Chapter 1- The Crowning of King Edward
Welcome, reader, to the glorious tale of a great island kingdom, who through one man’s insanity, the actions of a daring clergyman, and a large amount of luck, manages to survive through the ages!
This is the story of an independent St. Helena (that's right ), and it begins in the streets of Elizabethan London…
Some OTL information:
Edward Fenton (d. 1603) was an English seaman, adventurer, and navigator. He was born into a wealthy family in Nottingham, but sold away his inheritance to embark on an adventurous life of swashbuckling feats. He had a long career before his captaincy of the Bear, serving in Ireland and even sailing with (and ignoring the orders of) Martin Frobisher in his expedition to the North, but is most commonly known as the captain of a failed expedition to Indonesia.
In early 1582, after a series of failures and losses to the Portuguese and Dutch, English merchants wanted to secure their ever-fragile presence in the East Indies and the lucrative spice trade by sending another expedition. Their choice of captain, a certain Edward Fenton, was a foolish one, as they soon discovered. The Earl of Leicester was the patron of this particular voyage (The East India Company was not granted a charter until 1600) and, knowing of Fenton’s erratic personality, assigned the loyal and talented seaman, William Hawkins, Jr., as second-in-command of the Bear, Fenton’s flagship, to keep an eye on him. His mission was to prove unsuccessful. The other ships of the expedition were the Edward Bonaventure, and the Elizabeth, a small pinnace.
POD: In OTL, Fenton had a scheme to sail to St. Helena and "theire to be proclaimed kyng". Hawkins and the on-board preacher managed to dissuade him, much to his chagrin. However, here he will convince some of his crew to follow in his mad endeavor.
Now, let’s go!
25 September, 1582
Edward Fenton, captain of the Bear, sat in his cabin and gazed at the instructions laid upon his desk. The Earl of Leicester, knowing this man’s propensity for suddenly ignoring directions and taking his own course once at sea, had laid out his route in minute detail. “You shall go on your course by the Cape of Good Hope, not passing the Strait of Magellan either going or returning,” read the document. “You shall not passe to the north-eastward of the fortie degree of latitude at the most, but shall take your right course to the Isles of the Moluccas.”
Moluccas indeed! Cape of Good Hope indeed! Fenton had no intention of going quite so far off. He was quite content to stay where he was, off the African coast, and raid Portuguese carracks whenever they happened to pass by. Indeed, he had already made a fortune comparable to the one he already had at home by doing just that. He didn’t give a damn if the Portuguese or the damned Dutch got to the Indies first. Let them make the voyage. For his part, Edward did not like following orders. A number of years ago he had travelled with Martin Frobisher on his expedition to find the North-West Passage to the Indies. Fenton had soon peeled off from the group, and instead sailed to Baffin Island, where he discovered gold. The fools in London hadn’t known the difference then; they wouldn’t know the difference now either.
Edward’s reminiscing was interrupted abruptly by a sharp knocking on his door. William Hawkins, Jr., the irritatingly loyal lieutenant-general of the Bear, entered the cabin. His face was a peculiar shade of maroon. Or was it fuchsia?
“Captain Fenton! We have been adrift for two weeks, doing nothing of any value!” exclaimed Hawkins. “We are several weeks off schedule, and we’ll be lucky if we make it to the Indies without having to stop at Goa as well as Table Bay and Bantam!”
“As I have previously told you, Hawkins, this ships, nor the others under my command are going to the Indies,” said Fenton flatly. “And it is truly preposterous that you venture to say we have done nothing of value! £3,000 of goods from Portuguese vessels! Enough to buy you grain and a house for the rest of your days twice over and you call it nothing?!” Fenton’s annoyance spilled into his voice.
“Whatever personal wealth you may be planning to amass, whatever your promises to the crew, I shall not stand for this blatant disregard of orders, this treachery!” Hawkins snapped, putting his hands on the desk and leaning towards Fenton. Fenton despised Hawkins more than could be imagined. While he was loathe to admit it, Fenton knew that Hawkins was an able seaman, more able than himself. This was clearly why the Earl of Leicester had sent him along with Fenton… to monitor him! Jealous and enraged, he decided he would no longer put up with the man.
Storming out of the cabin, he called over two sailors. “Clap this impudent man in irons,” said Fenton, “and put him in the brig!”. The sailors duly obliged, half-fearing and half-respecting this eccentric man.
Fenton stormed back to his cabin and slammed the door. He sat heavily at his desk and glowered over the instructions from Leicester:
“Take your course to the Isles of Mollucaes for the better discourie of the North-west passage, if without hindrance of your trade, and within the same degree you can get any knowledge touching that passage, whereof you shall do well to bee inquisitive as occasion in this sort may serve.”
Edward Fenton would take his course where Edward Fenton wanted! He seized the paper and flung it to the other side of the cabin with a cry of rage. All he wanted was to have one last adventure. The aging seaman sighed and poured some rum into a ceramic cup. He held the cup without drinking, examining the cracks running along its edge. He idly opened his palm and looked at its lined and worn surface. Suddenly he jerked alert, nearly spilling his cup. Taking a quick gulp of rum he pulled out his charts. An idea had seized him. He scanned his map, his finger tracing the coast of Europe… Amsterdam, Bruges, Calais, Caux, Caen. Eventually his finger reached a small mark in the middle of the Atlantic. Had it not been labelled, anyone would have mistaken this islet for an ink smudge. St. Helena lay in the middle of sea, unclaimed by any nation, open for the pickings!
Fenton, with a renewed energy sprang up and made for the cabin of Thomas Dailey, the on-board preacher. Although only a clergyman by trade, he was surprisingly knowledgeable in a variety of fields, and Fenton had found himself asking the man’s advice many a time before.
“Dailey,” said Fenton, “know you anything of the isle of St. Helena?”. The preacher looked up from his stool, where he was eating his dinner. Putting down his loaf and cheese, he rose and faced Fenton. “Nay,” he said. “I’m not sure if anyone knows much about that God-forsaken place. What… what are you thinking, Fenton?”
Edward Fenton grinned at him. “It has been visited though?”
“Yes,” said Dailey, “though not for quite some time. It’s habitable I believe…” he added hesitantly. “Captain, I implore you to tell me your thoughts. I am growing quite sick!”
The old seaman gave another wild grin. “My thoughts? I am minded to claiming this island for myself, Dailey!” he exclaimed, his grin growing ever wider, showing an array of decaying teeth.
The preacher stared at Fenton in disbelief. “I have known you to be of an eccentric disposition, Fenton, but this is truly mad! How do you even imagine that you will do this? What of the men? What of our allegiance, Fenton? King and country?!”
“Queen and country, remember Dailey…” laughed Fenton. “My allegiance is only to myself , and to the sea. I will not be dissuaded! I did not come to you for chastisement, rather for your technical knowledge.”
“Fenton, you cannot…”
“I shall not be dissuaded!”
“But…”
“No.”
“Surely, Fenton, you must…”
“NO!”
“FENTON!” Dailey shouted, ignoring the captain’s third “no”, “I will not allow this, and neither will Hawkins! As a senior officer aboard this vessel I demand that…”
“Hawkins, you say? If you admire him, do you care to spend the night with him in the brig?!” shouted Fenton.
Dailey sighed. He sat heavily upon his stool and impaled a sliver of cheese on his knife. He bit it off, looked at Fenton, and sighed. He didn’t have time to think of a retort before Fenton stormed off in his usual fashion. Dailey was suddenly seized by a chuckle. What a ridiculous situation he was in! Well, nothing for it but to see what happened, he thought to himself. He couldn’t help but admire Fenton’s stubborn determination. Somehow he found himself hoping that if he ever boarded another ship, it would be with the old sea-dog, Edward Fenton.
Later that day, Fenton summoned he summoned his crew. As the West African sun set over the Atlantic, he stood upon the poop deck and surveyed his men. The 38-man crew of the Bear was certainly not drawn from the highest levels of society (then again, what sailor was), but Fenton had a certain love for them, and they for him, despite his many oddities and frequent outbursts of rage. “I have gathered you men here today,” Fenton addressed the group, “to present to you, loyal men, my new idea.” There was some stirring among the motley crew, with much nervous chuckling and anticipatory whispers. “My intention is to seize the isle of St. Helena, to possess the same, and there to proclaimed king!” Fenton beamed down at the horrified crew. Noticing the disgruntled murmurs, he hastily continued. “Do not think that you shall be without reward,” he said, “for I am a man of great wealth. Within the month, we shall be arrived, gentleman, at the Kingdom of St. Helena! Now send word to the Bonaventure, and the Elizabeth.” He glanced down and saw Thomas Dailey among the crowd, and grinned.
--
Comments? Advice?
Welcome, reader, to the glorious tale of a great island kingdom, who through one man’s insanity, the actions of a daring clergyman, and a large amount of luck, manages to survive through the ages!
This is the story of an independent St. Helena (that's right ), and it begins in the streets of Elizabethan London…Some OTL information:
Edward Fenton (d. 1603) was an English seaman, adventurer, and navigator. He was born into a wealthy family in Nottingham, but sold away his inheritance to embark on an adventurous life of swashbuckling feats. He had a long career before his captaincy of the Bear, serving in Ireland and even sailing with (and ignoring the orders of) Martin Frobisher in his expedition to the North, but is most commonly known as the captain of a failed expedition to Indonesia.
In early 1582, after a series of failures and losses to the Portuguese and Dutch, English merchants wanted to secure their ever-fragile presence in the East Indies and the lucrative spice trade by sending another expedition. Their choice of captain, a certain Edward Fenton, was a foolish one, as they soon discovered. The Earl of Leicester was the patron of this particular voyage (The East India Company was not granted a charter until 1600) and, knowing of Fenton’s erratic personality, assigned the loyal and talented seaman, William Hawkins, Jr., as second-in-command of the Bear, Fenton’s flagship, to keep an eye on him. His mission was to prove unsuccessful. The other ships of the expedition were the Edward Bonaventure, and the Elizabeth, a small pinnace.
POD: In OTL, Fenton had a scheme to sail to St. Helena and "theire to be proclaimed kyng". Hawkins and the on-board preacher managed to dissuade him, much to his chagrin. However, here he will convince some of his crew to follow in his mad endeavor.
Now, let’s go!
25 September, 1582
Edward Fenton, captain of the Bear, sat in his cabin and gazed at the instructions laid upon his desk. The Earl of Leicester, knowing this man’s propensity for suddenly ignoring directions and taking his own course once at sea, had laid out his route in minute detail. “You shall go on your course by the Cape of Good Hope, not passing the Strait of Magellan either going or returning,” read the document. “You shall not passe to the north-eastward of the fortie degree of latitude at the most, but shall take your right course to the Isles of the Moluccas.”
Moluccas indeed! Cape of Good Hope indeed! Fenton had no intention of going quite so far off. He was quite content to stay where he was, off the African coast, and raid Portuguese carracks whenever they happened to pass by. Indeed, he had already made a fortune comparable to the one he already had at home by doing just that. He didn’t give a damn if the Portuguese or the damned Dutch got to the Indies first. Let them make the voyage. For his part, Edward did not like following orders. A number of years ago he had travelled with Martin Frobisher on his expedition to find the North-West Passage to the Indies. Fenton had soon peeled off from the group, and instead sailed to Baffin Island, where he discovered gold. The fools in London hadn’t known the difference then; they wouldn’t know the difference now either.
Edward’s reminiscing was interrupted abruptly by a sharp knocking on his door. William Hawkins, Jr., the irritatingly loyal lieutenant-general of the Bear, entered the cabin. His face was a peculiar shade of maroon. Or was it fuchsia?
“Captain Fenton! We have been adrift for two weeks, doing nothing of any value!” exclaimed Hawkins. “We are several weeks off schedule, and we’ll be lucky if we make it to the Indies without having to stop at Goa as well as Table Bay and Bantam!”
“As I have previously told you, Hawkins, this ships, nor the others under my command are going to the Indies,” said Fenton flatly. “And it is truly preposterous that you venture to say we have done nothing of value! £3,000 of goods from Portuguese vessels! Enough to buy you grain and a house for the rest of your days twice over and you call it nothing?!” Fenton’s annoyance spilled into his voice.
“Whatever personal wealth you may be planning to amass, whatever your promises to the crew, I shall not stand for this blatant disregard of orders, this treachery!” Hawkins snapped, putting his hands on the desk and leaning towards Fenton. Fenton despised Hawkins more than could be imagined. While he was loathe to admit it, Fenton knew that Hawkins was an able seaman, more able than himself. This was clearly why the Earl of Leicester had sent him along with Fenton… to monitor him! Jealous and enraged, he decided he would no longer put up with the man.
Storming out of the cabin, he called over two sailors. “Clap this impudent man in irons,” said Fenton, “and put him in the brig!”. The sailors duly obliged, half-fearing and half-respecting this eccentric man.
Fenton stormed back to his cabin and slammed the door. He sat heavily at his desk and glowered over the instructions from Leicester:
“Take your course to the Isles of Mollucaes for the better discourie of the North-west passage, if without hindrance of your trade, and within the same degree you can get any knowledge touching that passage, whereof you shall do well to bee inquisitive as occasion in this sort may serve.”
Edward Fenton would take his course where Edward Fenton wanted! He seized the paper and flung it to the other side of the cabin with a cry of rage. All he wanted was to have one last adventure. The aging seaman sighed and poured some rum into a ceramic cup. He held the cup without drinking, examining the cracks running along its edge. He idly opened his palm and looked at its lined and worn surface. Suddenly he jerked alert, nearly spilling his cup. Taking a quick gulp of rum he pulled out his charts. An idea had seized him. He scanned his map, his finger tracing the coast of Europe… Amsterdam, Bruges, Calais, Caux, Caen. Eventually his finger reached a small mark in the middle of the Atlantic. Had it not been labelled, anyone would have mistaken this islet for an ink smudge. St. Helena lay in the middle of sea, unclaimed by any nation, open for the pickings!
Fenton, with a renewed energy sprang up and made for the cabin of Thomas Dailey, the on-board preacher. Although only a clergyman by trade, he was surprisingly knowledgeable in a variety of fields, and Fenton had found himself asking the man’s advice many a time before.
“Dailey,” said Fenton, “know you anything of the isle of St. Helena?”. The preacher looked up from his stool, where he was eating his dinner. Putting down his loaf and cheese, he rose and faced Fenton. “Nay,” he said. “I’m not sure if anyone knows much about that God-forsaken place. What… what are you thinking, Fenton?”
Edward Fenton grinned at him. “It has been visited though?”
“Yes,” said Dailey, “though not for quite some time. It’s habitable I believe…” he added hesitantly. “Captain, I implore you to tell me your thoughts. I am growing quite sick!”
The old seaman gave another wild grin. “My thoughts? I am minded to claiming this island for myself, Dailey!” he exclaimed, his grin growing ever wider, showing an array of decaying teeth.
The preacher stared at Fenton in disbelief. “I have known you to be of an eccentric disposition, Fenton, but this is truly mad! How do you even imagine that you will do this? What of the men? What of our allegiance, Fenton? King and country?!”
“Queen and country, remember Dailey…” laughed Fenton. “My allegiance is only to myself , and to the sea. I will not be dissuaded! I did not come to you for chastisement, rather for your technical knowledge.”
“Fenton, you cannot…”
“I shall not be dissuaded!”
“But…”
“No.”
“Surely, Fenton, you must…”
“NO!”
“FENTON!” Dailey shouted, ignoring the captain’s third “no”, “I will not allow this, and neither will Hawkins! As a senior officer aboard this vessel I demand that…”
“Hawkins, you say? If you admire him, do you care to spend the night with him in the brig?!” shouted Fenton.
Dailey sighed. He sat heavily upon his stool and impaled a sliver of cheese on his knife. He bit it off, looked at Fenton, and sighed. He didn’t have time to think of a retort before Fenton stormed off in his usual fashion. Dailey was suddenly seized by a chuckle. What a ridiculous situation he was in! Well, nothing for it but to see what happened, he thought to himself. He couldn’t help but admire Fenton’s stubborn determination. Somehow he found himself hoping that if he ever boarded another ship, it would be with the old sea-dog, Edward Fenton.
Later that day, Fenton summoned he summoned his crew. As the West African sun set over the Atlantic, he stood upon the poop deck and surveyed his men. The 38-man crew of the Bear was certainly not drawn from the highest levels of society (then again, what sailor was), but Fenton had a certain love for them, and they for him, despite his many oddities and frequent outbursts of rage. “I have gathered you men here today,” Fenton addressed the group, “to present to you, loyal men, my new idea.” There was some stirring among the motley crew, with much nervous chuckling and anticipatory whispers. “My intention is to seize the isle of St. Helena, to possess the same, and there to proclaimed king!” Fenton beamed down at the horrified crew. Noticing the disgruntled murmurs, he hastily continued. “Do not think that you shall be without reward,” he said, “for I am a man of great wealth. Within the month, we shall be arrived, gentleman, at the Kingdom of St. Helena! Now send word to the Bonaventure, and the Elizabeth.” He glanced down and saw Thomas Dailey among the crowd, and grinned.
--
Comments? Advice?
