Bartholomew Stovall: The English Immigrant

By William Robert Stovall Sr.

Bartholomew Stovall, fatherless as an infant and orphaned at the age of ten, was born during the worst of times in English history. Despite the seemingly insurmountable odds against him, he dared to do the extraordinary and embarked on a journey that not only changed his life but also reshaped the future of his family. In Bartholomew Stovall - The English Immigrant, author William Robert Stovall Sr., a descendant of Bartholomew, traces the remarkable life of this man, capturing both his hardships and conquests, while painting a portrait of life in 17th century England and America.

On July 7, 1684, Bartholomew boards the Booth, a slave-hauling ship bound for Jamestown, Virginia. The transatlantic voyage is fraught with uncertainty, and its end marks the beginning of a new chapter in his life. Before boarding the ship, Bartholomew had signed an indenture agreement to serve four years in the New World, a decision that would prove to be life changing.

In Virginia, Bartholomew serves plantation owner Richard Kennon and his infamous wife, Elizabeth Worsham Kennon, who quickly recognizes that he is a remarkable person. By the time he completes his indenture obligation a trust bond forms between master and servant. When offered a secure life working for the Kennon's he refuses and opts for land and tools, and begins the task of attaining his foreseen destiny.

This compelling chronicle is based on the known facts of an English immigrant and his adventure filled journey to a new life and future. It relays a powerful message of hope, courage, and the sacrifice that must be made in order to achieve one's dreams. This is the story of Bartholomew Stovall - The English Immigrant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479794805

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Bartholomew Stovall

The English Immigrant

WILLIAM ROBERT STOVALL SR.

Copyright © 2013 by William Robert Stovall Sr.

Library of Congress Control Number:    2013902724

ISBN:    Hardcover    978-1-4797-9479-9

               Softcover      978-1-4797-9478-2

               Ebook           978-1-4797-9480-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Rev. date: 03/10/2017

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Introduction

Outskirts of Albury, Surrey Parish, England—August 1585

Home of George and Joan StovallAlbury, Surrey—1657

Birth of Bartholomew—August 1665

Richard Farley—May 1671

Bartholomew Growing—August 22, 1680

Richard Kennon—London—1683

Bartholomew and Sarah—August 24, 1683

The Road to London—December 1683

The Passage—July 1684

Jamestown, Virginia—November 11, 1684

Indenture’s End—1688

Marriage of Bartholomew and Ann August 8, 1693

The 320—March 15, 1706

The Death of Bartholomew Stovall August 23, 1723

Epilogue

Editor’s Notes

Acknowledgments

This book is dedicated to my grandson, William Robert Stovall III

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Carry on, young man.

Prologue

Conjurer’s Neck, Virginia

Winter 1688

B artholomew Stovall sat among the small gathering of men and watched as Dr. Richard Kennon signaled for his assistant to unroll the freshly written manuscript. It was the deed that represented Bartholomew’s completion of four years as an indentured servant, clearing lands and growing tobacco on a vast plantation in the new world of young America.

With Mr. Kennon’s signature, Bartholomew had fulfilled his obligations and was declared a free man. Included in the contract, he was to receive seventy-one acres of forest land in Henrico County, Virginia, along with farming supplies.

Kennon pushed his chair back and stood, then extended his hand toward Bartholomew as a gesture of finalization. Richard Kennon had never made an effort to attend these closures in person, but he considered Bartholomew Stovall an exception to the rule. Since their fateful meeting years before, Kennon had watched this young man change the lives of every person he had come in contact with, including himself.

Bartholomew’s hand grasped that of his master’s, and then smiled as he accepted the formal gesture. With this exchange one of America’s great success stories begins. Bartholomew Stovall, alone and indentured from his mother country of England, would become the patriarch of a proud American family that spans generations well into the twenty first century. From this single act of servitude, hundreds of thousands of offspring would follow and claim their heritage as American-born citizens.

But the story cannot be completed without tracing history back to England’s dark days of religious persecution, plague-infested cities, oppressive living conditions, and exorbitant taxation.

During a time when English translations of the Bible were illegal, Bartholomew’s great-grandfather came into possession of a rare Tyndale Bible and passed it to his son. By the time the book was placed in young Bartholomew’s hands it was filled with personally written accounts of courage, survival, and a gift. The gift that young Bartholomew had come to know and question.

Thus begins the journey of the orphan boy whose quest for survival takes him from the oppression of seventeenth-century England to America’s new world of hope and opportunity.

Introduction

T he historical period labeled the post-Tudor, or Stuart Era of England, is defined by its greed-filled politics and religious persecution. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the lower middle class comprised a vast majority of this region’s population, but they had little or no understanding that the decisions made by mad kings and religious zealots had such a direct bearing on their everyday life.

Wars with Spain and France meant nothing more to the yeoman or husbandman than higher taxes and less opportunity to advance into the gentry class. Although the Catholic Church was dissolved in favor of the Church of England, attendance and tithing were still mandatory, further depleting the pockets of those who toiled the fields and performed the labors for this growing empire.

By and large, the bullying policies of royalty and papal rule kept the working class in line by using harsh treatment and retribution against all who rejected their authority.

Sometime before the sixteenth century, a family of farmers and field hands left France, crossed the English Chanel, and settled in Southern England, in the area presently known as Surrey. History has recorded that this group of people adopted variations of their surname depending on the generation. It is a misconception to think that they attempted to hide their identity by this frequent change. Most of the clan was illiterate and simply sounded out their name without ever recording it in written form.

By the middle of the seventeenth century, legal documents began to appear, identifying these people as Stovall. With the advancement of literacy, the name stuck and was adopted for use by the generations that followed.

Bartholomew Stovall, who is the central character of this book, was an early descendent of the Stovall clan and is an example of the many that endured and persevered during this period. Although little is known of him, certain facts are established truths and allow us to form a picture of his life and times.

• Bartholomew did indeed have a great-grandfather who was a blacksmith and sired a son.

• George, who was born in 1623 himself, sired a son, Bartholomew, born in 1665.

• Bartholomew’s father, George, a converted Quaker, died the same year of his son’s birth, when the Great Plague took the lives of an estimated one hundred thousand people in England.

• Bartholomew’s mother raised her only child until he reached the age of ten years when she died, leaving him an orphan.

• Shortly before her death, it is recorded that Joan Stovall brought her son before a Quaker Friends Meeting in 1675, asking for someone to accept him as an apprentice.

• It is also recorded that Bartholomew was baptized at St. Peter and St. Paul Church at Albury, Surrey, on November 11, 1683, probably in order for him to be considered for immigration to America as an indentured servant. Quakers were not afforded this opportunity.

• Bartholomew set sail on July 7, 1684, bound for Jamestown, Virginia, on a boat named the Booth, captained by Peter Pagan.

• He served on a plantation owned by Richard Kennon of Henrico County, Virginia, and completed his indenture obligation.

• He married Ann Burton in 1693 and was the father of six children.

• At the time of his death, in 1723, he owned 318 acres at the point where Deep Creek flows into the James River, in what is currently Powhatan County, Virginia.

It is also noted that there was a relationship between Bartholomew and a woman named Hagar Taber. The widow Taber was granted one-hundred-plus acres of Bartholomew’s land, but she was never mentioned in his will. This has led to much speculation into the unknown life of Bartholomew. As you read, you will see that I have attempted to explain the events leading to his gift for Hagar, providing more of what is considered the truth about this man.

By the early part of the twenty-first century, there were hundreds of thousands of offspring from this orphan who left England as an eighteen-year-old young man of adventure. It is recorded that Bartholomew is the only documented Stovall to immigrate to America, meaning that all those with the surname Stovall who live in the United States of America, could possibly trace their roots back to this single immigrant servant.

Outskirts of Albury, Surrey Parish,

England—August 1585

G eorge Stovold heard the sound of horses’ hooves long before they came into view. He drew his mare into the trees atop a hill overlooking the roadway. He knew, full well, that plundering thieves often assaulted lone travelers or entire families on this span of dense forest leading into Albury, Surrey Parish.

George waited anxiously trying to calm his nervous beast until the riders would pass. Knowing he should already be home instead of traversing this dangerous area at night, he scolded himself, Twas foolish to sit and drink those extra beers and linger with idle talk.

It had been a profitable day for Albury’s only blacksmith. The skilled molder of iron had been summoned to the farm of Jeremy Bradford for plough sharpening and wagon repair in preparation for spring planting. It was more than a full day’s labor, but George considered that if he worked smart, he could expedite the task and be home before the sun made its way below the tall oak-laden horizon.

Sitting quietly as possible, George observed a wagon with a lone driver coming from the same direction he had been traveling. The captain of the wagon was headed directly towards a group of armor draped men on horseback. Below him, the two parties met, leaving George to shudder at the sight. Armed sheriff’s guards and what appeared to be an assemblage of royal soldiers soon came into view. With torches blazing, a group of twelve fully armed soldiers blocked the roadway, forcing the wagon to stop.

No sounds came from either party as George took inventory of the guards and the wagon.

The driver didn’t appear to be a farmer, and the wagon looked more like a cargo vessel used to transport goods for a distance rather than those that carried potatoes and onions from a farm to merchants in Albury. The wagon’s cargo lay covered with a thick canvas, spread and secured by tightly bound ropes.

One of the soldiers brought his horse in front of the others and announced in a loud voice, Samuel Atkins!

’Tis I, came the brave reply, considering his obvious disadvantage.

What have ye in cargo?

I carry goods for the merchant Abbot of Albury. I know not the contents, he returned, sounding confident but submissive.

Dismount, Atkins, the horseman shouted, as he turned and ordered the others to surround the wagon.

While the driver climbed down, the flurry of activity startled the terrified horse, drawing the wagon, causing him to rear in fright. The tongue securing the horse to wagon failed to move in compliance, and the cargo shifted. Overreacting, the soldiers grabbed at the nervous animal, but it lurched forward. Crates and other articles spilled from the bed onto the ground; one crate toppled unnoticed down a ravine, just out of sight from the band of horsemen.

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The driver lay on the ground, now obviously frightened as the lead horseman dismounted from his ride. He opened one of the upright boxes, observed the contents, and then pulled a book from the inside.

It’s William Tyndale’s book of heresy, he exclaimed, leafing through a large bound volume. He removed his pistol from its sheathing. We know your origin, Samuel Atkins, and we know the contents of your cargo. Get to your feet, he ordered, raising his pistol.

Sir, I know nothing of the contents from the boxes. I was paid to deliver it to the merchant in Albury. See, here is my manifest, the driver said, as he reached into his coat.

Without thinking, the soldier fired a shot that struck Atkins in the neck, causing him to fall backward, lying flat on the road, arms fully stretched.

George tried to console his mare, who stirred from the explosion.

Quiet, girl, quiet, he whispered into her ear as he stroked the mane, trying to ignore the calamity.

One horseman in the group rode forward to take inventory of the situation. He looked in George’s direction and then moved his gaze across the surrounding hills.

He finally issued orders to the others; Wrap the body with the canvas and stack it with the boxes. Leave no evidence here.

About half the men hurried with their orders; then the entire assemblage left, along with their blinding torches. George remained in hiding for a while longer, fearing a return of the group. Sure enough, two horsemen made a return and then dismounted.

With no light except for the brightness of the moon, he couldn’t tell their motions. But after a short time, they rode off, leaving George comfortable, with an exit to the roadway.

Although anxious to be on his way, his main interest was lying in the ravine where the chest had tumbled.

George secured his mare, and then descended down the steep embankment until he reached the object, its contents fully intact. He lifted the top and adjusted his eyes to the interior of the strongbox. The moon provided little light, but as his eyes adjusted, he saw loose documents of paper written in a language that he was not familiar with. Digging deeper, he pulled out a large bound book with a thick, leather cover. Opening it, he was amazed at the fine paper and elegant printing. He had little knowledge of these things but tucked it under his arms and made his way back up the hill.

Before departing, he secured the book into his satchel and climbed back down the ravine. He pulled the heavy chest into a hiding place so it wouldn’t be detected by passersby. After reaching the road, he covered the blood with his boots and then made his way home through the darkness of a half moon.

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Later that evening, he sat with his wife, Lettice Stovold, and leafed through the pages, not yet understanding the significance of the find.

’Tis in the king’s tongue, she told him, peering between two lit candles.

George nodded as he readily identified phrases that contained lettering he understood. His mother had introduced reading skills, explaining that the first letter of a word usually dictated the sound. After unlocking this puzzle, he soon became proficient with reading the few English translations that were available.

No one should hear of this, George, she told him more in fright than caution.

He was surprised that there were no elaborate pictures or giant titles of introduction. Stretching his limits of understanding, he stumbled through the first words as he read aloud.

In the begynnyng God created heauen and erth. The erth was voyd and emptie, and darkness was vpon the deep, and the Spirete of God moued uponne the water, Then God sayde: let there be lyghte…

When he finished the phrase, Lettice said in shock, It’s a holy book, George. It’s the book of God.

And so it was that George Stovold spent the remainder of his life living as an example from this unlawful book. Whenever he was faced with difficult decisions, he used it as a study guide to search for answers from the text. He recorded events from his life’s experiences and made notations to serve as examples to his surviving son, George.

Shortly before his death, George Stovold, with shaking hands and weak eyes, recorded his last notation to his son, who was traveling during the time of his father’s last days.

February 1, 1609

George, the Lord has spoken to me, and my days on this earth are few. I pray that you will be able to read my writing as my hands are no longer steady and my eyes fail me without an abundance of light.

When I leave this earthen vessel and pass my soul on to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, I depart with the knowledge that I have served as an example laid out in this holy book on which I write.

My final wish is that you would read the words and pay close attention to the handwritten notations I’ve recorded during the years. Pass this on to the next generation and instruct them as I have asked of you.

One joyous day, we will all meet in heaven. I bid you a good life but will surely rejoice when I can see you again.

Your loving father, George.

He passed in midwinter, with his loving wife by his side.

Home of George and Joan Stovall

Albury, Surrey—1657

O n August 24, 1657, England was in turmoil. Oliver Cromwell had been appointed lord protector, ending six hundred years of absolute rule by kings or queens of this large island on the western edge of the European continent.

While centuries of monarchy had proven to be self-serving, Cromwell was also misguided when he stated that "kingship is not so interwoven in the laws… truly though the kingship be not a mere title but a name of office that runs through the whole of the law… as such a title hath been fixed, so it may be unfixed."¹

It was the central moment in civilization’s aged minds, save for George Stovall, a Southern English yeoman who could care less about these matters. His father had written, "Don’t ponder those things you have no control over."

He sat at a table in his modest home, with three candles burning, turning the pages of the Tyndale Bible, and felt his eyes grow tired.

You’re looking for answers again, his wife, Joan, commented, placing her arms on his broad shoulders.

George marked the passage he was reading and looked up at his wife.

Today a merchant in Albury made an offer for trade. In appearances, it looked to be in my favor, but I choose not to accept. I may regret the decision, but I remember a note my father had written on such things.

My wise husband always makes the right decisions, Joan said.

Wise enough to choose the right mate, George said truthfully to his wife.

The two embraced, until Joan broke free from the intimate gesture.

You always reference the family Bible when you are unsure. Should you not accept the offer as God’s gift instead of seeking answers from your ancestor’s words?

I don’t know. If my decision turns out to be correct, I will write it in this book so my children will take note.

Joan pulled a chair and sat next to him and asked half amused, So your gift tells you that we are to have children?

He placed his hand over hers and replied, I know it’s been four years, but we will have a child. Yes, I know this.

Boy or girl? she continued with the questions.

If it’s a boy, we will name him for your father. If it’s a girl, we will honor my mother.

So you don’t know everything then, she joked, turning his hands over to trace his fingers with her own. Tell me of the offer you received in Albury.

As William Gentry and I were leaving the Abbots’ store, we were stopped by a gentleman who offered me two healthy cows, asking only one shilling for the pair. For some reason, I didn’t feel the offer to my advantage. The fair price for a cow or sheep is one shilling each, but still I refused. Our neighbor accepted the sum, and I helped him herd them back to his farm. Now, I feel foolish, but at the time, I couldn’t force myself to pay what he offered. I know there’s mention of such in this Bible.

Joan smiled and left him with the Tyndale translation. The book had always been an obsession of George’s when pondering decisions. She readily admitted that one could gain insight from the handwritten recordings, but the fact remained that the Episcopal Church where they attend didn’t favor English translations of the Bible.

Joan was left confused, wondering if they would face retribution from the local priesthood should they get word of their dedicated readings, but George never seemed concerned with the threat. The Bible was a part of his family for two generations, and he had made it clear to her that it poised no harm to the governing bodies of England.

She also became concerned when her husband questioned the doctrine sanctioned by their church. George had searched his book to justify mandatory tithes and attendance but finally deduced that the papal laws instructed more people to devote more money to build larger temples. Scriptures from the Tyndale Bible gave evidence that when two or more people gathered to worship; Jesus was in their presence regardless of the location.

He folded the book closed and blew out one candle. Resting his eyes, George let his mind drift. His father would know the meaning of it all, but George Stovall still pondered things he could not control, and those things troubled him.

Visit to the Priest—1660

In the eight years since their marriage, George and Joan watched as family after family received the blessing of children. George had always insisted that they would be blessed with a child, but his wife was less convinced, based on the number of youngsters attending parish services.

After much heartfelt discussion, the couple made the decision to meet privately with their priest and ask God’s blessings for a child. George showed reluctance to the plea from a priest, considering it a waste of time. Joan on the other hand insisted that the meeting take place.

His averseness was twofold. First, he was a private person, having few friends except for William Gentry and his family, which lived just a short distance from his home. There were others he knew on a casual basis, regulars at the Episcopal Church in Albury, and the merchants that he had dealings for farming supplies and trade yields. Other than that, the couple spent most of their time working or studying from the blessed book he had received from his father. Second, George knew that they would receive a son. His knowledge of this wasn’t based on fact, but he seemed certain that his destiny was fatherhood.

George continually encouraged Joan, but she found it hard to trust her husband’s instincts after months turned into years of being childless. Now, it had come to the point where she was fixated on her inability to bring forth a child.

After services the Sunday past, George approached the priest and arranged for special prayers for God’s intervention.

Please come to the church tomorrow at the noon hour and let us pray for the blessing, the priest had replied.

George loathed the prospect, but Joan was quick to accept the invitation.

Why should our presence be necessary? George asked on their trip back to their home.

I don’t know, George. Perhaps God will look more favorably with our presence in his house, his wife returned.

He nodded in agreement but in reality felt that God listened to each person’s heart when prayers were offered.

He complained when Joan insisted he wear his worship clothing to the appointment. Joan was irritated with his lack of enthusiasm and said, God can read your heart, George. If you don’t enter into this meeting with sincerity, he may not look on us with favor.

George halfheartedly agreed and wore his best clothing, knowing full well his appearance didn’t matter.

At any rate, the meeting was set. Both stood at the entrance to the grand building, unsure if they should knock or enter without announcing their arrival. Mandatory attendance always provided open doors, with bells ringing in invitation, but today was Monday, and they were only asking for prayers.

After some consideration, George lifted the handle on the large door and pushed it open, making his way inside, with his wife following behind. The sight of empty pews was strange to the couple as they walked to the front, toward the pulpit.

If no one appears, we will kneel and pray until we are received, George whispered to Joan, but before they went down to their knees, the priest entered from a room on their right, smiling, and greeted them with one arm raised.

Welcome to God’s house, he said in a most gracious manner, motioning for the couple to kneel. Bowing their heads, Father Browning offered a quick gesture of prayer, then asked the couple to accompany him to the office where he had made entrance.

When they were seated, Father Browning started, The church always receives good and loyal members, addressing George, failing to acknowledge his wife.

You told me yesterday that you had a request and special prayers. Tell me, what is in your hearts?

Before George could begin, his wife spoke up, Yes, Father, thank you for your greeting. We indeed do have a request for your special prayers. My husband and I hold the church in high regard and are regular with attendance and tithe. We know God will listen if you offer prayers for our blessing to receive a child. Our marriage is of eight years. My husband is a fine yeoman in good standing, and we own land that we farm. We have the means to bring up a child and provide a good home with loving parents, but God has yet to send this blessing that we both want. Perhaps we should have come to you sooner, but with those around us in such need, we… have been resistant until now.

George sat quietly, surprised at the urgency of his wife’s plea. He finally interceded, Father, we pray daily for this blessing, but as each month passes, Joan, er… our disappointment continues. Is it too much to ask of the Lord? Are we not looked on as being of privilege to receive the blessing?

While George spoke these words, he knew they didn’t come from his heart. He believed a child would come, but not because of the utterance of prayers from the holy man who sat in their presence. He felt guilt for his lack of reverence, but still he knew that his seed would not harvest a child because of this man’s blessing.

Perhaps the doubt showed on his face, but the priest continued to smile and nod in concern and apparent agreement on their decision for holy intervention.

The Lord looks favorably on your seeking help with dedicated prayer. I have heard this request from many within our gathering. Sometimes God asks for guidance from the church when those loyal to his cause seek gifts such as yours. I will surely pray with the two of you in asking for his blessing, was the priest’s reply.

Thank you, Father, George said meekly in half appreciation, noticing Joan’s unexpected sternness of expression.

Of course, our Lord most listens to those willing to give a small sum for honest, meaningful requests, the Father said in a half gesture, still smiling but now with a more serious smile.

George sat in disbelief, unable to formulate the question concerning his request for a tariff penance. Before he could speak, Joan asked, What is the sum?

George sank lower in his seat as he looked at his wife, knowing what lay ahead for the good Father. Looking at George, then finally casting his eyes toward Joan, the priest replied, The Lord would appreciate a gift of perhaps a single shilling for a request su—

Joan broke him off and asked with candor, Would the good Father need to be present when my husband plants the seed into my body?

Shocked, the priest stuttered, We would pray that the Lord should let those matters be in his hands.

Joan leaned forward and looked at Father Browning directly and continued, Your Holiness, please help us to understand. If we’re to give you a sum equal to the amount it would take to increase our head of cows by one, exactly what will the shilling buy me? Will you guarantee us that I will be with child in one month’s time?

The priest shifted uncomfortably. As I’ve said, Mrs. Stovall, all matters are God’s will.

Not removing her stare, Joan asked more, Will two shillings buy me a son?

The priest tried to respond, I have no s—

Again, Joan stopped him, Or if we refuse your request, will you pray in secret that I remain barren for the remainder of my life?

George could take no more, Joan, please.

No! was her reply. We have been loyal servants at this church for the length of our marriage. We tithe what is due and do our attendance as required. The Lord looks on us with favor because he has blessed us with land we own and rich soil to grow crops. We are both healthy and strong in spirit to our savior. Tell me, why it would be required that we ante up extra for a prayer?

The priest, in an attempt to calm her, replied, Perhaps half the sum would be sufficient in your case.

Joan rose and announced, George, let us leave the Father, so he can return to the Lord’s business.

Still seated, the priest watched the couple make their exit.

As the wagon departed, Joan uttered one last gesture, I will never again set foot in this building.

George replied, Yes, darling, you will.

Joan glanced in his direction but made no comment. She didn’t want to know the circumstances that would make her husband’s remark hold true.

In silence, they made their way through the streets of Albury, past the thick forest grove, and then finally past the home of their friends William and Faith Gentry, never removing their sight from the roadway.

After a trying day, the couple finally found rest in their divan. George reached for his wife with a loving embrace, but she shifted away from him. Not tonight. My body has told me that we will need to wait a while longer.

Heretic Preacher—February 1661

The evening prior had brought with it a full moon, meaning that today would be spent traveling into Albury to purchase supplies necessary for the Stovall farm. George always enjoyed traveling alone to gather the goods. Many of these trips were in the company of William Gentry, but as of late George had preferred to make the trip unaccompanied. The process of procuring goods usually entailed bartering with merchants. William relished this process and had become a talented tradesman. Prices were set at a given amount, and then negotiations would begin. The two parties would go on until they reached a point where both were practically screaming at each other. Once an agreement was made they would extend their courtesies, exchange payment, and then laugh and go away as if the confrontation never occurred.

George detested this bickering. He didn’t like the idea of arguing with someone over the price of goods, thinking, "Why don’t they ask a fair price and be done with it?"

In reality, George was not very good at bartering. It embarrassed him to engage in heated discussions about price. He was usually left feeling belittled and defeated thus, he preferred neither friend nor family be present when he suffered his degradation.

As George was preparing the wagon, Joan approached her husband and announced with finality in her tone, I’m going with you! If I don’t get out of this house for one day, I think I’ll go stark raving mad.

With that said, George and Joan Stovall made their way into Albury for the monthly procurement. Being none too happy with Joan’s late announcement, George drove silently while they made their way into town. Sensing his objections, she turned to her husband midway during the journey and said with annoyance, Don’t worry. I’ve my own shopping to do.

The full moon was a signal for most farmers to restock, making traffic unusually dense. The crowded streets forced the couple to deposit their wagon in a receiving stable at the edge of the trading district and walk a far distance to the main area of trade.

While making their way they were distracted by a commotion from the streets. A single man, standing on boxes, had gathered a crowd and was yelling at the top of his voice.

As they drew nearer, George’s eyes met Joan’s, and he thought, "not today. Please, not today!"

They stood in amazement and listened to the well-dressed man make his proclamation in a much too overconfident manner.

"You’ll see him tomorrow walkin’ the aisle, carrin’ his purse, sayin’ ‘you can’t pray to God! He don’t speak English. He only speaks the Latin.’

How dare they tell me that the God I worship has yet to master the king’s tongue? The God I worship created everything you can see. He created the stars in the sky and the ground you walk on. He created the cows you milk and the brains that figure the languages be it Greek, French, Latin, or the English. Don’t try and convince me that when I bow my head to pray he will say, ‘Wait up! You know I don’t understand the words coming from your mouth. I only speak Latin!’

Don’t tell me that God will tell the laborer, the yeoman, the gentry, even the king, Go away! Don’t speak to me, you husbandman. I don’t listen to you. Go hire you a bishop or a priest. And those will tell you, ‘Pay me and I will talk to God on your behalf.’

Don’t you believe it, brothers and sisters. They line their purse with whatever they can get from whoever they can get it. At best it is thievery. At worst it is denying a soul to come to the Lord."

The tall man paused and left the crowd awestruck with his proclamation until he raised one finger and pointed to himself,

"But what are you going to do with me? What are you going to do with someone who will never pay to have my father’s soul committed to the Lord? What about when I refuse to pay a priest to come into my house and pretend to work his black magic? My wife cannot be cured by a priest! She is cured by a doctor and prayer, not by false customs. If you pray with your own heart and words, the Lord will hear it. If you pray in earnest, he will make it happen.

Why should you put your head against a stump formed like a cross? ’Tis not Jesus’s body on a pole. You’re not eating his flesh or drinking his blood during communion. It’s stale bread and cheap wine, and it’s far too expensive.

They want payment so they can pray for those souls in purgatory. One king held thirty masses on his behalf, before he died. God’s word says nothing to these matters. Prayer for the dead can be found nowhere in the text. Christ said, ‘The time shall come in which all in the grave shall hear his voice.’"

The crowd stood silent until George noticed a church official, dressed in his formal attire, accompanied by the sheriff and two aids shove through the crowd and pull the man from his pedestal while he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Joan could see the worried look on her husband’s face and pulled his arm.

Let’s leave here, she said as they made their way from the gathering. Soon others began to disperse, grumbling with utterances of sympathy for the heretic preacher.

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But the mood had been set for the day as George found it easier to argue with merchants. At times he appeared too aggressive for the men of trade and watched them turn and walk away from his uncharacteristic demeanor.

While making the return to their farm, Joan turned and took a quick glance at the back of the wagon and asked, I don’t think we filled all our needs, George?

I’ll come back another time, he replied, appearing lost in thought.

After a long silence she asked, What will happen to that man who was preaching?

George thought for a brief time, Probably a reprimand and exiled from the parish, knowing full well that the man may be bound to the tower in London, flogged, then kept for months.

Joan was not to be fooled. Perhaps she should have not been so short with the priest when confronting him about his asking payment for prayers.

What’s done is done, she finally thought to herself.

Finally, she turned to her husband. You know that man who was arrested was right in what he said.

George gave no reply as they made their way home through the late afternoon sun.

The Indictment—April 1661

It had been a trying day for George. When Joan met him at the door he noticed the troubled look on her face.

I had expected you home earlier, she said.

Before he could explain his delay, she handed him the document, delivered earlier in the day, and told him disquietly, An official from the sheriff’s office delivered this shortly after you left this morning. I think we’re being indicted for nonattendance.

George froze. He knew full well the writs would come, but the reality of the sheriff’s bidding caused him to take his seat.

Joan crossed the room and saw her husband’s look of concern. George, I know it’s an obvious question, but… what does it mean, ‘nonattendance’?

George had no words, so she knelt in front of him. I feel responsible. I insisted we not return to St. Peter and St. Paul’s.

Joan changed her expression and moved her eyes away from him. The king’s law says we must attend services and pay a tithe.

She turned to face her husband. Are we beyond the law? What is the punishment? We may be fined or even held.

The urgency from his wife made George recall the readings he had been offered from his friend and local merchant, Gene Abbot. He moved to face her and said, None of that happens.

Earlier in the day, he had approached Gene Abbot, knowing his family didn’t attend services at Albury Church. After George confided in him concerning his own absence, Mr. Abbot studied him for several seconds and finally told him to come to the back of the store. He led him to stacks of documents and letters of news. Placing his hand on one stack, he spoke with a voice George was not familiar. "Bartholomew, read through some of this material. I’m sure you and Joan have many questions concerning obedience, but the answers are here.

Gene Abbot paused. I don’t want this to leave the store. It’s not unlawful news, but some of the interrupted words could upset the wrong people.

After spending too much time at the store, George left, having forgotten about the purchases of sugar and other needs. His mind wandered as he pondered the words he had read.

The king states everyone must attend services at the Church of England, but others say one should not be worried they will be prosecuted for failure to do so.

The complexity of this added more questions than he had initially perceived, but as he read on George saw the reason for the puzzlement.

Oliver Cromwell, the lord and protector over all of England, had advocated religious tolerance, but now King Charles II had restored the power of the monarchy and favored a more traditional view on these matters. Laws had yet to be created negating Cromwell’s forbearance mind-set, but the king had made a political stance. So far, local authorities considered it more of a nuisance because the number of dissenters is too great.

George studied his wife’s look of concern and knew she wanted answers to her questions or perhaps reassurance that they wouldn’t face harsh retribution.

Again, he said, None of that will happen, Joan. There are too many people who feel the same as us.

Joan took her own seat, but before she could continue with her distress, her husband hurried to the door. The Gentrys have received these writs. I’ll ride over and ask William what he makes of this.

I’ve made food, she returned, but her husband had already made exit.

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After their meeting with the priest, Joan had refused to attend the services on Sundays for as long as Father Browning remained their spiritual leader. George, attempting to console his wife, explained that the act was not isolated to Father Browning.

It’s a typical practice for the Catholic Church as well as for the Church of England, he told her.

Joan found this so disturbing that she lost herself in their Bible, attempting to find any evidence of such acts. She considered the possibilities and looked for passages that would reference purgatory, payment for prayers, or praying for the dead. She found no instances, only passages which referenced God knows what is in your heart, and All that is required is to ask and ye shall receive. This had caused Joan to become more depressed.

If I had a child, I would have less time for pondering these things, she concluded.

William seemed indifferent to his neighbor’s concern, never stopping from his chores, he told him, ’Tis nothing to worry about, George. It seems that your wife has stirred the pot for Father Browning. I’ve never responded to these idle threats. Many have been issued to me, but Faith has always dismissed the sheriff’s men, telling them that I’m away. Before you know, they won’t come anymore.

George said despairingly, But they have requested that I appear before the criminal courts and explain my actions for nonattendance!

It’s just a formality to calm the ire of church officials. Don’t you see, George?

George watched his friend and thought, We’ve never talked about his lack of attendance, but he is a good moral man, Christ led.

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The friendship between the two families was evident but other than being neighbors and farmers, they had little in common. The Gentry family was blessed with two beautiful girls. William’s wife, Faith, spends her days with the children when she was not tending the home and small garden. She was a woman of personal nature, very shy, so she and Joan could hardly be called friends.

But George and William had developed amity because they had need of each other’s help with farming tasks. The pair had grown comfortable with idle talk and a trust bond had developed during their years of acquaintance.

But William, I cannot spend time imprisoned and leave Joan alone to care for herself.

William studied his friend for a few uncomfortable seconds and then began, George, there are laws of the church and laws of the king. They are not one. Some don’t believe that the Church of England is the way of true salvation. These types have been granted the rights of tolerance. Those in political power believe that there is but one religion. William hesitated. But dissent from that belief is not of itself an offence against the law. Our groups of Quaker Friends understand that as dissenters our rights are protected to a peaceable and decent worship. William acted more official. These acts of tolerance don’t give us the right to commit treason or breach the peace, but they can’t be used as evidence that we have committed criminal acts.

William turned away from his friend but kept talking, All of this means that if you don’t pay your taxes to the king, you could be imprisoned. But if you fail to pay your tithe, the church doesn’t have the same recourse. Their means is to notify the sheriff that you are in violation. Local officials will then discern if you should be made an example of. It’s been my experience that if you express your views in private, the sheriff has more things to worry about than you and Joan failing to attend services.

The words were like a revolution to George, So, your views are not the same as those of the Episcopal Church in Albury?

William’s eyes did not move away from George’s stare until he answered, Faith and I feel the need for Christ in our lives. We want to raise our daughters in a Christian home and help them to understand the indwelling of his spirit in all of our lives. We have adopted the views of the Quakers. Each Sunday, we meet with others who share the belief that Christ lives in everyone’s heart. We believe that true Christian faith needs no human authority. There is no requirement to make payment for his blessings.

But then William made what sounded more like an offer, All with an open heart, willing to accept the indwelling of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, are free to join our meetings.

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When a second writ was issued, four months after the first, George became concerned. If we share no beliefs they may consider us to be of no faith.

The first Quaker meeting he and Joan attended was very awkward. Everyone sat silently in prayer most of the time. Few utterances were made, and sometimes others would shout loud statements professing their faith. At the end an elder would close then ask for any voice that wished to talk. The subjects would vary from prayer requests, professions of faith, announcements, or pleas for help. He and Joan noted that each request was treated with respect.

George mentioned his Bible once, but members dismissed it saying, ’Tis indeed a book to live by but should not be placed above the indwelling of the spirit.

George had also asked for advice on the constant writs being issued, but members insured them there was no need to worry.

As months turned into years, the Stovalls became regulars at Quaker Friends Meetings and fully accepted the Quaker ways.

The Conception—December 1664

It was very trying on all who lived in England’s south. The lack of rains had hurt crops and all who failed on tax debt were dealt with harshly. Levies or dismissal from property was common. Some were forced to leave homes their families had owned for generations. George had come close to default on one occasion but was granted leniency on payment by the merchant and Quaker Friend, Gene Abbot.

Poor weather conditions continued, leaving husband and wife to live on small savings and a meager personal garden, which supplied them with daily rations.

William Gentry was more fortunate. A healthy stream ran alongside his property, enabling him to provision a way to divert some to the flow onto his fields. This helped his neighbors to salvage enough harvest and withstand yet another year of dust and clay.

During Friends Meetings, many women had stood and asked for prayers, so one Sunday, Joan had embarrassingly spoken up and asked for prayers that God grant them a child. It was only two weeks after her request that Faith Gentry told the group that she was pregnant with their third child, to be born in the late summer. In August 1664, Faith Gentry gave birth to yet another girl and named her Sarah. Joan cried in happiness and sorrowfulness for two weeks.

But in the winter of 1664, after a loving and tender moment, she and George held each other, surrounded by warm covers and smoldering embers of the hearth. While Joan rested, she could feel the newness from within her. It was a sensation that moved about her body as though she was not alone.

Two weeks later she became sick with nausea and hated the thought of preparing meals. She tired easily but when attempting rest, she had ample energy. After one month she felt it was time to approach George and tell him the news that she was with child. When her husband came home from the fields, he washed and helped Joan prepare the table for dinner. While they joined hands, George offered a prayer of thanks.

"Lord, we give thanks for this food and pray you will protect my wife during this time. We pray that you will bring our son into this world in good health, ready to do your will. Amen."

Joan showed no surprise. The couple embraced and cried silently until their food was cold. That evening, in their bed, she didn’t worry about the sheriff’s writs. She felt no envy of Faith and her new daughter. She had no concern for high taxes or troubling times. She was to have a son at summers end and nothing else mattered. All was right with the world.

Birth of Bartholomew—August 1665

T he father-to-be had summoned for the midwife hours ago. Water had soaked into his wife’s bed clothing shortly before dawn. It was soon to be the noon hour and Faith Gentry had not returned with the midwife to help with the delivery of their first child.

He pondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have insisted on the Quaker midwife. Reliable help was available within a short carriage ride, but the Friends committee had persisted that the delivery be performed by Anne Lucas. Although the midwife was unlicensed she had over sixty births to her credit, all of them to parents who were members of the Friends Church.

’Tis best the child not be brought into the world with a baptismal ceremony. Surely you don’t want your newborn adorned with ribbons and lace, Friends member Charles Morton told him, making reference to Quaker opposition concerning ceremonial practices for infants.

But now George’s apprehension grew as his wife’s pains came more frequent. For the first time during the pregnancy George grew weary.

Should I boil the water? he wondered, not knowing what would be required when the child finally entered the world.

His wife’s demeanor was calm, but the pains caused her to struggle with more regularity. Suddenly she alerted her husband, George, I think the child is coming.

His fear began to show more clearly. The midwife had assured them just yesterday that all should go well. The child is head down, and you look ready for the birthing. The cords are not tangled, and I don’t feel it’s stressed. After the water comes, tell Faith to send for me. Joan, this is your first. We will have plenty of time to bring this cakie along.

These were comforting words at that time, but now it appeared that he and his wife would be forced to bring this child without the aid of midwife or neighbor.

George stoked the fire and placed a large kettle of water on the hearth to begin the boil. The quarters were already oppressively hot during this August day at the noon hour.

Sweat and tears. Sweat and tears, George thought as he moved next to his wife, feeling the drenched sheets.

Please Lord, bring the midwife. If ever I needed your help it is now.

George’s prayers went unanswered when Joan gave the final push. He stared in total amazement when the tip of a tiny hairless head emerged. Adrenalin overcame fear as he pulled the child free. Holding it by the legs, he issued a gentle slap on the rear, filling their home with cries from a healthy baby boy. The name had already been decided. Bartholomew Stovall was born August 24, in the year of our Lord 1665, Albury, Surrey, England.

Late afternoon Anne Lucas and Faith finally arrived, finding the trio together on the bed, baby nursing. From all appearances, the only tasks left for the midwife was to clean the afterbirth and cut the cord separating the mother and child. George had refused to perform this without the aid of knowing help. Faith walked through the oppressive heat and noticed a dry kettle sitting in smoldering embers above the hearth.

A Sickening George – October 16, 1665

George Stovall stood outside the doorway of his home waiting on arrivals for the weekly Quakers meeting. All members had agreed that they should gather at his home until their infant son was of age and could travel. Although thankful for the consideration shown by the group, George knew the trip wouldn’t be a burden for his wife or son.

There was no winters chill on this early October Sunday and large billowing clouds made for an almost perfect day. Joan had been confined to the indoors and would have enjoyed the trip, knowing that the child would probably sleep during the almost short wagon ride.

But the reality which caused George to toil was a secret shared between him and William Gentry. On the Wednesday past, George had traveled to his neighbor’s farm intending to help with tasks requiring more strength than William could manage alone.

While loading some freshly harvested onions George had fallen and needed his friend’s assistance to stand.

Are you ill? William asked, concerned.

I’ll be fine, George replied. I think the demands of being a father is more than I first thought.

Having given this reply, George gave into a fit of coughing and then felt the dizziness he had experienced earlier while Joan was nursing their infant son.

He suppressed the faintness and made another attempt to load a bag of goods bound for merchants in Albury.

George, wait up on the loading. Come and sit with me until you’ve gained your strength, William urged, pulling up a bench for the two of them.

George didn’t hesitate, knowing he was in no condition to stand, let alone work.

How long have you felt this way? William continued as he noticed the red stains on George’s trousers.

When George failed to answer, William’s concerned turned into fear for his friend.

Your appearance is not good George. Your coughing has produced blood. I don’t think those are symptoms of a restless night with a new child.

George knew better than to argue with his friend. He rose to his feet and stood for a time, righting himself, holding onto the sides of his wagon.

Intentionally changing the subject George said, I’m concerned about our weekly meeting on Sunday. We are to meet in the home of Gene and Elizabeth Abbot, but I’m not sure I will be well enough to travel. There are so many questions all of us need to discuss. The lack of rains has caused our crops to have a small yield. I know Joan and I have enough to allow for modest meals but we have little to trade for other goods. I read the signs on the faces of merchants in Albury. They show contempt for our lack of support for the Church of England. Everyone will want to speak on these things. We all need to be in attendance to discuss these matters.

William was not fooled but advised his friend, Go home and get your rest. I’ll inform the others that we should meet in your spacious home. I’ll tell them to consider that young Bartholomew is too young to make the trip. They will understand.

George felt relief by William’s suggestion. Surely he would be more able to host the gathering if he didn’t have to travel the distance all the way into Albury.

Yes, it is done then. I’ll tell Joan to prepare.

George climbed onto his wagon and steered it to the road, leading off William Gentry’s property, never looking back to see the concern on his friend’s face.

But today, as he stood on his porch waiting on arrivals, he did indeed feel some relief from the dizziness.

Most likely, all would be in attendance, perhaps more so than usual, but in reality, their congregation had not experienced growth in years. The Poor Laws established by Queen Elizabeth discouraged movement of people to other parishes, meaning that their numbers had remained the same except for new births.

Regardless of his physical state George knew that, even with the few attendees, it would be better to hold the meeting at his home. Most dwellings occupied by commoners in Surrey contained two rooms, but Joan had insisted that a crib room be constructed before the birth of their son.

Reluctant at first, George knew there were salvaged timbers stored at the rear of their property, so he finally yielded to his wife’s request. When construction began he made the decision to include a second hearth as well. He had considered it too much of a luxury at the time, but now he was glad they had sacrificed the labor and expense in order to provide more privacy and comfort.

Slowly, the congregation began to arrive and take seats with latter attendees resting on the floor near the main hearth. George knew each family well. First to come was his neighbors William and Faith Gentry