CAVALIERS AND WHORES: NEVER ON SUNDAY (PART 2)
John Pomeroy walked out on the stoop, looked down the street and then up at his roof. From what he could see, the smoke had died down. Still he feared fire was smoldering in the attic--ready to burst forth any minute.
Lightning wasn't supposed to hit twice in the same place. At least this time it hadn't killed a parishioner. He gave thanks for that and then too, for sparing the life of his wife Mary and their new born infant.
"Where in heaven's name are they?" he muttered. From the sounds of it, no horse hooves were clomping down the street and no fire-engine bells were clanging on their way to rescue him and his new family.
Suddenly the good news was upon him. The smoke was dissipating and heaven providing a torrential downpour.
Looking upward he prayed. "Lord, when it rains, let rain be my choice. Let it pour upon me and my house. Put out the flames of all that threatens harm. Bless it to our eternal good. Thank you Father, for this or something better."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
John's life during the past year had been filled with unsettling news. The first of it had come as he met with a childhood friend at Ye Olde Pub on the Charles River in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Over tankards of ale and venison potpies, he spoke of the summer past with James, his beloved childhood friend from Devonshire. After a second tankard--he brought up a scene he had witnessed--the brutalization of a young unwed mother, 300 miles south of Boston along the tidewaters of Chesapeake Bay.
Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was near, he spoke in a barely audible voice, "John, as you well know, 'Bastardy' is frowned upon in all the colonies, but in my colony, if an unmarried woman is found to be with child, a heavy fine is levied. And most often it is one she cannot pay."
"Aye, but that has happened in Massachusetts Bay Colony as well."
James cleared his throat. "Yea. But In Bay Colony, she is likely to be an indentured servant. Her master might pay it, but then she will owe him additional years of her life . . . and God only knows what else. Her baby, if born alive, is usually at the mercy of the man who calls himself her benefactor."
"Sad, indeed. I heard a similar tale from a parishioner. He looketh for another monstrous bunch coming across the pond to your way. All dirt poor and Indentured servants--the lot of them."
"Far more than our plantations are in need of, that is a fact. A captain down on the docks told me he'd heard many of 'em are already with child--he calls them the 'breeders'--those without husband or hope. He said he'd guess the numbers are one-third and the poor souls are subject to terrible things when they get caught . . . mere bags of bones they are . . . then they get dragged through the water behind boats until nearly drowned. Some are put in a group of other whores and marched town to town to be ridiculed by angry mobs."
"Tis a terrible thing no doubt. Enough to shake one's own faith in the almighty to allow such going on."
"What usually happens, is the poor woman found guilty is trussed up like an animal, her dress ripped open to the waist and then publicly whipped in sight of a shouting mob until the blood flows in rivulets down her naked back and breasts." (1)
"Tis a wretched thing. Does anyone try to put a halt such depravities?"
"Nay. The world is too much with them. And to boldly step in, the consequences could be more perilous than a sane man would care to risk for a stranger . . . more often than not, the very man who 'rogered' her is standing by, ready to come forth from the crowd to defend his honor and reputation, should she in desperation err and cry out his name."
"It is too dreadful to think such thoughts. It grieves my heart and soul."
"Furthermore," James droned on,"one of the servants told me, that at the end of such a day, the master of house will often return home to his plantation as if nothing whatsoever was out of sorts. He'll drank a prize bottle of wine, eat a fine roast beef dinner, and then force himself on the newest most beautiful young maid in his household."
"That men should be so evil, is surely the work of the devil himself. Next you will be telling me the filthy rascal said his prayers and fell asleep by his faithful wife."
"Alas, John, it is not that far fetched. It would be in accordance with the what has been told to me."
Before bidding his friend farewell, James related other similar stories, finally confessing to John that he was seriously considering leaving the Anglican Church to become a Puritan.
"I feel I must do what is best for me and my family. I shall let my land revert to King Charles, and relocate to the Massachusetts Bay Colony. It is where life is more in accordance with my faith--my work ethics--I grow weary of trying to seek peace among serpents in a den of iniquity."
Bowing solemnly, John replied, "Aye, surely it will be for the good of all and I will help you my brother, make you feel at home in my parish."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Saying farewell to James, John took the long way home along the beautiful Charles River to contemplate--consider prayerfully--all that had been discussed between them. Half-way home, he'd come to the first of several realizations about Chesapeake Bay Colony.
Half talking, half praying, and walking slowly, John continued to purge himself of the evil he had heard earlier at the Charles River Pub.
"These Cavaliers! These second and third born sons from the south of England--how can these loyal British subjects accept 1,000 acre land grants bestowed upon them by King Charles and NOW be so ungrateful to you Lord? And what doeth it all mean if a man loseth his soul and gains the whole world? Oh, Lord they know not what they do when they strut around proud to be known for their sins, their lavishly displayed wealth, their predatory life styles and their soft sweet spoken drawls. Oh dear God, work through me, show me the way to help, these poor innocent souls trapped in the snare of such men who take as much pride in breeding their women, as they do their horses and livestock."
************************
To Be Continued: NEVER ON SUNDAY (Part 3)
(1) Fischer, D.H. America's Cultural History. Volume 1: p.299 . Albion's Seed; Four British Folkways In America. New York. Oxford University Press.
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Madison
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