Commodore John Barry - Father of the United States Navy

by Arthur Russell

John Barry, who is regarded by many as the Father of the United States Navy, was born son of James and Ellen Barry, a Roman Catholic tenant farmer family at Ballysampson on Our Lady’s Island, in the parish of Tacumshane in County Wexford, Ireland. Here within sight of the Atlantic Ocean, which was destined to feature so largely in his future life, John’s parents James and Ellen and their young family eked a poverty-stricken living from a small farm rented from a local Anglo-Irish landlord. Inevitably — and as experienced by many families all over Ireland of the day — the farm's rent fell into arrears and the Barry family were evicted and forced to move to the nearby port town of Rosslare. Here, young John was employed by his uncle Nicholas Barry who owned a small fishing boat, and it was in Rosslare that John fell in love with the sea and its ways.

Ireland of the mid 18^th century smouldered with resentment against the ruling class and government, many of whom were descendants of the Cromwellian “settlement” of Ireland of the previous century. This and subsequent imposition of anti-Catholic Penal Laws of the early 18^th century, meant that families like the Barrys were seriously disadvantaged in terms of civil rights, land ownership, access to education and many professions. The town of Wexford itself had recent bitter memories of Oliver Cromwell’s visitation to the area in 1649, when some 3,000 unarmed men, women and children had been slaughtered by Roundhead soldiers in the aftermath of the capture of the town in what was an extension of the English Civil War to Ireland. Before the end of the 18^th century (during the United Irishmen’s rebellion of 1798), continuing resentment in the rural population would manifest itself in a bloody conflict which affected South-eastern Ireland more than any other part of Ireland, resulting in thousands of deaths among John Barry’s friends and neighbours in Wexford and its hinterland.

John Barry goes to sea

In 1761, aged 15, John left Ireland as a cabin-boy on a ship bound for Jamaica. One version of his life-story tells that his first landfall in North America was his arrival in Philadelphia as second mate on a trading ship sometime in 1762. Due to the city’s relatively liberal attitude towards Catholicism and the fact that it was the foremost maritime centre of the colony, John made Philadelphia his home. 

By 1766, 21 year old Barry, by now an impressive 6 feet 4 inches tall with a physique to match, was given his first command on the schooner Barbados sailing from his adopted city. In 1768 he married Mary Cleary. Sadly, seven years into the marriage, Mary died in 1774, aged 29. To add to John's grief, her death ocurred while he was at sea. In 1777 he married Sarah Keen Austin in Old Christchurch, by the founder and Rector of the American Episcopal Church, Reverend William White. Sarah (called Sally by her friends), subsequently converted to Catholicism and the Barrys were active members of various Philadelphia’s Catholic communities (St Joseph’s, St Mary’s and St Augustine’s), during their married lives. They had no children, but took over the rearing of two boys of John’s deceased sister Eleanor in Wexford. The boys, Michael and Patrick Hayes, were transported from Ireland by Captain John Rossiter, a neighbour of John’s from Rosslare, who subsequently resumed being neighbour to the Barrys on the same street in Philadelphia.

(The Rossiter family plot lies alongside that of the Barrys in Old St Mary’s churchyard in Philadelphia).

The America the Barrys now called home, was a thriving colony of the expanding British Empire which had by then effectively seen off the French challenge to British hegemony in North America.

Storm clouds gather – The American War of Independence

But all was not well with the relationship between the burgeoning colony and the mother country. The 1760’s saw the imposition of a series of taxes by the Imperial parliament in London, which raised the issue of the lack of representation and consultation with those being impacted by the implementation of such impositions. As tensions rose, the dispatch of Imperial troops across the Atlantic to the colonies increased rather than decreased opposition to what colonists were increasingly coming to regard as unrepresentative government. The most notable incident which occurred in March 1770, was the Boston Massacre which saw 5 civilians shot by British soldiers. The outcome of this resulted in most of the unpopular taxes being scrapped followed by a marked reduction in tensions.But a Rubicon between mother country parliament and those it was determined to govern, had been crossed.

The situation was soon brought to a head by the incident called the Boston Tea Party where a group of colonists dumped caskets of tea into the sea from ships in Boston Harbour. The commodity was the property of the East India Tea Company and subject to the residual Tea Tax which had not been abolished. The official reaction set in motion a series of events which culminated in the 13 North American colonies forming the First Continental Congress in 1774 to represent their growing list of grievances to the King and his Parliament in London. Instead of engaging with this body, the Imperial response was to send more troops across the Atlantic, thereby making war inevitable. The first shots of the American War were fired during 1775 and was followed on July 4^th 1776 by the Declaration of Independence which declared the North American colonies’ desire to go their own way.

The British response was to continue a military build-up.

John joins the fight for independence

John Barry was charged with preparing the First Continental Navy ships for the war to come, a task he did so well he was given a Captain’s commission in the newly formed Continental Navy by the Marine Committee. This was signed by President of Congress, John Hancock in March 1776. John’s first command was the brig Lexington. A month later he recorded the first capture of a British ship by a regularly commissioned American ship, after which he was awarded command of the 32 gun Effingham, then under construction in Philadelphia.

At this point he was approached by persons who supported the British, with an attractive offer of a ship’s command in His Majesty’s Navy, sweetened with a substantial financial bribe, to change his allegiance by defecting with the Effingham. It can be speculated that his hard memories of his deprived childhood in Ireland under British rule had a significant part to play in his indignant rejection of such a tempting offer. For better or worse, John Barry committed himself to the newly declared Republic and gruffly “spurned the eyedee of being a treater (= traitor)”.

On Christmas night (Dec 25^th – 26^th) 1776, at a time when the colonist cause and morale was at its lowest, Barry’s maritime expertise was utilised to ferry the revolutionary army across the Delaware river without alerting the British. This was the prequel to Washington’s morale boosting victory at the battles of Trenton and Princeton. 

In 1777 the British attacked Philadelphia, causing the Maritime Committee to order the scuttling of all its ships including the Effingham. Barry objected to this decision and asserted his readiness to defend the young fleet. In the event he was overruled but not without attracting the enmity of some of the Committee, particularly one Francis Hopkinson, who accused him of insubordination. Now without a ship, he had to rely on small craft to successfully disrupt the British supply lines, and did this with considerable success. In 1778, he led a group of seven barges and longboats in the capture of two British sloops and one schooner.

In August of that year he heard the sad news that his brother Patrick’s ship the Union, had disappeared after leaving the port of Bordeaux, France and was never seen again.

During a naval encounter off the coast of Newfoundland on May 28^th 1781, Barry’s ship, the Alliance, engaged and captured two British sloops, Atlanta and Trespassy. During the 4 hour encounter, Barry sustained shoulder injuries which necessitated him leaving deck to have his wounds dressed before he could accept the surrender of the surviving British Captain Edwards.

Barry has the distinction of capturing the largest amount of prize money from a single voyage. The last sea battle of the war was on March 10^th 1783, during Barry’s return from Havana as escort to the Spanish ship Duc de Lauzon which was carrying 72,000 Spanish silver dollars destined for the Continental Congress. Near Cape Canaveral Barry’s ship had to deal with the attack of the British frigate Sybil, which was lucky to escape having had its rigging, mast and hull badly damaged by Barry’s guns.

The war of independence over, Barry returned to maritime commerce in partnership with his young nephew, Patrick Hayes. Over a number of years he opened new trade routes between Philadelphia and China and the other parts of the Orient.

Final Years of service – establishing the US Navy

During the 1790’s, Secretary of War Henry Knox with the endorsement of the Senate, engaged Barry as Senior Captain of the Federal navy in establishing the American Navy as a permanent entity to defend the young republic from outside attack from pirates and others, most notably former allies France; though this war was never officially declared. (it is now referred to as a “Quasi War”!). Barry himself was in command of ships that captured several French merchantmen. His post was head squadron commander (Commodore) of the US Naval Station at Guadaloupe (1798-1801). His appointment was further reconfirmed by President Washington in a formal ceremony that took place on Washington's birthday in February 1797. The President stated he had special trust and confidence "in Commodore Barry's patriotism, valor, fidelity and abilities." He or the infant Republic never had reason to regret the selection of Barry as head of the Navy. He played a vital role in establishing the earliest traditions of the US Navy - devotion to duty, honoring the flag, protecting the rights of the sovereign nation which was only beginning to find its way in the world.

During this “senior” phase of his naval career, Barry crucially proposed the creation of a Department of the Navy having separate Cabinet status from the Secretary of War. This was put into effect with the formation of the United States Department of the Navy in 1798. He also proposed the establishment of government-operated navy yards to service the needs of the developing Naval service.

Many of the heroes of the War of 1812, the first war the Republic had to engage in; were trained under Barry during this period. This along with his illustrious active service record from the war, earned from contemporaries the title "Father of the Navy".

Note - This particular epithet first appeared in a posthumous biography in Nicholas Biddle’s literary journal, Portfolio in 1813. The title is shared (?) with another early naval hero, John Paul Jones, who saw action during the war of Independence and who died in 1794.

John Barry’s death ( Sept 12^th 1803)

John’s last day of active service is recorded as being March 6^th 1801. Throughout his life, he suffered from an underlying asthmatic condition which was the immediate cause of his death at the age of 58 years in September 1803. His death occured in his home at Strawberry Hill, located 3 miles north of Philadelphia. He was buried with full military honours, in the churchyard of Old St Mary’s.

Following is an extract from John Barry’s epitaph, written by Dr Benjamin Rush, a signatory of the American Declaration of Independence:

He was born in the County of Wexford in Ireland

But America was the object of his patriotism

And the theatre of his usefulness

In the Revolutionary War which established the

Independence of the United States he

Bore an early and active part as a captain in their

Navy and after became its Commander-in-Chief

He fought often and once bled in the cause of Freedom

President J F Kennedy lays a wreath at the statue of John Barry
on the occasion of his visit to Wexford, Ireland in June 1963.

Arthur Russell is the Author of ‘Morgallion’, a novel set in medieval Ireland during the Invasion of Ireland (1314), by the Scottish army under the leadership of Edward deBruce, who history considers to be the last crowned King of Ireland. It tells the story of Cormac MacLochlainn, a young man from the Gaelic crannóg community of Moynagh and how he and his family endured and survived that turbulent period of history.

‘Morgallion’ has been awarded the indieBRAG Medallion and is available in paperback and e-book form.

More information available on website - www.morgallion.com

Harddwych Gogledd Cymru - The Beauty of North Wales Part III

By Annie Whitehead

In the first two parts of this tour around North Wales, we looked at Castles, Palaces and Churches. But there are many domestic dwellings of less majestic proportions to be seen, that have neither crenelation nor spire.

Close to Pwllheli, and down a track which looks like it's the ultimate road to nowhere, is the medieval house known as Penarth Fawr. A fifteenth century hall-house, it is beautifully preserved and maintained by CADW, if sparsely presented. I've been twice, and both times there was not another soul around. There is no information about who lived here, but one can get a sense of how they lived. CADW's approach to such buildings is to maintain and preserve them, without much fanfare or adornment. No furniture has been added to this property, but its emptiness and the silence of the setting triggers the imagination, even so.

Maintained by another organisation, this time the National Trust, Ty Mawr Wybrnant is a sixteenth century stone-built farmhouse and is famous for having been the birthplace of Bishop William Morgan, who first translated the Bible into Welsh.

Some houses of the early modern age are much grander. Gwydir Castle near Llanrwst was the home of the prosperous Wynn family, whose fortunes were at their zenith in the Tudor and Stuart era. The castle was rebuilt following the Wars of the Roses by Meredith ap Ieuan ap Robert, founder of the Wynn dynasty and a supporter of Henry VII. Gwydir claims links with the Babington Plot of 1586, the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, Charles I, and the aforementioned Bishop Morgan. We were lucky enough to visit after the current owners had bought back and refitted the wood panelling in the dining room which had been stripped in the 1920s and purchased by William Randolph Hearst.

commons attribution: Dara Jasumani

Gwydir is reputedly haunted, as is Plas yn Rhiw, on the tip of the Llyn Peninsula. The tourism literature focuses on the restoration work of the Sisters Keating, who moved there in 1939. But the house dates back to the seventeenth century. (For a while it was leased to the owners of Sizergh Castle just down the road from where I live in the Lake District.) It is suggested that Rhodri Mawr (the Great) who ruled in the 9th century, built a house near this site, and it is not unusual to find Tudor and Jacobean buildings on the sites of previous houses. Here though, no trace remains of earlier occupancy, and visitors are drawn to the gardens, and the ruined watermill therein, and the woodlands surrounding the property.

In Conwy, there are two examples of domestic dwellings. The first is Quay House, known as the smallest house in Britain, and which dates from the sixteenth century, while the second is Plas Mawr (Mawr meaning 'large' or 'great'). This was also owned by the Wynn family of Gwydir. Take a tour of the interior, which is furnished according to an inventory of 1665. Herbs hanging in the kitchen and the ornate plasterwork give a real 'feel' for how the place would have been in its heyday.

Conwy is also famous for its castle, but alongside that is the feat of Telford's engineering, the Conwy Suspension Bridge. Modern day visitors to this area wishing to traverse the Menai Strait have a choice of bridge: The Menai Bridge was also built by Thomas Telford, while the Britannia Bridge was built by Robert Stephenson, son of George.

And so we move to the Industrial era. Grand 'castles' were built by industrialists, who grew rich from the proceeds of  Jamaican sugar and local Slate (Penrhyn - pictured below left) and lead mining (Bodelwyddan)

Sadly the Clogau gold mine in Bontddu near Barmouth is no longer accessible, but it is possible to visit the Inigo Jones slate works near Caernarfon which gives a full history of the slate industry and a chance to try slate carving for yourself (harder than it looks!) Take a trip to Blaenau Ffestiniog (you can go by train from Caernarfon) and witness the legacy of slate mining in the area. Or visit Parys Mountain near Amlwch on the northern coast of Anglesey to discover the history of copper mining (my own photo, below.)

A reminder of gentler industry takes the form of Melin Llynon which is a restored and fully working windmill in the centre of Anglesey (my photo, below.)

Before we leave the island at the end of this three-part tour round the area, mention should be made of Plas Newydd, a slightly grander building than the homes we began this section with. It was the home of the first Marquess of Anglesey, who famously lost a leg at Waterloo. Inside there are photographs of the original family home at Beaudesert in Staffordshire, destroyed by fire. Last time I visited, the current Marquess had recently died, and had never visited Beaudesert, which the family still call home, because it would have 'broken his heart', yet the staff all go on an annual trip there, paid for by the family.

Trips and days out remain popular and the Victorians liked them too. On this tour we've already been to Trefiw, favourite of Llewelyn Fawr in the thirteenth century, but it became popular in the nineteenth, too, when the famous spa was excavated and the benefits of drinking the iron-rich water brought health-seeking gentlefolk to the area.

I apologise for any omissions; over three posts I've barely strayed beyond the confines of this map, and yet the places mentioned do not constitute an exhaustive list.

I've not had time to look at Iron Age hill forts or Roman remains, but whichever period of history you are interested in, North Wales will have something for you. Do go, if you can.

******************

To read the previous parts of this tour:
Part I is HERE
Part II is HERE

Annie Whitehead is a history graduate who now works as an Early Years music teacher. Her first novel, To Be A Queen, is the story of Aethelflaed, daughter of Alfred the Great, who came to be known as the Lady of the Mercians. It was long-listed for the Historical Novel Society’s Indie Book of the Year 2016. Her new release, Alvar the Kingmaker, which tells the story of Aelfhere of Mercia, a nobleman in the time of King Edgar, is available now, and is the story of one man’s battle to keep the monarchy strong and the country at peace, when successive kings die young. Protagonists in both novels have close associations with the Welsh. A frequent visitor to Wales, Annie also spends time attempting, and mostly failing, to speak the language.

Alvar the Kingmaker - Kindle

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The Doubtful Triumph of James VI and I, May 7th 1603

By Mark Patton.

When, on the 24th March, 1603, Queen Elizabeth I died without issue, the Crown of England, as had long been planned, passed to her cousin, James VI of Scotland. James had been in secret correspondence with Elizabeth's Chief Minister, Sir Robert Cecil, and, on hearing of Elizabeth's death, he left Edinburgh on 5th April, taking the road south towards London. He was clearly in no hurry, accepting hospitality along the way from numerous English aristocrats, presumably with envoys from the English and Scottish courts riding up and down the road for less leisured discussions along the way. Eventually he reached Cecil's home at Theobald's Palace, near Cheshunt, where he stayed for some days.

Theobald's Palace, from The Gentleman's Magazine, 1836 (image is in the Public Domain).

The people of London were keen to greet their new king, but he was less enthusiastic about spending time among them. He entered the city with his retinue on 7th May. It is unclear what pageants had been arranged, but, whatever they were, he seems to have cancelled them, passing hastily along Bishopsgate and Cheapside on his progress towards the Palace of Whitehall. Perhaps he was concerned about his security (his mother had, after all, been executed by the English), or perhaps he was worried about contracting the plague, which had claimed many lives in London during the preceding months.

James VI and I, by Paul Van Somer, c 1620, Royal Collection (image is in the Public Domain).

James I (as he was in England) was crowned at Westminster Abbey on 25th July. It was customary for a new monarch to process through the city from the Tower of London to Westminster on the day of the coronation, and a pageant had certainly been arranged for this, with the construction of five triumphal arches by the theatre-set designers of London (considered as the "body" of the ceremony) and a text (considered as the "soul") by the playwright, Thomas Dekker, to be performed by actors, together with the children of city dignitaries, but this, also, was cancelled at the king's insistence.

Dekker's text for the pageant (image is in the Public Domain).

The pageant finally took place on 15th March 1604 (in our terms - at the time, the new calendar year did not begin until 25th March, hence the discrepancy in the dates printed on the documents), although it is unclear whether the king processed from the Tower, or from Theobald's Palace. Two additional arches were commissioned, and a new text from Ben Jonson for scenes to be enacted in front of them.

Ben Jonson, by Abraham Van Bleyenberch, National Portrait Gallery (image is in the Public Domain).

Jonson's text for the pageant, with the king styled as a Roman emperor (image is in the Public Domain).

Eighty joiners, sixty carpenters, six turners, six labourers and twelve sawyers were employed to build the ceremonial structures. Two actors rode out to greet the king, one dressed as Saint George, the other as Saint Andrew. Another actor (probably a boy, but dressed as a woman in "antique robes"), representing "The Genius of the Place" greeted him on his entry to the city.

"I am the place's genius, whence now springs
A vine whose youngest branch shall produce kings
This little world of men, this precious stone,
That sets out Europe: this (the glass alone),
Where the neat sun each morn himself attires,
And gilds it with his repercussive fires,
Altar of love and sphere of the majestic,
Green Neptune's minion, but whole virgin worth ...
Not frighted with the threats of foreign kings,
But held up in that gowned state I have,
By twice twelve fathers politic and grave,
Who with a sheathed sword and silken law,
Do keep, within weak walls, millions in awe."

The echo of John of Gaunt's speech in Shakespeare's Richard II may have been unconscious on Dekker's part: Sir Robert Cecil attended a private production in 1595, but Dekker is more likely to have seen it performed at The Globe in 1601.

Wood-cut of one of the Triumphal Arches through which the king's procession moved. This one is recorded as having been paid for by Italian merchants resident in London. British Museum (image is in the Public Domain).

Wood-cut of another of the Triumphal Arches, this one topped with plants and flowers to represent "The Garden of Abundance." British Museum (image is in the Public Domain).

The whole pageant was styled as a Roman Triumph, with "a select number of aldermen and commoners, like so many Roman aediles," being presented to the king as having undertaken the work to prepare it. Ovid and Virgil were quoted, and the name of Londinium invoked. In all likelihood it was influenced by Albrecht Durer's monumental depiction of the (wholly imaginary) "Triumph" of the Holy Roman Emperor, Maximilian I, produced almost a century earlier.

Scene from "The Triumph of Maximilian I, by Albrecht Durer, 1512-1528, Albertina, Vienna (image is in the Public Domain).

A note is appended to Dekker's text. "To the Reader. Reader, you must vnderstand, that a regard, being had that his majestie should not be wearied with teadious speeches: a great part of those which are in this booke set downe, were left vnspoken: so that thou doest receive them here as they should have been delivered, not as they were."

Perhaps, after all, King James (who, like every good Renaissance prince, had surely read Suetonius's Lives of the Caesars) found his undeserved Triumph as tedious as the Emperor Vespasian found the one he had earned on the battlefield.

Mark Patton blogs regularly on aspects of history and historical fiction at http://mark-patton.blogspot.co.uk. His novels, Undreamed Shores, An Accidental King, and Omphalos, are published by Crooked Cat Publications, and can be purchased from Amazon. He is currently working on The Cheapside Tales, a London-based trilogy of historical novels.

19th Century Artist in London Residence James McNeil Whistler and visiting friends from across the water

by Michelle Shine

I’ve just spent some time looking through an extensive list of Victorian British painters and did not recognise many names. Dante Gabriel Rossetti is there, reviving medievalism with his pre-Raphaelite art, and JW Turner, the landscape artist whose paintings are characteristically emblazoned with light. Turner died in 1851 and it was often said that his work pre-empted impressionism. I probably missed one or two important names, (as I write this, Constable comes to mind) but nevertheless, there are not many British 19th Century artists, it seems, who are now household names.

By contrast, across the water in France at that time, there was a large group of burgeoning artists living and working in Paris. Unfortunately for them, their creative endeavours — which were cutting edge — were not appreciated by the art establishment, and were consequently ignored by the French art buying public. During their lifetime many were unknown. Some, like van Gogh, never sold a single painting and relied heavily on cash handouts from their families in order to survive. These artists who could live their whole lives in luxury on the proceeds of just one of their paintings now, are famous at last, and celebrated throughout the world: Edouard Manet, Claude Monet, Camille Pissarro, Vincent van Gogh, Auguste Renoir among them.

James Whistler/ Self Portrait

In 1855, an American born painter, James Whistler, made his way across the Atlantic to France where he studied art at atelier Gleyre, an occupation he had shown a flair and inclination for since childhood. Whilst there he frequented the cafes, and ensconced himself fully in bohemian life, making the acquaintanceship of Edouard Manet and Charles Beaudelaire, and no doubt compromising his health by smoking and drinking too much. He also spent a lot of time copying the old masters in the Louvre, and that’s where he first met his lifelong friend, Henri Fantin-Latour.

James Whistler had it in him to be dogmatic. ‘I’m not arguing with you, I’m telling you,’ he once said, demonstrating that he was not a man to accept contradiction lightly. So, when in 1858 one of his works was rejected by Le Salon des Beaux Arts, he upped and left Paris, and took up residence in London to try out his luck there. Not that he was able to leave Paris completely. He returned there many times. For in spite of its prejudice against young innovative artists, the city held a magnetic lure over him.

Whistler’s half-sister, Dasha Delano, who was married to the surgeon and etcher Sir Francis Seymour Haden, lived in Chelsea, and James followed suit. London was good to him, not only for embracing his art, but also his dandyish outgoing personality that soon made him something of a luminary. His quick wittedness was legendary:

When a female admirer came over to introduce herself and said, ‘I know of only two painters in the world; you and Velasquez.’

Whistler replied, ‘Why drag in Velasquez.’

And when a sitter complained that his portrait was not a great work of art. Whistler countered, ‘Perhaps not, but then again, you are hardly a great work of nature.’

On one occasion, he even outwitted his friend Oscar Wilde. In January 1886, The Boston Herald, reported this anecdote:

Whistler pricked this bubble of Wilde very neatly and epigrammatically at a Paris salon last season presided over by a well-known and popular lady. Whistler had been notably witty during the evening and finally made a bon mot more than usually pointed and happy that convulsed his listeners.

Wilde, who was present, approved Mr. Whistler’s brightness, and wondered why he had not thought of the witticism himself. ‘You will,’ promptly replied Whistler, ‘you will.’

This lightning comment on Mr. Wilde’s wonderful ability to think of other people’s bright things and to repeat them as his own had, you may imagine, an immediate and most discomforting effect on Mr. Wilde.

Symphony in White
James McNeil Whistler

In 1860, Whistler met Joanna Hiffernan. She became his live in lover, business manager and was the model in his painting Symphony in White: The White Girl, which in 1863 afforded him yet another refusal from the Académie des Beaux Arts.

The judges felt that the lily she held in her left hand symbolised her deflowering and the bearskin rug that she stood upon was a metaphor for masculine lust, making the picture somewhat obscene in their eyes. The painting almost caused as much of an uproar at the Salon des Refusés (the exhibition of rejected paintings sponsored by Napoleon III in 1863) as his friend, Edouard Manet’s, Dejeuner sur l’Herbe.

Dejeuner sur l’Herbe

Edouard Manet

It is ironic that Victorian England, in spite of all its puritanical ways, embraced Whistler’s controversial work, if not wholly (Symphony in White was also rejected by the Royal Academy, although two other works of his submitted at the same time were accepted) then definitely in part; he was able to exhibit the Symphony in White in a small gallery in Berners Street. The French might have had a reputation for being liberal towards sexual prowess but the English proved to be far more open-minded and forward thinking in general, when it came to art, than their counterparts across La Manche.

So much so, that when Whistler’s friend Henri Fantin-Latour wrote to him complaining about the difficulties of making a living from painting in France, he soon received a letter from Francis Seymour Haden, Whistler’s brother-in-law, enclosing a five pound note in payment for a sketch and an invitation to come to London. Haden asked Fantin-Latour to bring small artworks with him and wrote, ‘Let us see if they can be sold in London. According to Whistler there are weekly sales where small leisure subjects can be sold easily.’ Fantin-Latour took up the offer. His work sold well and later was accepted for the annual exhibition at the Royal Academy.

A studio in the Batignolles

Henri Fantin-Latour

In 1870, both Camille Pissarro and Claude Monet left France for England in order to escape the Franco-Prussian war. Pissarro settled with family in Norwood and painted many London scenes during his stay. After the war finished in 1871 he returned to live in France, but paid four more visits to England during his lifetime. England treated him well too. It was during one of his stays there that he was introduced to the art dealer Paul Durand-Ruel who later organized exhibitions for his work back in France. 

Pissarro was a fan of Whistler’s work and is quoted as saying, ‘This American is a great artist and the only one of whom America can be justly proud.’ Although Pissarro wasn’t too taken with the man himself, he thought Whistler’s flamboyance and celebrity debased his art. 

‘Whistler is even a bit too pretentious for me … I wouldn’t want to be an aesthete, at least like those across the Channel. Aestheticism is a kind of romanticism more or less combined with trickery, it means breaking for oneself a crooked road. They would have liked to have made something like that out of impressionism.’ --Camille Pissarro

No doubt Whistler and Pissarro met at some point. They certainly had a lot of friends and acquaintances in common, but probably didn’t get on too well. Incidentally, they both died in 1903: Whistler from Lyme disease and Pissarro from blood poisoning.

Fox Hill, Upper Norwood
Camille Pissarro

Claude Monet and Whistler, on the other hand, were firm friends, although according to Katherine Lochnan of The Art Gallery of Ontario there is no documented evidence that they met before the 1880’s. They had a lot in common. Their work drew a parallel. Whistler painted the Thames and Monet, the Seine. Both painted their hometown rivers in a whimsical, impressionistic manner. They must have had a lot to speak about when they finally met up.

The Thames
James McNeil Whistler

The Seine
Claude Monet

This post was originally published on May 6, 2014.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michelle Shine lives in London, England. For twenty years she ran a successful homeopathic practice. She is the author of What About the Potency? A homeopathic textbook now in its third edition and The Subtle Art of Healing, a novella which was longlisted for the Cinnamon Press Novella Award in 2007. Her short stories have appeared in Grey Sparrow, Liar’s League, Epiphany, and several collections. She has an MA in Creative Writing from Birkbeck University. Her debut novel Mesmerised is out now in paperback in the UK from all good booksellers and on Kindle worldwide, published by Indigo Dreams.

Watch the Mesmerised trailer here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULJYdmR0Fnw

Read the Mesmerised blog here: 1writer2.blogspot.co.uk

Buy Mesmerized on Amazon
Michelle's website: http://www.michelleshine.co.uk

The battle before the battle

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

We are often proud to announce that England has not been successfully invaded since 1066, but this is not entirely true, and there have been many battles taking place on English soil over the centuries. Henry Tudor invaded in 1485 with an army both financed and principally comprising French mercenaries, and William of Orange did, in one sense, invade although it was comparatively bloodless. Bloodiest of all were the battles of the so-called Wars of the Roses and the later Civil War.

But there was another war, rarely mentioned and rarely considered. This was something that brought more ruin to the general population, and surely mattered more to them than the problem of which king wore the crown. And that was the battle behind each and every battle that took place in this country, and of course, also in others.

The lords who were called to fight for their faction came from all over the land, and they mustered their troops from their own vast estates, wherever those were situated. Then these mustered armies, sometimes comprising trained soldiers and archers but usually simply of ordinary men, farmers, tradesmen, and craftsmen, tramped across the countryside behind their leaders, making for whatever distant area had been designated as a meeting place. Sometimes this involved crossing hundreds of miles, and several thousand tired men striding across fields and through small villages, could cause devastating damage. Depending on their leader, these men might be disciplined and given food – or they might very likely be left to feed themselves. A  farmer’s crops and animals were frequently seized, taken for the cook pot or to roast over the campfire at night, with recurring demands for free food and drink from the local folk. Women might be abused, and fights and skirmishes would break out along the route. These were men facing possible death, and their consideration for the lands through which they passed would be low.

For example, the ferocious and tragic Battle of Towton, 1461, was fought in Yorkshire. But the men who joined the battle had come from all over England, tramping mile by mile, summoned by their lord to fight for his cause and ambition. The weather was freezing. Men who faced death from hunger before they even arrived at Towton, would take what they needed along the way. One estimate of those killed at Towton stands at nearly 30,000 men. So first the muster brought its own devastation of the countryside, and then the horrific slaughter left a host of widows and fatherless children in wretched penury and with the utter misery of such awful loss without even the opportunity to bury the hosts of the dead.

Men called upon to risk life and limb, ready to slaughter or be slaughtered, were not always on their best behaviour, nor were they all the sweetest of polite gentlemen. There were the prickers, for instance. These were mounted men armed with pitch-forks and employed to gallop the outlying limits of a battlefield and force back into action any attempted deserters. I doubt if such men were too careful concerning their manners as they marched the long miles to the battlefront.

There would also be heavy wagons loaded with supplies and arms, followed by women and trailing families, children ready to help deliver arrows on the outskirts once fighting started, and prostitutes hoping to make a little money and a little friendship. No lightweight procession then – trundling across the land, searching for food as they went, and looking for places to camp.

Henry V

But the worst damage came from foreign armies. They could devastate the land they crossed. Burning as they went, many foreign soldiers hoped to force their enemy into surrender by ensuring all farmland and food crops were eradicated as they passed. A starving enemy would be weak and more willing to lay down their arms. Such ruthless cruelty became more and more commonly accepted. The so-called hero of Agincourt, King Henry V, adopted this scorched-earth strategy, and left utter misery and destitution behind him when he invaded France. And it was the common folk, not the lords, who suffered most and whose depleted livestock and burned fields might take years to recover, ensuring bitter hunger and poverty long after the actual battle was won or lost.

When Henry Tudor led an army consisting mostly of soldiers from England’s greatest enemy, France,  across the country from Wales to Warwickshire and Leicestershire, they left a trail of devastation behind them. The French had no love for the English and would not have treated either the people or the land with respect. Besides, many of the French army were mercenaries, or criminals released from prison in exchange for their willingness to fight. The weather was hot and the miles long and sweaty. Robbery, violence and rape would certainly have occurred along the way. Some cities opened their gates to Henry’s troops, which seems unsurprising. Better to invite them in and treat them well, rather than risk the utter desecration of crops, farmland and outlying homesteads by refusing all succour.

Foreign armies could bring little with them in the way of food and comfort. Wagonloads of arms would be hard enough to transport overseas since shipping was not a simple matter in those days. So the whole army needed feeding – thousands of men twice a day. And men had other desires. No camp-followers or prostitutes would have voluntarily served a foreign army and so the troops would simply have taken what they found along the route. The long standing enmity between the English and the French at that time – strongly expressed in both battle and peacetime – could not have ensured any peaceful trudge through those summer lanes. The fields, about to be harvested would have been stripped or trampled underfoot.

Henry Tudor

There are some contemporary indications of the devastation that occurred in this manner. For instance, Henry Tudor, once he claimed the crown, paid compensation to the farm owners whose lands had been wrecked where the battle actually took place and where his army had camped the previous night. But there is no mention of restitution made for the whole journey from the west coast to the east and nor would the leaders of any foreign invasions ever offer restitution for the purposeful destruction of the peaceful lands they crossed. Later, the Pretender ‘Perkin Warbeck’ when accompanied by a Scottish army marching into England to do battle for his claim as Prince Richard, Duke of York, soon abandoned his invasion because he could not accept the terrible violence he saw done to the local people, destruction of crops and brutality of the men he led as they tramped through the English counties.

There is also considerable evidence of later armies abroad, those of Napoleon for example, and the appalling misery they left behind them across Europe and Russia – not during battle alone – but simply during the passage of such mighty armies through peaceful and suffering country-sides.

So we read of the great battles of the past and we cheer for the heroes, but there was another destruction that went unrecorded, and that was suffered by the ordinary citizens, many of whom would have no chance to recover. This was what hurt the common man, who probably cared little for which king sat snug and smug upon the throne. The heroic victors of historical battles were often exactly those who had inflicted the most appalling disservice to the very folk they sought to rule.

Barbara Gaskell Denvil was born in Gloucestershire, England and later moved to London where she grew up surrounded by books, paintings and antiques. Her Scottish father was an artist and playwright, her Australian mother was a teacher, and elder sister, a successful author first published at age 16. The classic Victorian author Mrs Elizabeth Gaskell was a great, great, great aunt, so a bookish family. When birthdays came around, no one was asked what they wanted. As a child she never owned a bike or scooter, the question was simply, "Which book do you want this year?"

Her passion is for late English medieval history and this forms the background for many of her historical novels. She also write fantasy, yet both fantasy and historical fiction take us into new worlds and Barbara's books do exactly this - being multi-layered, and rich in atmosphere and depth of characterisation. Barbara can be found on her website and on Amazon

Richard the Lionheart and the Siege of Nottingham, 1194

by Charlene Newcomb

King Richard I

The siege of Nottingham in 1194 lasted only three days, but its significance should not be downplayed. The siege signaled the return of Richard I to England, secured his realm from his brother John, and set in play the mechanisms to allow Richard to carry out campaigns to drive the French from his continental lands.

Background
On the fourth day of February 1194 King Richard I, the Lionheart, began what would be his final journey to England. He had last touched English soil in December 1189, a few months after his coronation. Having taken the Cross in 1187, Richard had been committed to the crusade to re-capture Jerusalem and left for the Holy Land in 1190. The Third Crusade was not successful in that respect, and aware of troubles back home – the French invading his lands on the continent and his brother John stirring trouble - Richard signed a truce with Saladin and started back to England in October 1192. Other returning soldiers arrived in England by that December, but there was no sign of the king. By late January, word arrived: Richard had been captured by Duke Leopold of Austria shortly before Christmas, and was being held by Henry VI, the Holy Roman Emperor.

John (of future Magna Carta fame) had not been idle whilst Richard was on crusade. Richard had left his younger brother in good stead, with lands and income that made him one of the wealthier barons in the kingdom, but John consolidated his powers further in 1191-92. He and his supporters stood against the king’s chancellor and troops sent against them, and John took control of the strategic castles at Tickhill and Nottingham. When he learned of Richard’s capture, John plotted with Philippe Capet, King of France, to usurp the throne. John’s mercenaries attempted an invasion of the southeast Kentish coast in March 1193; his men ravaged the countryside near Windsor. Sieges against his castles that spring finally ended in a truce to last from May to November. John appealed to his mother, Queen Eleanor, and to the Council that Richard was dead. He tried to convince barons in Normandy to swear fealty to him as king.

John and Philippe went so far as to offer Henry VI a deal if he would keep Richard imprisoned. With the majority of Richard’s ransom raised and partially delivered by late 1193, Henry was advised to accept the ransom agreed upon.

Richard returns to England
Richard was finally released on the 4th day of February. With his mother Eleanor of Aquitaine at his side, he finally set sail and arrived in Sandwich on March 13.

Upon hearing news of Richard’s impending release, John, who had fled to France in January, had ordered his vassals to defend his castles against the king’s men. Acting on Richard’s behalf whilst he had been absent, Queen Eleanor and the king’s justiciars ordered sieges against John’s men in early 1194. Several of the castellans immediately laid down arms, and others, upon verification that King Richard was on English soil, capitulated. The castellan of St. Michael’s Mount in Cornwall supposedly died of fright when he heard the king had landed. Only Nottingham Castle held out.

The siege of Nottingham
King Richard arrived in Nottingham on March 25 with great fanfare. The chronicler Roger De Hoveden writes “that those who were in the castle…were astonished, and were confounded and alarmed, and trembling came upon them; but still they could not believe that the king had come, and supposed that the whole of this was done by the chiefs of the army for the purpose of deceiving them.”

Foulds tells us that the size of Richard’s retinue is difficult to estimate, but his forces likely included William Marshal’s men, and those from the earls of Chester, Ferrers, and Huntingdon, from the bishop of Durham, and the archbishops of York and Canterbury, to name a few.

Gatehouse, Nottingham Castle

Visitors to Nottingham today will see a gatehouse, but that stone structure was built in the 1250s and little remains of the 12th century castle. Richard’s troops would have encountered a wooden gatehouse and a timber palisade surrounding the outer bailey. 

Nottingham Castle, c.1189
copyright The Thoroton Society of Nottinghamshire

That bailey on the eastern side of the castle stretched to the stone curtain wall of a middle bailey on higher ground. Drawings in Drage’s work depict a barbican and massive stone wall surrounded the middle bailey. The upper bailey rose even higher on the motte, some 40 meters (131 feet) above the town. The scale of the castle can be seen in a model representing the castle in the 15th century, but the great hall of the middle bailey and many of the buildings in the upper bailey – including the keep, the king and queen’s apartments, and a long hall – were built during the reign of Henry II.

Nottingham Castle, circa 1500

Impregnable? Perhaps, but certainly a bloody fight and long drawn out siege might be needed to bring the castle garrison to its knees. And that meant bodies, time, and money, none of which King Richard wanted to expend.

Richard commandeered lodging in full view of the castle, close enough that a man in his retinue was struck and killed by archers from the castle. The Histoire notes Richard was dressed in light mail with an iron hat rather than heavy armor “because that is what he was used to” after the fighting in the Holy Land. Richard was reportedly angry that the castle garrison had sent no one to confer and he ordered an immediate assault. Using large shields to protect themselves from crossbowmen on the battlements, the king and his men stormed the timber gate and broke into the outer bailey. The fighting was brutal and many were killed, wounded or captured. By nightfall, the besieged withdrew through the barbican and behind the more formidable walls of the middle bailey. The barbican was fired during the night by the garrison, prompting Richard to say, “This is much to our advantage unless I am mistaken.”

On day two of the siege, Richard ordered gallows built within sight of the castle and hung two soldiers captured during the previous day’s fighting. Richard did not order another assault, wanting to have his siege engines set in place. He had Greek fire at his disposal and the materials to make more, but there is no evidence it was used against the castle.

A later version of a siege machine,
i.e., trebuchet 

Foulds speculates that bombardment of the castle and the arrival of more troops (from the siege at Tickhill) finally prompted Nottingham Castle’s castellans to send a delegation to meet with King Richard on the third day of the siege, March 27. (The Historie places an initial meeting with men from the garrison on day 1 of the siege.) Once the delegation confirmed that, indeed, King Richard was at their doorstep, a group of the garrison leaders surrendered, recognizing their punishment would be less severe. Prompted by negotiations with Hubert Walter, Archbishop of Canterbury, the remaining defenders surrendered to the king on the 28th of March.

King Richard spent March 30 – April 2 in the Council of Nottingham. He sold shrievalties and levied taxes to raise monies to pay off what was owed for his ransom and for the coming fight against the French, heard complaints of John’s actions, and listened to accusations of excesses by his half-brother Geoffrey, Archbishop of York. He also set April 20 in Winchester as the date he would deal with the men who had supported John. Many were put in prison and would be ransomed; others were released upon promise to pay a fine of 100 marks.

King Richard left Nottinghamshire on April 5 never to return again.

Sources

De Hoveden, R. (1853). The annals of Roger de Hoveden, comprising the history of England and of other countries of Europe from A. D. 732 to A. D. 1201. (Henry T. Riley, Trans.). London: H. G. Bohn. (Original work published 1201?)

Drage, C. (1989). Nottingham Castle: a Place Full Royal. Nottingham: The Thoroton Society of Nottinghamshire.

Foulds, T. (1991). “The Siege of Nottingham Castle in 1194” in Transactions of the Thoroton Society of Nottinghamshire, volume 95.

Gillingham, J. (1978). Richard the Lionheart. New York: Times Books.

Holden, A.J., ed., (2002). History of William Marshal [L’Histoire de Guillaume le Maréchal. French and English]. London: published by the Anglo-Norman Text Society: Birkbeck College.

Images
Painting of Richard the Lionheart by Merry-Joseph Blondel in Wikimedia Commons. Public Domain.

Line drawing of Nottingham Castle, circa 1189. In Nottingham Castle: a Place Full Royal, copyright the Thoroton Society of Nottinghamshire. Used with permission.

Model of Nottingham Castle. Photo taken at Nottingham Castle, Museum & Art Gallery by Cathy Young. Used with permission.

All other photos taken by the author. CC BY-SA

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Charlene Newcomb is the author of Books I & II of Battle Scars. These historical adventures are set during the reign of Richard the Lionheart. Men of the Cross is a tale of war’s impact on a young knight and of forbidden love. In For King and Country, the knights return from The Third Crusade to an England threatened by civil war.

Connect with Char:
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Charles Stuart, Prince of Wales

By Cryssa Bazos

When people think of Charles II of England, they usually think of Charles the Merry Monarch. Yet there was more to this intelligent man than the number of mistresses (and illegitimate children) he had. His life was defined by war, loss, and exile, and in the end, restoration. He fought to reclaim his father’s throne during one of the most tumultuous and complex times in English history. To understand who he was before becoming the Merry Monarch, allow me to introduce his early years when he was still the Prince of Wales.

Charles Stuart by Philippe de Champaigne

Charles was the eldest son and heir of King Charles I of England and Queen Henrietta Maria (sister to Louis XIII of France). His grandfather, King James I of England (James VI of Scotland) united the crowns of Scotland and England upon the death of Queen Elizabeth I. Charles was born on May 29, 1630 in St. James’s Palace in London, and as the story goes, a bright star shone in the afternoon sky to mark his birth. Ironically, this star was Venus.

Charles took after his mother’s French heritage, with his dark looks. Henrietta Maria called him her ‘black boy', though not with affectionate fondness. Whereas most mothers are often blind to their children’s ‘imperfections’, Henrietta Maria was hypersensitive. Shortly after Charles’s birth, Henrietta wrote about her son to a former nanny, “he is so fat and so tall…I will send you his portrait as soon as he is a little fairer, for at present he is so dark I am ashamed of him.” Charles never became fair, but at 6’2” he fulfilled the promise of exceptional height.

The Children of Charles I

Over the next several years, Charles was joined by a clutch of brothers and sisters in order of birth: Mary (later Princess of Orange), James (King James II & VII), Anne, Elizabeth, Henry (Duke of Gloucester), and Henrietta (Duchess of Orleans, but known affectionately as Minette). He was particularly close to his brother James, who ultimately ascended the throne after him. The two had experienced the upheaval of the civil war together, and even when James later converted to Catholicism, Charles supported his decision even though it was politically inconvenient. Some have attributed Charles’s deathbed conversion to Catholicism as having signalled his support for his brother on the eve of James’s ascension to the throne.

When Charles was eight, he was given over to the care and education of William Cavendish, then Marquess of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Cavendish was a notable horseman and the father of dressage. A long-time political player from a wealthy family, he instilled in Charles the gift to see men for what they were and the ability to work with them according to their talents. He also fostered in Charles a love of horsemanship.

Charles’s keen wit came through even at this young age. Having a strong aversion to taking physic, he wrote a clever note to Cavendish, which also demonstrated his affection for his guardian:

“My Lord, I would not have you take too much physic, for it doth always make me worse, and I think it will do the like with you. I ride every day, and am ready to follow any other directions from you. Make haste to return to him that loves you. Charles, P.”

Charles had a very different personality than his stubborn father. Had he been king during this time, war may very well have been avoided, and with it, years of bloodshed.

But civil war did break out, and Charles’s idyllic childhood came to an abrupt end in 1642 when Parliament raised an army against his father. Charles was given a titular captaincy and a troop of horse named after him, the Prince of Wales Regiment. At this time, his dashing cousin, Prince Rupert of the Rhine, came to lead his Majesty’s horse, and the young Charles looked up to his cousin as any impressionable twelve-year old would.

During the first major battle of the war (Edgehill), Charles should never have been anywhere near the fighting, and yet typically, he was and had a close shave with the enemy. His safety, and that of his brother James, was entrusted to the famous physician, Dr. William Harvey. In later years, the doctor became celebrated for documenting the circulation of blood, but at this moment, with two armies clashing on a field, the good doctor withdrew with his charges to the shelter of a hedgerow and the comforts of an absorbing book. The fighting heated and now being too close for comfort, Charles and his brother fled across a field to reach the safety of a barn. An enemy troop of horse saw the pair running, and without realizing who they were, gave chase. Fortunately, another Royalist troop headed off the enemy cavalry before they could capture the King’s sons, thereby avoiding a checkmate.

A History of England

In March 1645, Charles had been named Captain-General of his father’s forces in the west and was stationed in Bristol, relying on Edward Hyde as one of his chief advisors. Charles has always proved loyal to those who had shown him loyalty; years later when he won back his throne, he elevated Hyde to Chancellor and bestowed upon him an earldom.

By June 1645, the war had turned against the King. Following their defeat at Naseby, the Royalist army was in shambles. It soon became necessary to send Charles to the west where he would be safer from the threat of Parliament. As well, plague was becoming a threat in Bristol. Charles and his retinue left Bristol and travelled west to Barnstaple, and in September, continued to Cornwall. But by the spring of 1646, the mainland was not safe for the King’s heir, and he was forced to sail for the Isles of Scilly and then to Jersey.

iStock Photos

Sailing across the Channel to Jersey flared Charles’s sense of adventure. While on board the privateer, the Proud Black Eagle, he took the helm for a time. His ship was forced to flee from a fleet of Parliamentary ships, but they managed to safely sail into Jersey harbour.

Clearly this made an impression on him, for when he needed to come to his father’s aid, he chose to do it on the water. In 1648, one of the king’s supporters in Scotland, the Duke of Hamilton, raised an army for the King who was a prisoner of Parliament by this time. Wanting to be in readiness to join in the fray, Charles left France for Holland with a small fleet under his command. With some degree of schadenfreude, he happened to chance upon a naval mutiny in the Parliamentary fleet. Ten ships put aside their officers and placed themselves under Charles’s command. From there, Charles and his expanded fleet sailed for the Downs.

In the Channel, while waiting for favourable news on land, he played the privateer (or pirate, depending on your perspective). Things did not always go well for the Pirate Prince. His fleet suffered from internal divisions and a betrayal from some of the Prince’s supporters (though it was thwarted). Even the weather conspired against him. Just as his ships were geared to engage against the Parliamentary fleet, a fierce storm drove them apart. Unfortunately, rescuing the King was not in the cards, and Cromwell defeated Hamilton’s army.

One thing bore fruit from Charles’s Channel runs, an act of respect that paid dividends three years later. One of the prizes he seized was a ship captained by Nicholas Tattersell. Charles readily released the ship, which was no small relief to Tattersell. Years later, when Charles was a desperate fugitive with a reward of a thousand pounds offered for his capture, his last hope for finding passage on a ship ended up with Tattersell. Though Charles dressed and acted like a commoner, Tattersell had not forgotten the man who had captured his ship—nor did he forget that the Prince had promptly released it to him. Tattersell agreed to help Charles and spirited Charles safely to France.

And finally, one of my favourite stories of Charles involves the carte blanche. Before his father’s execution on January 29, 1649, after Parliament had tried and found the King guilty, the story goes that Charles sent a carte blanche (a blank piece of paper with his signature) to Parliament so that they could fill in their own terms for sparing his father’s life. If true, the ramifications to Charles were enormous.

Did it actually happen or is it a 19th century fabrication or error? I like to believe in its veracity, not only because it is his signature that appears on the bottom of this blank document, but also is entirely in keeping with the nature and character of Charles Stuart, Prince of Wales.

References:

Memoirs of the Court of Charles the Second, Anthony Hamilton

Memoirs of Lady Fanshawe: Excerpt From: Lady Anne Harrison Fanshawe.

Reprobates: The Cavaliers of the English Civil War, by John Stubbs

Carte Blanche, by T. C. Skeat 

BCW Project


Media attributions:

Charles Stuart: By Philippe de Champaigne - Europicture.de, Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

The Children of Charles I of England, by Sir Anthony van Dyck in 1637, Wikimedia Commons

A history of England from the landing of Julius Caesar to the present day (1913): Internet Archive Book Images via Visual hunt / No known copyright restrictions

Charles II signature: By Connormah, Charles II [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

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