. Fuller, Bishop of Lincoln. 

Sir Gilbert Gerard, Bishop Cosin’s son-in-law, denied any knowledge of the Black Box despite his earlier allegations that his father-in-law had left the object to him and that he had found the marriage contract inside.
Bishop Paterson allegedly knew the names of the witnesses at the marriage ceremony, and that Oliver Cromwell’s officers had confiscated the certificate from Lucy while she was under arrest. Coincidence or not, but all records of births and weddings filed in Lucy’s home county of Pembrokeshire in the year of Monmouth’s birth had been destroyed at the Restoration. 

During this inquiry, Charles was reportedly ill at ease, possibly due to a guilty conscience? In January 1678, he published a declaration made the previous year that he and Lucy Walter were not married. A reply was published in the form of a pamphlet entitled, “A Letter to a Person of Honour Concerning the King’s Disavowing Having been Married to the Duke of Monmouth’s mother.” Attributed to Robert Ferguson (“the plotter” who took part in the Monmouth Rebellion) he inferred that Charles had married Lucy Walter with his mother’s permission when his life was despaired of through the combination of an attack of smallpox and his frustration at being denied marriage to Lucy.

Charles allegedly told Bishop Burnet, that he would rather see Monmouth hanged than legitimize him.

In the early 1680’s, encouraged by Shaftesbury, Monmouth travelled on a quasi-royal progress throughout the West Country, drumming up popularity for the Protestant son of Charles II. The king, in retaliation, deprived Monmouth of his general's commission and forbade him to appear at court.

When Charles II died in February 1685, Monmouth was living in exile in Holland, banished for his part in The Popish Plot. In May, Monmouth arrived in England with a small army, but his ill-fated rebellion ended in his execution by his Uncle, James II in July 1685. Prior to his execution, Monmouth signed a paper stating that the late King told him he never married Lucy Walter. However, this was probably written to spare his descendants persecution following his death.

Monmouth’s ten-year-old daughter died of illness in the Tower soon after her father’s execution. His two sons became Scottish earls, and one grandson and a great-great grandson became Dukes of Buccleugh. The title passed to him from his mother, Anna  [The title Duke of Monmouth became extant after his death and has never been revived]

The conspiracy of the ‘black box’ might have ended there, however a descendant of Monmouth’s, the third Duke of Buccleuch, Henry Scott, reportedly found a marriage certificate between Charles II and Lucy Walter in the muniment room at Dalkeith. Having announced that ‘No loyal Englishman should keep such a bombshell in his possession,’ and, in front of the Duke of Abercorn, burned the document. One other story, was the Duke took the document to Queen Victoria, who, after one horrified glance set it on fire herself.

The 400 year old question remains - did Prince Charles fall in love and, feeling he had no hope of regaining his destiny, marry a young girl in a secret ceremony? Did the ‘Black Box’ ever exist, and if so, did it contain the marriage certificate of Charles Prince of Wales and Lucy Walter?

Resources:

Leigh family Website

The Personal Rule of Charles II, 1681-1685 by Grant Tapsell

Anita Davison is an historical fiction author with a love of 17th century England. DUKING DAYS: REBELLION was released in 2007 and the sequel, DUKING DAYS: REVOLUTION in 2008. TRENCARROW SECRET, a Victorian Gothic romance, is available from MuseItUp Publishing.

Crimes & Law Enforcement: Colonial Prisons

Anna C. Bowling

As of this date, I've been in two colonial prisons. Before anybody suspects me of time travelling misdeeds, let me state up front that the prisons were museums at the time I visited, and the purpose was research, not correction. Old Newgate Prison, built in 1775 in East Granby, CT, began its tenure as a copper mine, and when the mining proved unprofitable, became a holding facility for Tories and captured British troops during the American Revolution. This particular tidbit perked my colonial-loving ears, and throughout the tour, I kept my ears open for any future characters who might want to share their stories of time spent in such a place.

The tour included both the mine itself--very dark, very slippery and not for the claustrophobic--and the cells where the prisoners slept. Standing in the low-cielinged cells, with stone on three sides, bars on the other, I could well imagine what could have gone through the minds of the men housed there, including a desperate need to escape. Which, as our guide informed me, was extremely common at this particular facility.

The first prisoner to call Old Newgate "home" arrived in December of 1773 and escaped eighteen days later, and one prisoner, listed as Richard Steele, holds the record for escaping from this facility a grand total of three times. After the war, the prison housed serious criminals such as rapists and murderers instead of political prisoners, admitting women starting in 1824. The prison closed in 1827, and an attempt to revive the mining failed. The property served other purposes before being declared a national landmark.

Old Newgate was not my first exposure to the colonial correctional system. That came on a school field trip to the Bedford Historical Society in Bedford Village, NY,. One of two original jail cells from the 1780s remains now at the society's museum. Prisoners housed in the Bedford cell would find their walls of wood rather than stone, and escapes would be trickier, as they shared a building with the courthouse, which has also been preserved.

I have to confess making multiple trips to revisit the courthouse and jail cell over the years, which inspired similar locations in MY OUTCAST HEART, though the preserved sites date from several decades past the 1720 setting of the story. The entire town of Bedford was burned to the ground by British troops during the American Revolution. Though I have no idea if any of the soldiers involved in that were captured and housed at Old Newgate, the storyteller in me has to wonder what if....

Have you ever visited a historical prison? What prison do you think would be perfect for a historical version of Prison Break?

Writing historical romances allows Anna C. Bowling to travel through time on a daily basis and make the voices in her head pay rent. Her current release, ORPHANS IN THE STORM, is available from Awe-Struck E-books.

Love Affairs: Jack Rackham & Anne Bonny

By Anna C. Bowling

These real life pirates of the Caribbean shared a love affair that ignited like a flash of gunpowder during the waning days of piracy's golden age. Jack Rackham, dubbed Calico Jack by his peers, due to his brightly colored wardrobe, had already enjoyed a piratical career that included taking over a ship previously captained by James Vane when the pirates found themselves pitted against a warship. Jack's crewmates elected him captain in Vane's stead, and Jack led several successful raids on merchant ships before deciding he wanted something else out of life.

His ship put into New Providence Harbor in the Bahamas, and Jack may well have accepted the open pardon offered by Governor Woodes Rogers for all those who would quit their nefarious ways and live as decent men. It was one far from decent woman, Anne Bonny, a quick-tempered Irishwoman from South Carolina, who turned his head and set his life on a far different course when the pair met at one of the many taverns in the port town.

The attraction between the two was intense and instantaneous, finding themselves matched well in temperament, passion and ambition for adventure. There was only one problem: Anne was already married, and even worse, her husband, James Bonny, was an informant for Governor Rogers. Having his wife carrying on with one of the very pirates he hoped to eliminate did not sit well.

James charged his wife with adultery, and her conviction warranted flogging and a charge to return to James. Jack offered to buy Anne from James in a marriage by purchase, but Anne's pride nipped that in the bud. She refused to be bought and sold like livestock and the pair escaped New Providence to take to the open sea.

Anne learned the art of piracy well under Jack's tutelage, to the extent that most historical mentions of Jack's name are as an associate of Anne's, and that of another piratess in male guise, Mary Read, rather than for his own exploits. Anne and Jack's affair proved fruitful, and they put into port in Cuba for Anne to deliver their first child, whose fate remains unknown.

Jack and Anne resumed their seafaring lifestyle, with pirate hunters hot on their heels. In 1720, Captain Jonathan Barnet captured their ship while the male crewmembers were too inebriated to offer resistance. Only Anne and Mary fought to the end, and the entire crew stood trial in Jamaica, facing a death sentence. Anne, pregnant with her and Jack's second child, plead her belly, and had her execution postponed until she could carry the child to term. (A ruling which proved moot, as Anne escaped well before said time.) Jack, however, had no recourse, and his sentence was passed.

The day of his execution, Jack had but one final wish--to see his beloved Anne one last time. The wish was granted, but historical accounts indicate that Anne turned away from her lover after uttering the fateful words, "If you had fought like a man, you would not be hanged like a dog."

Greatest Hits: So You Wanna Re-Create a Revolution?

By Anna C. Bowling

Long ago, in a not so faraway (for me) land called New York state, I gloried in the splendor of an autumn afternoon, my long skirt swishing about my ankles as I traversed the dirt road adjacent to the home of John Jay, the United States' first Chief Justice. To my left, behind a stone wall, an endless sea of identical white tents covered the green lawn. I felt a rumble behind me, and a deep male voice called out, "Make way for the king's men." I stepped quickly to the side, and a long column of scarlet-coated soldiers streamed by, posture ramrod-perfect, marching in step behind a Union Jack toted high.

The actual calendar year was of somewhat more recent vintage, 2003, but for that one particular day, I found myself swept back in time to when a native New Yorker could well have been a loyal British subject...and also to my own childhood, when the Bicentennial meant fife and drum corps everywhere, beginning a fascination with those gents in the red coats that continues to this day. Cue music. Leonard Bernstein British Grenadiers

The procession was only the start of the day's events, followed by a muster, where the historical interpreters demonstrated how their unit might attract new recruits. Hint; free liquor was involved for any able bodied male of adult years willing to sign or make his mark. This, apparently, was a valid recruiting technique. Speeches of the glory of king and country, of the sterling reputation of soldiers (which one may snort at without qualms once one mucks about the tents for a while, as I did) and thus swelled the ranks.

Being the nosy historical author I am, I took the first opportunity to venture into the tents and hunt down the interpreter playing the commanding officer. What was life really like after the free liquor wore off or commissions were purchased? What sort of men would have inhabited these tents two hundred plus years ago, and furthermore, what sorts of men recreate British Army life in the country where the redcoats were the antagonists during our revolution?

The answers to the above may surprise some readers. Reenactment units such as His Majesty's Tenth Regiment of Foot can give a different perspective on what we think we know about life in the eighteenth century British Army. Though the unit I saw that day was re-creating 1740s life, the gentlemen (and that they were, to a man) were more than happy to discuss Redcoat life up to and beyond the Revolution. Whatever the period, a soldier's life was seldom one of comfort. Even the officers' tents I inspected were of necessity small, to be easily packed up and moved to the next site at a moment's notice. A cot, a trunk for personal items, perhaps a few comforts of home such as a deck of cards or musical instrument, perhaps a book for those so inclined, but with space at a premium, functionality ruled over pleasure.

The soldier's life might not always be a lonely one; those who could afford it could sometimes bring along wives, and where wives (and other women) go, babies could follow. Even bringing one's dog was not entirely unheard of, and visitors to reenactments can often see all of the above as important parts of the units as a whole. Add in camp followers, noting that "laundress" did not always mean laundress, wink wink, and my mind started to fill in those rows of tents with people who might have inhabited each one. Some aspects of the military life are universal, no matter what era or affiliation.

The soldiers themselves, on these colonial shores, could come from any walk of life. A younger son from a noble English family might have bought his commission, to find himself shoulder to shoulder with a young recruit born to laborers in the colonies, or during the Revolution, even a German Hussar or a former slave. Male slaves who enlisted in the British army would be considered immediately freed from slavery, certainly an extremely appealing incentive. After the Revolution, when British and Hussar forces returned home, several former slaves stayed with their units, making new lives for themselves in England or Germany. Great story potential right there, methinks.

Story potential as well in the Grenadiers, those gentlemen memorialized in the music above. Dealing with explosives at such close range takes a special sort of man; calm under pressure, willing to do what it takes to get the job done, knowing, as all soldiers do, that any engagement may be their last, but hoping to come through to the end of the day.

Why would a modern American choose to devote his (or her) free time to interpreting the other side of our country's first war? Perhaps the most succinct answer is that somebody has to. The British Army is part of our history, and those who comprised it were individuals who also deserve to be remembered. While some British (civilians and military alike) did oppose colonial independence, others were actually for it, but believed that a different time or method for that independence would be better for all involved. Some interpreters do also interpret patriot units, and I spoke to one, an actor by trade, who has appeared on the History Channel, in different productions, as both Benedict Arnold and George Washington. Talk about seeing things from both sides.

Which is, really, one of the best parts about historical reenactments. We can muck about in as close as we can get to the real thing, interact with those who study hard to get the feel of the era and convey it to those who may not be as familiar with the big picture. If the reenactment includes a battle, consider traipsing over to those re-creating the other side, whatever that might be, for a different perspective. Who knows, you might meet a new character along the way.

Places You've Never Heard Of: Vinegar Hill

By Eliza Tucker

New York played an important role in the Revolutionary War, and dozens of sites around the city bear testament to this. St. Paul's Church. Fraunces Tavern. The Dutch Cottage. Federal Hall. But across the East River and into Brooklyn, an important memorial was made in the early 1800s.

Vinegar Hill is about eight blocks square, a tiny enclave near the Brooklyn side of the Manhattan Bridge, next to the closed-off Brooklyn Navy Yard. In 1800, well before bridges and the city's consolidation, Vinegar Hill was so named because its developer specifically planned to attract Irish immigrants, as it had been the "site of a fierce battle in the Irish rebellion of 1798." - Forgotten-NY.com

But fewer than 25 years before, a similar American war blazed nearby. Even before voting for independence, Congress called up 28,500 men, but by the time General Washington arrived in New York, only 19,000 American soldiers had gathered there--this, against the British and Hessian troops that totaled 32,000 only a month later. The British invasion began on August 22, after a month of attempting to come to a truce satisfactory to both sides. The battle didn't last long: the British easily overtook the untrained Continental Army, and with only 64 reported fatalities.

By the end of the Revolutionary War, more than 8,000 Continental soldiers (some reports say up to 11,000) died aboard British prison ships--damaged or decommissioned ships in Wallabout Bay that served as prisons once the British jails were at maximum occupancy. Over the course of the century, bones washed up on the shores of Manhattan and Brooklyn. Many of these remains were gathered in 1808 for the underground crypt portion of the Tomb of the Martyrs, erected in Vinegar Hill by the Tammany Society of New York.

Vinegar Hill became the first real resting place for so many patriots. In the 1870s, the Tomb was in heavy disrepair and the crypt was moved to a special monument Ft. Greene Park.

Pictured: early 1900s postcard of Ft. Green Park's Prison Ship Martyr Memorial

Humans in Nature: Travels on the Rhine

By Sandra Schwab

In 1795. Anne Radcliffe wrote about her journey along the Rhine:

Sometimes, as we approached a rocky point, we seemed going to plunge into the expanse of the water beyond; when, turning the sharp angle of the promontory, the road swept along an ample bay, where the rocks, receding formed an amphitheatre, [...] then [...] we saw the river beyond [...] assume the form of a lake, amidst wild and romantic landscapes."
Anne Radcliffe, Journey Made in the Summer of 1794, through Holland and the Western Frontier of Germany with a Return down the Rhine, 1795

Anne Radcliffe belonged to the first wave of Rhine tourists. During the Napoleonic Wars, travelling came more or less to a halt, but immediately afterwards the second wave of British tourists arrived on the banks of Father Rhine. There were so many of them that later in the century the writer Thomas Hood remarked:

It is a statistical fact that since 1814 an unknown number of persons have been more or less abroad, and of all the Countries in Christendom, never was there such a run as on the Banks of the Rhine. It was impossible to go into Society without meeting units, tens, hundreds, thousands of Rhenish tourists. What a donkey they deemed him who had not been to Assmannshausen!

One of the most popular, if not the most popular, literary text about a Rhine journey was Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. In Canto III, stanza XLVI, Byron writes:

...Maternal Nature! ...who teems like thee,
Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine?
There Harold gazes on a work divine
A blending of all beauties; streams and dells,
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine,
And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells
From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells.

Byron goes on to describe the picturesque view of ruins and hills clothed with forest or vine. Some places he even lists by name:

The castled crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of water broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine,
And hills all rich with blossom'd trees,
And fields which promise corn and wine,
And scatter'd cities crowning these;
Whose far white walls along them shine..."

British tourists would drag a copy of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage along on their travels on the Rhine from then on, so they could trace Childe Harold's steps. This becomes obvious in the Shelleys' History of a Six Weeks Tour, from 1817:

The part of the Rhine down which we now glided, is that so beautifully described by Lord Byron in his third Canto of CHILDE HAROLD. We read these verses with delight, as they conjured before us these lovely scenes with the truth and vividness of painting, and with the exquisite addition of glowing language and warm imagination. We were carried down by a dangerously rapid current, and saw on either side of us hills covered with vines and trees, craggy cliffs crowned by desolate towers, and wooded islands, where picturesque ruins peeped from behind the foliage, and cast shadows of their forms on the troubled waters, which distorted without deforming them.

Mary Shelley also chose the Rhine as one of the settings of her 1818 gothic novel Frankenstein

The course of the Rhine below Mainz becomes much more picturesque. The river descends rapidly and winds between hills, not high, but steep, ad of beautiful forms. We saw many ruined castles standing on the edges of the precipices, surrounded by black woods, high and inaccessible.

Apart from the writers, British painters, too, chose the Rhine and its legends as subjects for their art. Among artists were Turner and Waterhouse, and they, of course, made the sights and legends of the Rhine even more famous.

If you'd like to find out more about travels on the Rhine, check out the background information to CASTLE OF THE WOLF on Sandra's website.

Professions: Circuit Riders

By Anna C. Bowling

Today, if someone would like a member of the clergy to perform weddings, funerals, baptisms of children or adults, give spiritual counsel or instruction or perform a worship service, the options are endless. A drive through most major cities will result in passing several churches, synagogues, mosques, meeting houses or other such places, and a flip through the yellow pages or a quick online search will bring up dozens of choices even beyond that.

In earlier times, such as the American colonial era or during the western expansion, people had to be a little...or a lot...more patient. Settling a new land or territory, more often than not, happened in stages, and settlers knew going into the new venture that they would have to forgo things taken for granted in their locale of origin. The way one conducted one's spiritual life was no exception.

While a person's faith travels with them no matter who or what is or isn't along for the ride, the way such faith is expressed can definitely be affected. Food, shelter and safety are prime concerns in these situations, with other aspects of life having to sit tight and wait a while. Enter the circuit rider.

Going from town to town, servicing those without a permanent clergy member or house of worship, the circuit rider had to be a spiritual jack of all trades, arriving in each stop on his circuit knowing that he'd need to pack weeks, months, or even years worth of pastoring into a short period of time.

He might find himself using the same ceremony to marry a young couple and baptize their child...or children. In some communities where a circuit rider was the only clergy they could get, this wasn't entirely uncommon, and the couple might actually be considered married by declaration until the preacher came by to make things legal. Memorial services for those buried weeks or months ago might also be on the schedule, and baptisms for any who wished it, from babies to new believers. He might be asked to perform services for denominations other than his own, and depended on the offerings of the communities for his upkeep.

Often without a permanent home of his own, the circuit rider had all the ups and downs of pastoring a regular church...times five, six, seven or however many stops he had on his circuit, not to mention the constant travel. Depending on what he could afford, he might travel his circuit actually riding on beast or wagon, or travelling by shank's mare: on foot. The life of a circuit rider was not easy or predictable, but for those with a true vocation and at least a touch of wanderlust, it could be a rewarding job choice.

I've said "he" in referring to the circuit riders of the past, as prior to the late 20th century, most Protestant denominations did not ordain women. Not so today--I know several modern-day itinerant ministers (what one might call the circuit riders of our day), male and female alike.

Sports & Entertainment: Bundling

By Anna C. Bowling

Imagine tucking your teen or twentysomething daughter snugly into bed with her gentleman friend and wishing the couple a good night while the rest of the family goes on with the rest of the evening's entertainments as usual. Perhaps you sit down to a spirited game of cards with your spouse, help your younger children with schoolwork, or regale the family with the newest song you've taught your caged canary or discuss the merits or flaws in last week's sermon--interrupted, of course, by shooing away any curious family members who might try to listen at the bedroom door.

Daughter and her friend need their privacy, and even the most inquisitive family members need to respect that. The younger children may want such privacy of their own someday, and the older family members were young once, too. Everybody back to business. How about that sermon, hmm? If the couple want to share any highlights before the gentleman returns home tomorrow, they'll do so.

Where and when would such a scenario take place? In a modern, metropolitan American household? Possibly. But this practice, called bundling, was also a common scenario for colonials of Dutch, German or British extraction during the eighteenth century, and could provide a good deal of entertainment for all involved--not just the bundled pair.


During warmer months, courting couples would spend most of their time alone walking out, which is exactly what it sounds like; taking a stroll outdoors, likely in sight of some older family member of one of the pair. What's the same couple to do, though, when the temperature drops, flakes fly, and a fellow can't be sure it's quite safe to traverse the icy roads after paying court to his lady fair? Pack themselves off to bed, of course, and no, not necessarily for what first comes to mind.

Though of course the actual practice varied, depending on the individuals and societies involved, the couple would climb into bed together, fully dressed, often separated by a bundling board, a long piece of wood down the middle of the bed. (In my colonial historical romance, My Outcast Heart, my hero and heroine substitute a rolled quilt for the board.) A chaperon may or may not be present, and sexual activity was not expected or encouraged for the bundlers. They would be expected to converse and get a taste of what it might be like to spend time in solely each other's company in close quarters.

While this could make for a perfect setup for romantic scenes for any genre from inspirational to erotic, the couple did have other distractions than merely being a hair's breadth from their beloved. Remember all those relatives mentioned above? Remember all their activities? Add in the chatter of several generations of relatives, children with clackety wooden toys, a musical instrument or two, and that noisy canary, not to mention assorted individuals trying to listen or peek, or concerned older relatives "just checking" on them, the mood was not always the most romantic. Nevertheless, bundling did often lead to a wedding--and sometimes a rather hasty one.

Modern bundling board photo courtesy of: The Benchmark Inn, Provincetown, MA

Social Taboos: Branded

By Anna C. Bowling

In the days of the original thirteen colonies, every healthy adult was needed, and a viable penal system was not on the top of the settlers' to do list. Still, human nature being human nature, when there are laws, as in any society, there will be those who don't abide by them. While the usual practice is to segregate miscreants from the mainstream of society, when that's not a possibility, or the law-breaker has special skills needed for survival, there have to be other means.

Punishments such as the stocks or pillory served as deterrents and temporary restraints for the guilty party, and a moral lesson or cause to for amusement for passersby, depending on their temperament. Still, Some offenses needed a longer lasting solution. For the eighteenth century colonist, this often meant permanent body alterations. As American citizens in many areas can recognize prison work crews from special uniforms, the colonist could know the criminal past of those who had one.

In my colonial historical romance, MY OUTCAST HEART, Tabetha Small knows that Christian Dalby has been convicted of thievery before he's even said a word to her. The "T" branded onto his hand (as in the picture above) makes that plain. The brand was placed so that anyone with occasion to shake hands with someone who bore the mark would be sure to see it. Though Dalby finds a way to obscure his brand, other marks were much harder to hide, such as brands on the cheek or forehead, cropped ears, or even having one's tongue bored through with an iron rod. The infamous Hester Prynne of Nathaniel Hawthorne's THE SCARLET LETTER. could well be considered to have gotten off easy; her letter was only worn on her clothing.

Whipping, tarring and feathering, and the ever-popular being ridden out of town on a rail were not considered cruel or unusual in their time, but necessary ways to carry out the law of the land. Whether or not those to whom the punishment was meted learned their lesson, the effects of a youthful offense would be plain as the nose (or lack thereof) on a man's face for the rest of his life.

To read more about Colonial crime and punishment, visit the official site of Colonial Williamsburg.

Weapons and Armies: So You Want To Re-Create A Revolution

By Anna C. Bowling

Long ago, in a not so faraway (for me) land called New York state, I gloried in the splendor of an autumn afternoon, my long skirt swishing about my ankles as I traversed the dirt road adjacent to the home of John Jay, the United States' first Chief Justice. To my left, behind a stone wall, an endless sea of identical white tents covered the green lawn. I felt a rumble behind me, and a deep male voice called out, "Make way for the king's men." I stepped quickly to the side, and a long column of scarlet-coated soldiers streamed by, posture ramrod-perfect, marching in step behind a Union Jack toted high.

The actual calendar year was of somewhat more recent vintage, 2003, but for that one particular day, I found myself swept back in time to when a native New Yorker could well have been a loyal British subject...and also to my own childhood, when the Bicentennial meant fife and drum corps everywhere, beginning a fascination with those gents in the red coats that continues to this day. Cue music. Leonard Bernstein British Grenadiers

The procession was only the start of the day's events, followed by a muster, where the historical interpreters demonstrated how their unit might attract new recruits. Hint; free liquor was involved for any able bodied male of adult years willing to sign or make his mark. This, apparently, was a valid recruiting technique. Speeches of the glory of king and country, of the sterling reputation of soldiers (which one may snort at without qualms once one mucks about the tents for a while, as I did) and thus swelled the ranks.

Being the nosy historical author I am, I took the first opportunity to venture into the tents and hunt down the interpreter playing the commanding officer. What was life really like after the free liquor wore off or commissions were purchased? What sort of men would have inhabited these tents two hundred plus years ago, and furthermore, what sorts of men recreate British Army life in the country where the redcoats were the antagonists during our revolution?

The answers to the above may surprise some readers. Reenactment units such as His Majesty's Tenth Regiment of Foot can give a different perspective on what we think we know about life in the eighteenth century British Army. Though the unit I saw that day was re-creating 1740s life, the gentlemen (and that they were, to a man) were more than happy to discuss Redcoat life up to and beyond the Revolution. Whatever the period, a soldier's life was seldom one of comfort. Even the officers' tents I inspected were of necessity small, to be easily packed up and moved to the next site at a moment's notice. A cot, a trunk for personal items, perhaps a few comforts of home such as a deck of cards or musical instrument, perhaps a book for those so inclined, but with space at a premium, functionality ruled over pleasure.

The soldier's life might not always be a lonely one; those who could afford it could sometimes bring along wives, and where wives (and other women) go, babies could follow. Even bringing one's dog was not entirely unheard of, and visitors to reenactments can often see all of the above as important parts of the units as a whole. Add in camp followers, noting that "laundress" did not always mean laundress, wink wink, and my mind started to fill in those rows of tents with people who might have inhabited each one. Some aspects of the military life are universal, no matter what era or affiliation.

The soldiers themselves, on these colonial shores, could come from any walk of life. A younger son from a noble English family might have bought his commission, to find himself shoulder to shoulder with a young recruit born to laborers in the colonies, or during the Revolution, even a German Hussar or a former slave. Male slaves who enlisted in the British army would be considered immediately freed from slavery, certainly an extremely appealing incentive. After the Revolution, when British and Hussar forces returned home, several former slaves stayed with their units, making new lives for themselves in England or Germany. Great story potential right there, methinks.

Story potential as well in the Grenadiers, those gentlemen memorialized in the music above. Dealing with explosives at such close range takes a special sort of man; calm under pressure, willing to do what it takes to get the job done, knowing, as all soldiers do, that any engagement may be their last, but hoping to come through to the end of the day.

Why would a modern American choose to devote his (or her) free time to interpreting the other side of our country's first war? Perhaps the most succinct answer is that somebody has to. The British Army is part of our history, and those who comprised it were individuals who also deserve to be remembered. While some British (civilians and military alike) did oppose colonial independence, others were actually for it, but believed that a different time or method for that independence would be better for all involved. Some interpreters do also interpret patriot units, and I spoke to one, an actor by trade, who has appeared on the History Channel, in different productions, as both Benedict Arnold and George Washington. Talk about seeing things from both sides.

Which is, really, one of the best parts about historical reenactments. We can muck about in as close as we can get to the real thing, interact with those who study hard to get the feel of the era and convey it to those who may not be as familiar with the big picture. If the reenactment includes a battle, consider traipsing over to those re-creating the other side, whatever that might be, for a different perspective. Who knows, you might meet a new character along the way.

Famous People: Henry Winstanley

By Lisa Marie Wilkinson

A fictional interview with inventor Henry Winstanley by Lisa Marie Wilkinson.

Lisa Marie: I've selected you for inclusion in the "Famous People" category of the Unusual Historicals blog because you designed and oversaw the construction of the famous Eddystone Lighthouse. The lighthouse stood 14 kilometers off the coast of Plymouth, England until it was swept away during a violent storm in 1703. What other interesting facts do you feel make you a worthy "Famous People" candidate?

Henry Winstanley: My inventions weren't limited to lighthouses. I was an engraver, an architect, and I'd always had a fascination for hydraulics and all things mechanical. I had a house built in Littlebury for the purpose of housing some of my inventions for exhibition. My "Mathematical Water Theater," combining fireworks and fountains, was a popular attraction in London's Piccadilly during the 1690's. I was called the "Jester of Littlebury," because my house was filled with all sorts of oddities, including trap doors and chairs that came alive and ensnared those who sat in them.

Lisa Marie: Would you object to my quoting a section from my historical romance novel, FIRE AT MIDNIGHT, which describes my heroine Rachael's first impression of your lighthouse?

Henry Winstanley: No, not at all. I'm very proud of my design.

Lisa Marie: Quoting passage from FIRE AT MIDNIGHT:

Sebastién battled a strong crosswind as he steered the tiny rowboat in choppy seas. They came close enough to the great foundation of rock to which the Eddystone Light was anchored that Rachael was afforded a glimpse of its underpinnings: iron rods of at least twelve feet in length in a stone base some two dozen feet tall.

This was no ordinary lighthouse. She squinted up at the high tower as they stepped onto the landing platform that led to the front entry. The ten-sided upper section bore an artist’s impressions of the sun and moon, plus various inscriptions, mostly in Latin, Post Tenebras Lux ("After Darkness, Light"), Salutem Omnium ("For the Safety of All"), Pax En Bello ("Peace in War"), and, Glory Be To God.

Directly below the great lantern with its massive glass windows was a skillfully engraved shower of stars and the inscription, Anno Dom in bold work, flanked by a reference to the reign of William the Third.

Sebastién urged her forward, whispering that he expected to find the decor of a Parisian bordello inside. As they passed through the main door, she glimpsed another engraving in Latin, this one a proclamation that the lighthouse had been designed and constructed by Henry Winstanley.

The interior of the tower upheld the lavish style promised by its exterior. She had expected to find steep, rust-corroded spiraling stairs, drafty landings, and hard pallets tossed onto cold floors. Sebastién, evidently expecting the same, gave a low whistle when he opened a door and discovered an attractively appointed bedchamber. The room was richly gilded, with a large closet, and a small chimney. While he noted the barred outside shutters with a grunt of approval, she marveled at the fine woodwork and the quality of the tapestry rugs.

Lisa Marie: You also met my hero in a later scene, the Frenchman by the name of Sebastién Falconer.

Henry Winstanley: I'd rather not be reminded of that.

Lisa Marie: Why is that, Mr. Winstanley?

Henry Winstanley: Because I hate French privateers! When I was hard at work constructing the foundation for the first light tower to stand on the Eddystone rocks, my crew and I were attacked by French privateers and taken as hostages to France. If not for Louis XIV, I might have languished in France forever. But Louis simply ordered me returned to England, saying that, "France is at war with England, not with humanity."

Lisa Marie: Did you say, "the first light tower?" How many have there been?

Henry Winstanley: There have been a total of five. But I believe mine was the best, because it was the most beautiful design, with an octagonal tower and splendid furnishings within.

Lisa Marie: Would you share your most famous anecdote concerning the Eddystone Lighthouse with us?

Henry Winstanley: I used to say I yearned to be inside my lighthouse during the greatest storm there ever was. The lesson to be learned there is: be careful what you wish for.

Lisa Marie's closing note: Henry Winstanley and several workmen had sailed out to the Eddystone Lightouse on the night of November 27, 1703, to do repairs on the lighthouse. This was the night of what would come to be known throughout England's history as "The Great Storm." Winstanley and his crew perished when the lighthouse was swept away during the storm.