Growing with America: The Fox Family of Philadelphia

By Jospeh M. Fox

This book tells of a voyage of discovery by the author, a retired Bechtel chief process engineer and chemical engineering society director, whose previous writings concerned Methane Valorization and Fischer-Tropsch Reactor Design. Trying to explain why a thirteen year old boy would join a Quaker expedition to Philadelphia in 1686 he devises a fictionalized account that is eventually supported by genetic testing. Along the way he discovers, among his ancestors, a master carpenter turned politician, Americas first golf club owner and a doctor of whom it was written, There was a popular notion that he cured his patients. He finds a Young Squire who taunts the British with school pamphlets during the Revolutionary War and several Quakers who were sent off to Virginia during that war - much as we locked up the Japanese during World War II.

While written as a family history, the reader will find tie-ins to Benjamin Franklins papers, to Shakespeares The Tempest, to a British diarist who wrote about William Wordsworth and to an anti-slavery tract by Fanny Kemble. The book sheds light on familys papers kept under wraps at historical libraries but leaves the final answers up to future generations.

In the authors own words, "I became interested in Fox family genealogy as a result of a business trip to Bechtels London Office in 1974. While there as the process design manager for an Algerian Liquified Natural Gas project, I took the opportunity to visit the Friends Library on Euston Road. There I found a family tree called Descendants of Francis Fox of St. Germans, by Joseph Foster and also Anne Cressons biography of my own ancestor, Joseph Fox, who had been Speaker of the Pennsylvania Assembly during the Stamp Act uproar. I also located several books that seemed of immediate interest: The Journals of Caroline Fox 1835-1871, edited by Wendy Monk, and a biography, Caroline Fox, by Wilson Harris. These gave the approximate locations of several family estates out in Cornwall near Falmouth. There had been many famous visitors to these estates; men such as Wordsworth, Tennyson, Mill and Carlyle, and Caroline Fox had described their conversations in her Journals.

"I then convinced a fellow process design engineer, Bob Chu, to drive with me out to Falmouth over a weekend. There we found the closed offices of G. C. Fox & Company, shipbrokers, and the Fox Rosehill Gardens but no other sign of Fox activity. I was a little discouraged. Bob was intrigued, however, and insisted we investigate further. So on Sunday morning we drove further west and found the Glendurgan estate, with foxes on the gateposts and Mrs. Philip Hamilton (Rona) Fox about to start up a lawnmower in the garage. She immediately dropped what she was doing and led us into her house where notes were compared on family connections. One of Francis Foxs sons had sailed to Philadelphia in 1686 on the same ship as Justinian Fox, my own ancestor.

"Bob and I then had a chance to tour the fabulous Glendurgan Gardens, just recently added to the National Trust. We also stopped off at Catchfrench, an estate in St. Germans, near Plymouth, where I sat in the ruins of the house where Francis Fox had lived in the mid-1600s. This was enough to send a chill up my spine and got me to thinking about recording all of this history. Back in London, Ronas second son, Charles Lloyd Fox, introduced me to more relatives. As is described in this book, our families have maintained this relationship ever since then.

"Work on this book actually started in 1992 after I retired from Bechtel and my wife, Betty, died of Lupus, both in rapid succession. I joined a Creative Writing Extension Class run by U. C. Berkeley and, for my project, started the fictionalized account recorded in the first two chapters of this book. I had learned that Justinian had only been 13 years old when he joined t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 18, 2006
• ISBN: 9781477166734

Book preview

Copyright © 2006 by Joseph M. Fox.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2006909520

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4257-2542-6

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4257-2501-3

                   Ebook                                     978-1-4771-6673-4

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.

This is a family biography. The author has consulted written records and corresponded with those who should know the facts in order to reconstruct historical events but cautions that this is his own best effort, particularly where the written record is missing or confusing. Where he has resorted to fiction, this is clearly indicated.

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter 1      An Encounter in Plymouth

Chapter 2      Catchfrench

Chapter 3      The Plymouth Friends

Chapter 4      The First Generation in America

Chapter 5      The Construction Business and Politics

Chapter 6      The Fox Estates

Chapter 7      Joe Fox’s Dilemma

Chapter 8      Joe Fox’s Dilemma—A Reprise

Chapter 9      Family Inter-Relationships

Chapter 10      George Fox and the Ben Franklin Papers

Chapter 11      Joseph’s Sons Deal in Real Estate

Chapter 12      The Young Squire

Chapter 13      Champlost

Chapter 14      Foxburg

Chapter 15      Researching Foxburg

Chapter 16      A Philadelphia Physician

Chapter 17      Life Along the Delaware

Chapter 18      The End of the Good Life

Chapter 19      Balloon Corps Memoirs

Chapter 20      The Martin Family

Chapter 21      A Very Civil Engineer

Chapter 22      Fox Cousins

Chapter 23      Aunt Sarah and Uncle George

Chapter 24      High School, College and Marriage

Chapter 25      The Retirement Years

Chapter 26      British Connections

Chapter 27      Back to Justinian

Chapter 28      The Fox Y-DNA Surname Project

Chapter 29      Future Foxes?

Appendix 1      Old Philadelphia Families: cv Fox

Appendix 2      Descendents of Joseph Fox Named

Joseph Mickle Fox and Samuel Mickle Fox

Appendix 3      Newspaper Clippings re Champlost

Appendix 4      Index to the CP Fox Papers in the APS Archives

Appendix 5      Fox Papers at the HSP (1755-1963)

Appendix 6      The History of Foxburg

Appendix 7      Memory—Dr. George Fox

Appendix 8      The Practice of Medicine in 1831

Appendix 9      The Property on Strawberry Alley

Appendix 10      Descendants of Justinian Fox

Appendix 11      Descendants of John ‘Charles’ Fox

Illustrations

Endnotes

Dedication

I dedicate this book to both my deceased first wife, Betty Jane Larkin, and to my present second wife, Shirley Ann Mutchler Pugh.

Acknowledgements

This book would not even have gotten off the ground if I had not had the immediate cooperation and interest of Mrs. Philip Hamilton (Rona) Fox of Glendurgan, Falmouth, England, when I walked up to her back in 1974, just as she was starting up her grasscutting machine, and told her who I was. After her death, I continued to maintain this connection with her husband, Philip Hamilton Fox, and her son, Charles Lloyd Fox. There are many other family members who deserve similar credit: My first cousin Ted Parry, of course, who was the family genealogist. My third cousin, Michael Fox supplied much information on the Foxburg clan and supported my DNA testing efforts. Several cousins submitted family tree information: Stan Babson, CC Lefferts, Mary-Anna Fox, Dr. Sam Fox and Richard Tilghman. Sam Fox’s son, John McRae Fox, transcribed the 1912 newspaper article on the Fox family by Frank Willing Leach shown as Appendix 1. My brother and sisters have supplied family stories and reviewed important sections of the book.

Roland Fox, unrelated to us as it turns out, of Crowthorne, England, first got me interested in DNA testing. I am indebted to all who submitted to Y-DNA testing but, particularly, to my first recruit, Robert Hamilton Fox, another son of Rona and Philip Fox, and James Neal Fox of Hopkinton, MA, whose extraordinary efforts at extending the family line back into prehistory are bound at some time to bear fruit. And finally, Leo Little of Austin,TX, related well back in time the DNA tells us, who has documented our special relationship as well as can be done at this time.

And then there are those who helped me find information: Carl Karsch, researcher for the Carpenters’ Hall Website at ushistory.com, who supplied me with some key information on Joseph Fox and got some key information in return. Roger Moss, Executive Director of the Athenaeum of Philadelphia, who has always been ready to answer questions. Caleb Crain, author, who supplied me with his notes on material in the Historical Society of Pennsylvania archives. Robert S. Cox, curator at the American Philosophical Society, who was my contact in supplying copies of the CP Fox papers. Leo Lemay, of the University of Delaware, who pointed me in the right direction in The Papers of Benjamin Franklin. Laurie Ford at the Bellefonte Museum who supplied information on the Foxburg clan. Christopher Stanwood of the College of Physicians and Surgeons who located articles by Dr. George Fox. Chris Fleming, a Fox history buff of Foxburg, who supplied key information and, of course, Kathy Nowotny, former owner of the Foxburg mansion, who was most generous with information on the Nowotny’s restoration efforts.

I also want to thank Tom Crane for permission to use his photograph of the Laurel Hill Mansion, Will Brown for permission to use his photographic reproduction of Champlost from the Free Library of Philadelphia, Michael Seneca of the Athenaeum for permission to use prints from the Baxter Panoramic Business Directories (Figures 19 and 20) and the Free Library of Philadelphia for permission to use Plate 26 from Birch’s Views of Philadelphia 26 (Figure 8, Pennsylvania Hospital). RA Friedman at the Historical Society of Pennsylvania provided a digital copy of the Scull and Heap map of Philadelphia, Figure 10. Karen Lightner of the Free Library of Philadelphia provided digital illustrations of Pennsylvania Hospital (Figure 8 and cover) and Carpenters’ Hall (Figure 7). Cameron Caswell of the Maryland Historical Society provided information on Latrobe’s sketch of the Bank of Pennsylvania (Figure 18). Jeff Cohen of Bryn Mawr College, Bill Ziobro of Holy Cross College and Roger Moss helped me locate some of these photos. I thank them all.

Introduction

We Fox kids were born into several early American family lines; lines which mixed Catholic, Protestant and Quaker traditions. My great grandfather was a Quaker physician and his father and grandfather had been Quakers before him. This last gentleman was Joseph Fox, a Speaker of the Pennsylvania Assembly and first President of the Carpenters’ Company. He was a liberal Quaker and an ardent patriot during pre-Revolutionary War times but his children all married good conservative Quaker stock. We could count in our ancestry Henry Drinker, Samuel Pleasants and Israel Pemberton, all of whom had been sent down to Virginia as pacifists during that war.

The first of my Fox family to arrive in Philadelphia was Justinian, the father of Joseph Fox. Baptized in the Church of England, Justinian arrived in Philadelphia in 1686 on the ship Desire with a party of Quakers from Plymouth, England, led by James Fox, of a well-known British family, and Francis Rawle.

He came over as a thirteen year old indentured servant, was close to the James Fox family but ended up marrying a Presbyterian, the daughter of Philadelphia’s foremost stonemason, and raising a large family. I have always found Justinian’s story intriguing and wanted to develop it further. There were also two other young men on the Desire, a Richard Fox and a John Fox, apprenticed to more senior members of the party. Could I find out more about them, as well?

Our mother’s family, mostly Catholic, went back even farther than 1686 in St. Mary’s County, Maryland. The family included the first professed nun in America and our great, great, great grandmother had been the subject of a miraculous cure from cancer that had electrified the archdiocese of Baltimore in 1824. They also included Pilgrims from New England and I have recently learned that the Martin family descended from Presbyterians living in Chester, PA, in the mid-1700s. Mother’s maiden name was Martin.

As a freshman walking across the Princeton campus in the fall of 1941, my dinky on my head, I was approached by an elderly gentleman and asked why I had come to Princeton. I told him that my father and my mother’s brother had both been in the Princeton class of 1915. A little more digging and he found out about my Quaker-Catholic heritage and marveled at it. It had not occurred to me that this was at all unusual so this encounter really got me to thinking. With this sort of background, an interest in genealogy was probably inevitable.

Topping it all off, though, was the fact that I had been given a name that had been in the family for generations. There were four other uncles or cousins named Joseph Mickle Fox, in addition to my father and myself, living during my lifetime (see listing in Appendix 2). Actually, my father had been named after his Uncle Joe, so he was J.M.F., II. When the sons weren’t named Joseph Mickle they were often named Samuel Mickle. Since Joseph Fox had married Samuel Mickle’s daughter Elizabeth in 1746, that’s a lot of respect for one’s ancestors!

This name thing was somewhat of a burden for a kid to carry around. I guess the family realized this but it wasn’t much easier when they all decided to call me Foxy or, sometimes, just Fox. There has not been another Joseph Mickle Fox born in the last 50 years, so I was actually delighted when my son Justin and his wife, Allison Downing, named their son Joseph Mickle Downing Fox, when he was born in 1999.

I am not truly a genealogist like my cousin Ted Parry¹ was. Only recently have I gone to an original source for verification of an event. I do have an abiding interest, however, in what makes people tick. The dry genealogies of the past leave me with a feeling that something personal is lacking and I’d like to try to improve on that. Unfortunately, much of the very early record is missing, including records of the Carpenters’ Company. Fox was in the awkward position of being both a Quaker and a known patriot. The British burned one of his houses when they occupied Philadelphia in 1777. They may well have done more damage than that, since all of his personal papers were lost. On the other hand, Fox’s reluctance to defy Quaker authority got him in trouble with the more ardent patriots. His house was searched several times. Patriot gangs, celebrating the surrender of Cornwallis in 1781, may have done further damage. The only Joseph Fox papers that have survived relate to land deeds and indentures of interest to his son George². So we’ll have to do with what we have and use some imagination.

As generations went by, Philadelphia Society became an entrenched institution and the Fox family moved in the middle of it. Writing in 1963, Nathaniel Burt³ quotes an old Quaker saying, as follows ‘In the first generation thee must do well, in the second generation, marry well, in the third breed well, then the fourth will take care of itself.’ He then rationalizes that, If Philadelphia does differ from other centers it is in its emphasis on that second marrying generation.—What this means is that in Philadelphia inherited position is better than self-made position. This meant that it was possible for someone to get by on family position rather than on merit alone. Nevertheless, there was enormous internal family pressure to succeed.

We are now down to the eighth American generation in our particular branch of the Fox family, more than this in other branches. The world has changed since World War II and the Fox family has changed with it. The Fox men are now marrying outside of East-Coast society but their children are still under pressure to prove themselves. Inherited wealth has all but disappeared but the Fox family has continued to produce professional men and women of ability and stability. This must reflect, in part, the infusion of new genes from the female side of the family, a point not always recognized in a family history but one that I hope to remedy.

Because of uncertainties in the early record, I started this history as a fictional record. The first two chapters are the result. I soon found, however, that this became awkward and, starting with Chapter Three, I have tried to set the record straight. Nevertheless, the fictional approach provided a way to explore a number of mysteries that would otherwise have been difficult to talk about and I have returned to it several times.

Finally, with the advent of genetic testing of the Y-chromosome, I have been able to extend our knowledge of where the Fox family came from and how we are related to other British and American Foxes. This, being a recent development, is reserved for Chapters 27 and 28. These results are fascinating, though still ongoing, and have opened up new avenues for further investigation.

Chapter 1

An Encounter in Plymouth

It was the year 1685 and I was on my way to Plymouth town on an errand for my Uncle Jim. I was beginning to tire but, as I came over the crest of a hill, I could see waves breaking in Whitesand Bay, off to the south. It had been raining in Cornwall for the last two weeks but now the clouds were clearing. While the sun was not yet visible, its rays reflected off the breakers out beyond Rams Head. My spirits rose. The sea was a common sight in Cornwall but I could never get enough of it. I would much rather have been sailing a small boat in that ocean than trying to guide an unruly horse into Plymouth town.

Framed by two large hedgerows, the road to Plymouth lay ahead with the town in the distance. I was glad to see it but my horse, Chancey, shied at the sight of the thick mud and the ruts left by the stage from Falmouth. Urged on, he began gingerly picking his way through the muck. It was seven more miles to the ferry and at this rate it was going to take several hours. I gave Chancey a few rough kicks but he reacted with a prancing sidestep. I noticed that his mane was beaded with sweat and passed my hand slowly down his neck several times. The effect was remarkable. The horse gradually edged over to the low grass on the side of the road where the ground was firmer and settled into a slow trot. I had learned a lesson. Come on Chancey. We need to hurry, I whispered.

The way was easier now and the hedgerows opened out so that I could see down into the Lynher River on my left. The sun beat down and the grass, this early in November, was still a lush green. The hawthorn trees showed their red berries and clumps of purple aster filled the gaps in the hedgerows. I was now feeling much more at home on my horse but I was still a little nervous about the task that Uncle Jim had set out for me.

For some months now, since I had turned 18, I had been helping him in the woolen mill at St. Germans. My job was a heavy one but I enjoyed it. It seemed there was always something new to learn. Practical things such as how the machinery worked. Not necessarily what one would learn in school.

This morning, Uncle Jim had called me over and asked, Can thee do an errand for me today, Richard? Friday night is the first meeting of the committee at Catchfrench and I’m in need of some books and maps from Plymouth town.

I can do that, I replied, but I’ll need a horse.

Which was why I was here now on Chancey on my way down to the Devonport ferry with a pocketful of my cousin’s shillings. I worked my arm down underneath my mud apron and felt the coins resting securely where they should be. That was the good thing about Quaker britches. Large pockets. I reached down into my left saddlebag and fished out the two slices of bread I had put in there before leaving. The sun was out now. I munched on the bread and felt more at ease.

I thought of cousins, John and Justinian, who lived in Plymouth and wondered if I might chance to see them. In the summer, I often went with them on the sailing ketch Misty which Edward Fox, their father, kept in Plymouth harbour. Edward was my father’s younger brother. Our grandfather had come down from Wiltshire to Cornwall during the civil wars along with Francis Fox, Uncle Jim’s father. I guess that actually makes Uncle Jim a cousin instead of an uncle but, being older than I was, I had gotten in the habit of calling him uncle. Uncle Edward had settled in Plymouth town and had never become a Quaker, as my father had. He was in the sales end of the clothing business but always seemed to have his own sources of goods.

I loved sailing. My own father frowned on such frivolous activities as unworthy of a Quaker, but I had kept after him until he gave in. The three of us boys would often sail up the Lynher River or try to beat the local fishermen to the fishing grounds outside the breakwater. As Chancey and I approached the ferry landing at Tarpoint, I could see the fishing fleet going out. My spine tingled as I recalled last summer’s narrow escapes off the rocks at the mouth of the river while we tried to beat the wind and tide to gain an advantage.

Justinian, who was six years younger than I, would be in school now. This was to be his last year before setting off as an apprentice cook. The shop of Graven the mapmaker was in an alley off Union Street and the school was at the end where Union joined the Royal Parade. I might try to find Justinian after getting my purchases done. John, who was only a year younger than me, worked in his father’s clothing store over in Vauxhall Street. That was much too far away to visit if I was to get back home that evening.

The way from the ferry landing on Devonport Road to Union Street led up a narrow alley where vendors displayed copious supplies of fishing and sailing gear. The acrid smell of pine tar mixing with the musty smell of drying nets and the spicy aroma of the smokehouse created a mysterious melange that might repel a landlubber but smelt like heaven to me. I poked my head into a shop selling ship’s supplies This is the life! I thought, ready to chuck the clothing business.

Suddenly, I heard a shout, Richard,—Richard,—what are you doing in town. I thought you were working. It was my cousin, John.

I was startled But—but I thought thee would be at work, John. What a surprise!—And why are thee over this side of town?

Dad sent me to pick up some rigging for the boat. But how about you? Must be something important, I’ll wager.

Ye know well that we Quakers never bet, John, I replied, not too sure how much to tell him. Then, I realized that John could be of assistance, I can’t tell thee any details but it has to do with the Plymouth Friends and their purchase of land in America. Come with me, I need to get some maps for Uncle Jim.

This was enough to whet John’s interest. Five years ago, Charles II had assigned to William Penn the province of Pennsylvania with divers great powers and Jurisdiction for the well government thereof and two years later the first boatload of Quaker colonists had sailed from Plymouth to America in the ship Welcome. Now his own relatives appeared about to embark on a similar venture.

Laying down the tackle block he had in his hand, John said, Ye’ll need help for sure, Richard. Can I see the list ye’ve got? John was shorter than I but walked with an air of confidence, a seaman’s swagger that belied his years. His green eyes, already weather-beaten, sparkled like emeralds as he tried to contain his interest. One could hardly believe he spent so much time indoors in his father’s store.

I gave John the paper. He was good at these things. John’s house was full of maps of the coasts of Cornwall and Brittany. Neither John or his Dad spoke much about this but I had often wondered why there were so many French maps.

It looks pretty straightforward, John said, but will Graven’s have all these periodicals? We may have to go on over to Vauxhall. Ellicott’s book shop is the only place to find the latest stuff about America.

By this time we were out the door of the rigging shop. John guided the way and I followed leading Chancey, his hooves clattering on the rough cobblestones. The alley narrowed in places so that only a sliver of sky could be seen. Even going single file, I had to guide Chancey carefully between the stalls on either side.

Union Street was another thing entirely, a grand wide street designed for pomp and ceremony. I would not have known which way to turn but John pointed up the hill to the right. At the top of the rise, he turned and led the way down another small alley. Graven’s shop was at the end.

Through the window, I could see a room seemingly papered with maps. At first it looked disorganized but then I could see that there was a definite pattern. A large, oaken table stood at the back, festooned with wooden T-squares and other drawing equipment. A large map, in several colors, was sitting on the tabletop.

The door was locked so John rang the bell and we could hear loud footsteps approaching. An angular gentleman in a sailor’s cap and a worn, white jacket covered with inkstains, opened the door. He seemed somewhat taken aback when he saw how young we were but then seemed to recognize John and bade us enter.

Yes, he did have the latest maps of the Pennsylvania Colony. It seemed there was a lot of demand for them lately. No, he did not have the periodicals. He recommended a bookstore nearby on Union Street but agreed with John that Ellicott’s in Vauxhall was really the place to go for what we needed. As I reached into my pocket for some money, John pointed out that his father was a good customer and suggested that we ought to get a discount. Surprisingly, the mapmaker was quite agreeable, even anxious to please. Satisfied that we had done well, I led the way back out into the alley.

If we go over to Vauxhall, I’ll not be back in time to catch the last ferry, I said, I think we’d better try the shop on Union Street.

John overruled, Ellicott’s the place to go. You can stay over at our house and return tomorrow.—Perhaps we can find Justinian and take him with us

The way to the school took us past the other bookstore. Having time to spare until school let out, we spent some time browsing through the bookshelves. John and I were intrigued. These books represented knowledge, which was what the English revolution was all about. Books enabled the common man to stand up and defy unreasonable authority. Eventually this independent attitude had led England to rule by Parliament. Cromwell’s men overran the loyalists and, in 1640, Charles I had been beheaded. Eventually the English sense of order had prevailed and Charles II had been restored to the monarchy in 1660. But now, in 1685, England would never be the same as before. The common man had tasted freedom and the evidence was in all these books. This store had rows and rows of them, some thick and some thin, mostly in dull brown or red leather jackets. We picked out a number to read but, as John had predicted, there were no books on the American colonies and no periodicals.

Nearby, a school bell rang out and shouts of laughter announced the arrival of the students on the street. Justinian was in a group of youngsters bringing up the rear, arguing vociferously. They were all in light blue jackets and dark blue shorts. Slightly taller and with curly blond hair, he stood out from the rest. Suddenly he saw us and his face broke into a radiant grin. So you came to pick me up, he exclaimed, Great! These guys don’t know anything, anyway. They think Quakers are odd. They obviously don’t know you.

Quakers are no different than anyone else, I said, We just say what we believe. Most people are not that honest.

Suddenly, John let out a yelp, Horse chestnuts! I forgot to get that block and tackle Dad wanted. I have to go back. Go on, I’ll meet you at Ellicott’s bookstore. Justy knows where it is. He headed back towards the ferry slip.

This gave Justinian the opportunity to question me. It was obvious something was up but he couldn’t figure it out. Are you two really going to sail to Land’s End? he asked. They had been talking about such a trip all summer. But to Justinian, Land’s End was not the goal. He had bigger ideas.

Maybe yes, maybe no. I teased, but then relented and explained my mission. Justinian was fascinated. Ellicott’s bookstore was one of his favorite places. He knew the way blindfolded and was a big help in locating the periodicals that I needed. When John arrived we had already made our purchases. We made our way down Buckwell Street to Edward Fox’s clothing store and out into the alley behind, where a flight of stairs led to living quarters above the store. Naomi, who was a year younger than Justinian, opened the door.

I had always liked Naomi because she had spunk. She was not content just to learn housekeeping and had already begun to question things. This is the way we Friends are, too, I thought. I wasn’t sure of John and Justinian but I thought Naomi would make a good Quaker.

I looked around. My cousins’ house had always fascinated me. It was not just the location over the shop; that was actually very common in Plymouth. It was the feeling I had that I was entering a ship when I climbed that flight of outside stairs. The windows on both sides of the door were round, like portholes. And when you went inside, everything was carefully stowed in the most efficient way possible. Partly this was a question of making the most of limited space but it also seemed due to a fascination with ships.

Edward’s first wife, Oringe Prest, had been the only daughter of a sea captain and had brought some of the furnishings with her. She had died during the birth of her only child, Susanna, in 1665. When Edward married John and Justinian’s mother, Mary Ball, a few years later, the Captain had given them more ships’ furnishing from his own house. There was a ships’ clock on the front wall and a ships’ lamp on the wardrobe opposite the front door. And, as mentioned before, there were dozens of maps lying about. Most of these were stowed at the back of the desk but several were posted on the walls of the main room. I had studied these before and knew that they showed the harbour at Looe, a dozen miles west of Plymouth, and the harbour at Brest over in France.

The boys slept on hammocks in a screened off area at the back of the sleeping quarters and I knew they’d put up another hammock for me. When we went in to look, John pointed out to me a trap door with a hidden staircase leading down into the back of the shop below. Here’s a good place to store your maps, he said, Don’t forget them in the morning.

The stairs were dark and I was curious to see what was down there but John hurried me off to see his parents. While he explained what we’d been up to, they both turned to look at me and I watched their faces carefully. If there was any sign of emotion, I couldn’t see it. You Friends are all alike, Uncle Edward said, finally, You’re doin’ just fine here in Cornwall but you’ll never be content as long as the English Church is looking over your shoulder. Edward was a handsome man of average stature but he was known for his temper, particularly when he’d taken in too much wine.

They’ve been rough on us and thee knows it, uncle, I replied. I wasn’t in the mood for an argument. My palms became moist and I started to feel uneasy. The boys’ excitement had been infectious. Fortunately, just then, Naomi announced that the stew was ready and we sat down to dinner.

This was what we all needed. It had been a long day and I hadn’t eaten anything but a few scraps of bread since that morning. After grace was over, silence reigned. We waited for our elders to speak. I could see that Justinian was itching to talk some more about America, but I nudged him under the table and touched my finger to my lip. I hoped we’d get onto something else

Finally, Uncle Edward spoke, Your cousin James is doing fine, Richard. The tariffs are protecting English manufacturers but we shop keepers are caught in a squeeze. Goods are more costly and people can’t afford to buy new clothing. And the Hearth Tax hits us all where it hurts.

John’s eyes lit up. But we know some tricks, don’t we Dad?

We just do what we have to do, Uncle Edward interjected. Turning to me, he said, Tell me about your cousin Jim’s plans, Richard.

There’s not much to tell. The first meeting of the committee is to be tomorrow night at Catchfrench.

I understand he’s got that Plymouth businessman, Francis Rawle, interested and our young neighbor, John Shellson, the cook. I wonder if they realize what a ridiculous idea that is, setting up a woolen mill in the wilderness?

At the mention of the name Shellson, Naomi perked up her ears. She had been named after Shellson’s wife. Are they all going just for a new job? she asked.

No, Naomi, I replied they are all running away from trouble. Mr. Rawle has been in jail several times for his beliefs—just got out of the High Gaol at Exeter last year.

And how is your Dad, Richard? asked Cousin Edward.

Father is fine but he’s at loose ends since mother died. Spends all his time at Meetings, I think he may become a preacher back in Stonehouse.

And you’re helping Cousin Jim at the mill?

For three months now. I like it well enough.

Uncle Edward could see us all getting restless and I was glad when John asked, Can I show Richard our map collection, Dad?

All of us Foxes gathered around the desk and John explained each map in turn. Even Naomi came over to listen. A stranger looking up through the window would have marveled at four young heads circling the desk like moths drawn to the lamplight. John knew Plymouth harbour like the back of his hand. It was by now apparent that Uncle Edward and his sons had been all over the coast of Cornwall in the ketch and had even taken it over to Brittany several times. Even Justinian was familiar with places I never knew existed. I wondered what this meant but I kept my peace. It would all come out sooner or later.

Finally, Justinian could hold back no longer. His bright eyes glistening, he said, I wish I could go to America, too. We could sail Misty over there, couldn’t we? If we got enough provisions.

It’s too much of a trip for Misty, John replied, I’m pretty sure it could be done but its just not practical.

Justin could see his dream vanishing. But if we practiced sailing out to Land’s End loaded with provisions? At this point Uncle Edward left the room shaking his head.

America is many times farther than Land’s End, I interjected, And much more dangerous a trip.

But would Uncle Jim take us with him? John asked.

I don’t know, I replied, But I’ll be certain to ask him.

It was getting really dark now and Naomi went to bed. But we three sat around like Halloween spooks in the candlelight and told stories. We all decided to meet again soon after the meeting of the Plymouth Friends at Catchfrench.

Soon we were all nodding and I went to sleep lulled by the motion of my hammock.—

Flak, flak, flak—the luff of the sail beat to the tune of an imaginary drummer as John attempted to pull up into the wind to avoid Devil’s Rock at the mouth of Falmouth harbour. But the breeze from the ocean freshened and shifted as the boat neared the rock and the boy called to Justy, his crewman: Hard-alee, we have to come about.

Now the music changed to a slower beat—slap, slap, slap—as the bow rose and fell, hitting the larger crests coming in from the Atlantic. I seemed to be in the boat with them. Staring up at the triangular sail, I said, Thee’ve got to make better time than this if thee are going to make Lands’ End by sundown. That was important so they could set a safe course in the dark.

The Fox boys were experienced sailors but this was the first time they had ever tried to sail this far west. If this trip to Ireland was successful, they said that a trip all the way across to America was possible. Seems they had heard Uncle Jim talking about it. Again, John brought Misty about and set a course due west. She was a trim ship, 28 feet from bow to stern, made from seasoned oak which his grandfather had brought down from Wiltshire. The sails had been made in the family clothmaking shop. The Fox families had all become avid sailors since coming down from Wiltshire.

But now Misty was heavy in the water. Did thee need to bring all this food just to get to Ireland and back? asked Richard.

You know as well as I that the main thing is to get to America. We’ve got to prove that we can carry this load. This outburst came from Justinian in some indignation. The boat was so heavily laden that the gunnels were nearly awash. Off to the east, I could see signs of a thunderhead gathering. Then things became jumbled and unclear.

Suddenly I was back on shore and the boys were being missed. I know its summertime, Mary, but I still need help with the yard and our sons have been scurrying around like weasels all week. The chores get just a lick and a promise. What have they been up to?

I don’t know, Edward, but I’m worried. They’ve been gone all morning and the Misty is missing too. And Justy was supposed to be reading up on his books.

You can’t expect a thirteen year old . . . Mary said, but John . . . . She broke off as she recognized me. Richard, what are you doing here ? Suddenly I woke up.

I sat up straight in my hammock, my heart beating rapidly. I got up and went to the window to look out. A crescent moon was just setting in the west and I could see its reflection in the waters of the harbor lighting up the masts of the ships. All seemed quiet and I went back to bed.

Next thing I knew it was morning. The day had dawned clear and I was soon off again retracing my way back to St. German’s.

Chapter 2

Catchfrench

I was back at Uncle Jim’s now and it was early afternoon. The sun was bright. My cousin greeted me somewhat heatedly, Richard! What took thee so long! I thought thee’d be here last night! Did thee get the maps and books?

They’re right here, Uncle, I said, waiving the saddlebag I had the devil of a time finding them and, if it hadn’t been for John and Justinian—.

So that’s where thee’ve been, he interrupted me.

Thy cousin Edward thinks thee crazy, I said, hopefully, changing the subject, but John and Justy want to go with thee to America.

Thee didn’t tell them our plans, did thee?

No, not really. I don’t know that much, really I don’t.

His voice softened, Then come with me tonight Richard. But be silent. Frank Rawle and his father are really sharp. I want them to do the talking.

Uncle James, at 35, was an energetic young man at the height of his career. Lean and light skinned, his bushy beard made him look older than he really was. He and his older brother, Francis, had taken over the cloth making business when their father had died fifteen years ago. Like many Quakers of their day, they had found that people valued them for their honesty and attention to business. They prospered, even if the authorities continued to make it difficult for them to practice their religion. James was itching to try something new and he had the money to do it.

"Go get thyself some food, Richard. We need to leave here in about an hour.

The road to Catchfrench was well worn and dusty. My Uncle’s mother, Dorothy Kekewich Fox, now in her late sixties, still lived there and we visited her often. The property was ancient but the house had been the built by the Kekewich family in 1595. Fortunately, it had been available when her husband—the first Francis Fox—had moved down from Salisbury in 1645 and married her.

We trotted in past the barns, sheep pens and vegetable gardens and around to the front of the house. Tying up our horses, we both walked over to take in the view. My own home was in the country up near Gloucester but this scene, looking out over the green fields and hedgerows of Cornwall, always made me catch my breath. And the gardens! We of the Society have always loved our gardens.

The house was built from local stone and mortar. It was not large but it was solid, the heavy walls keeping the place cool in the summer and retaining the warmth from the fireplace in the winter. The Kekewich men had been High Sheriffs in Cornwall and whenever I heard the name ‘Catchfrench’, I thought of Frenchmen hiding from the law. This part of England was within easy sailing distance of France and the normal customs procedures were not always followed.

There were many horses tied up behind the house, now, as my Aunt came out to greet us. She walked with a cane, due to a recent fall, and her arthritis bothered her. Nonetheless, her demeanor demanded our full attention. Her clothes were simple but elegant.

James, she said, I think I’m going to sell this place. It’s too much for me all alone and Hugh Boscawan has made me a good offer.

Has thee spoken to Frank? Uncle James asked.

Ah! Francis has already agreed to take me in with him, she said, and Tabby thinks it’s a great idea, too. I spoke with her at the women’s meeting on First Day. I can be a big help with the children. And I’ll bring Nancy and John with me. Nancy and John were longtime servants.

I figured they’d really be welcome. Francis Fox’s wife, Joan, had died several years ago and he was raising five young children by himself. However, he had recently become engaged. Tabby, his bride-to-be, was pretty special. Not only was she a beauty but she came from the respected Croker family of Devon. I liked her a lot.

Thee already spends half thy time over there, remarked Uncle Jim.

Francis has a tooth that needs to be pulled and the children… Johnny has always been a sickly child and now Franky… She hesitated, Doctor Crabtree was over there to bleed him yesterday. Hope that brings him round. I’ll go back over there tomorrow.

‘Hope he improves, I was hoping to take him with me to Penns’ land."

She grabbed at this new subject, James, art thee really going to America and take Elizabeth and the children? That’s such a big step… and hard on Jimmy and little Lizzie… they’re still just babies.

They’ll be three and six. And George is old enough to be a big help. But Betsy and I are seeing to it that she’s not going to be pregnant. We’re back to using the old bundling board.

So it’s that certain is it?

Tonight may tell the story, mother. We could be able to leave as soon as next March, if Penn agrees to our proposal.

Francis and Tabitha are going to be married at the end of March! Can’t thee put it off ’til later?

The Rawles are anxious to get this settled. They want to get out of England badly. They’re an important part of this venture. He paused and then went on, I’ll see what I can do to delay it, mother—but our timing is critical. Thee knows that.

I had been silent through all this but now I put my oar in, "There’s