CHAPTER 1

He maketh me to lie down ingreen pastures: he leadeth mebeside the still waters.Psalm 23:2

Badby Village, Daventry, Northamptonshire, England—March 1630

The workday came early for me, as it did with every dawn. As theearly spring sun peeked over the small, rounded hills and denseforests of Badby Village in Daventry, I moved—after a quickbreakfast of raw milk and biscuits—off to our family's farmyard to feedthe small herd of two cows, a handful of skinny chickens, a few sheep,and one poor horse that pulled our plows and our wagons. As for me, Istood taller than average and, with a build like a rooted tree trunk, easilycarried myself to these tasks. My duties, responsibilities, and future wereclear—my Puritan heritage honor-bound me to serve my father, ThomasSmythe, and my elder brother, Jacob, both on the family farm and onthe weaving loom.

My family called me Jonathan, and as the younger son of this tenantfamily, I foresaw my fate sealed into a life of servitude to my elderbrother. On the death of our father, Jacob—at twenty-five the elderson—would inherit our thatched two-room cottage, the farm acreage,and the weaving, with me left to work for him. I would be left withnothing. I would own nothing—not that there existed a great amount toown. For a headstrong twenty-year-old, this eventual servitude did notsit well with me. My father and brother knew well my feelings, dreams,and plans of colonization and independence in the New World.

Our king, Charles I, had started war with Spain in 1625, leaving ourcountry in massive debt and opening up the possibility of colonizationin the New World for adventurous Englishmen such as me. This kingproclaimed reforms that resulted in prosecutions and persecutions forall Puritans who did not adhere to sacramental Anglican Church laws.To make matters worse, the lord of our parish, Lord Kingley, causedconsiderable unrest by his attempts to turn much of the croplands topasture and to restrict our hunting rights in Badby Wood.

Grumbling to myself over my lot, I much anticipated a secret huntingtrip after His Lordship's deer into the surrounding Badby Wood withmy good friend Aaron Carpenter; we had been friends since we wereweaned. Our small family plots of land adjoined each other and thecommon tenant area of Badby Village. At least my father and brother, Ithought, could not deny me the opportunity to put much-needed meat onthe table. To hell with Lord Kingley and his band of ruffians! Poachingdeer was only a minor crime, punishable by time in the stocks if caught.Our plan was to not get caught!

A low whistle caught my attention as Aaron bounded into thefarmyard. Aaron, slightly shorter than I, was well muscled and had thefamiliar curly red hair of the village. I noticed that Aaron carried hisfather's musket with him. A full moon ago, Aaron and I had venturedinto Badby Wood on a scouting mission to choose good game-huntingsites. We'd been brutally chased off by Kingley's hired men. Aaron hadsuffered badly bruised ribs from one of the cudgel wielders.

"A good day to you, Jonathan," Aaron bubbled. Always cheerful, hecould put a smile on my face in my gloomiest moods.

"Aye, but keep the noise down, lad. If we stir the elders, we'll neverleave the village."

"Come, boy, the early start to this day means His Lordship's boysmay be sleepin', so we can sneak past 'em!"

It was a good thought, and Aaron helped me finish off the chores. Myfather and brother had warned me not to touch the musket and shot, butthe sense of adventure overcame my timidity. I sneaked into our thatchedcottage, crept carefully across the main room to the smoldering fireplace,and gently lifted the musket, powder, and shot bags from the mantelrack on the fireplace. My father and mother were snoring peacefully intheir separate alcove off the main room. Brother Jacob was still snoringon his pallet in the loft above them. My two younger sisters were notstirring in their blissful sleep. I eased myself back across the centralroom, soundlessly closed the heavy oaken main door, and ventured intothe farmyard, where Aaron awaited.

"Off we go with us, and may the Almighty keep our powder dry andour shots straight," I whispered to Aaron with a smile.

* * *

We trotted down the well-beaten main road of the village to the edge ofBadby Wood and then quickly disappeared into the cover of the denseforest. Badby Wood had originally been set aside for deer hunting, but oflate, Lord Kingley had further limited access to the good hunting areas.Hired bands of Kingley's thugs now guarded and roamed the woods,searching for poachers, further enraging the villagers. Aaron and I knewfrom our experiences that these thugs were ever vigilant, but we had aplan.

We knew these woods like the backs of our hands. The warm sun hadleafed out the massive oaks, increasing the silence in the almost cathedral-likeforest. We planned to keep away from the main trails through theforest. The dense underbrush and thickets slowed our progress, but weknew that patrols kept their keen eyes on the main trails. We pushedonward toward our hunting site. The sun had slipped over the nearesthilltop, burning off the morning mists. The calls of familiar birds werethe only sounds. As we crested a slight rise, we caught sight of what wehad come for—a doe placidly browsing in the clearing directly in frontof us. She had not caught our scent or noticed our arrival and continuedfeeding. I quickly and efficiently loaded my musket and prepared to fire.Aaron, who was following me, had sighted in on the doe before me andhad already aimed his loaded musket. Our two shots rang out almostsimultaneously. The doe leaped, staggered, and fell. The two shots hadthudded into the doe below the shoulder, instantly killing it. We hurriedto the animal and began field dressing it.

Intent on our tasks, we were heedless to the men noiselessly arriving.The musket shots ringing out in the forest had revealed our locationto one of His Lordship's patrols. A snapping twig alerted me to theapproaching danger. I sprang to my feet, the bloodied knife from dressingthe deer in my hand. Four gnarled and muscular men approached uson the run. Aaron grabbed for his musket, but two of the men quicklyoverpowered and bound him. The other two wrestled me to the ground,punching and kicking me into submission. The leader of the thugs—ascarred Irish ruffian named O'Malley, whom we knew to be quick toanger and merciless, based on a previous encounter—displayed a specialdislike for English Puritans.

"Out for a little hunting, be you? His Lordship don't take kindly topoachers!" O'Malley snarled,...