The Pain Of Privilege (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 4)

by Andrew Wareham

  Dinner, the fresh foods a very welcome change – with the best will in the world, the cooks on the Indiaman were very limited in their offerings – they could bake fresh bread daily and did all they could with salted and smoked meats and sausage and were able to kill a chicken or two each week, but they could not provide green vegetables and the fruit was getting very tired. A few days of good eating was a joy in its own right and would set them all up for the second leg of the voyage. It surprised James to observe his fellow-passengers devouring fresh red meats with obvious delight and hardly touching the green stuff, though it did not amaze him at all that the majority were also happily punishing the Cape’s wines and declaring them to be remarkably good, the Constantia amazingly so – too many of them spent most of the voyage in a gentle bibulous haze, alcohol their only protection against the tedium. James, at his parents’ urging and to Mr Michael’s selection, had brought books with him, spent at least two hours of every day in their company, reading to his professional betterment and actually enjoying the tales of Walter Scott. He was glad that he was travelling out to join his people, a replacement for an officer dead of fever or killed in action, he did not know which. Had he been on a trooper in the enforced company of other subalterns then reading would have been an impossibility, a thing actively discouraged by the more senior officers – his spare time would have been occupied exclusively by cards and drinking, no other pursuits tolerated in the healthy young man.

  They sailed into rougher weather than they had known in the Atlantic, their master delighted to have picked up the first winds of an early monsoon, they would save at least a month on passage, he informed them. As a thoroughly welcome side-effect, the bulk of his passengers took to their cabins and were rarely to be seen wandering about the deck and getting in the sailors’ way, and only a hardy few dined in the Great Cabin each evening. James found that he was a good sailor, that his stomach showed no disquiet at all as the ship pitched and rolled. In the nature of things he conversed more with the captain at table, there being fewer of the more important mortals to monopolise his attention.

  “You are a Rifleman, I see, Lieutenant Andrews – you will pardon the comment, I am sure, but it is not the most fashionable of regiments?”

  “I prefer to be a soldier, sir. I could have become a Guardee instead, had I wished to be pretty in Hyde Park, but my father and I agreed that I could still attend fancy-dress parties occasionally if I felt the need whilst remaining a working officer. I hope to enjoy a working career, sir, otherwise, why join?”

  “Why indeed, Lieutenant – I am sure you are wise in your choice. You have campaigned already, I believe?”

  James glanced at his left hand, nodded his agreement. “A moment’s carelessness, a little of bad luck, or, possibly good, it could have been much worse, after all. West Africa, the recent little expedition against the slave ports there – a sufficiently worthwhile cause, I am sure you will agree, sir.”

  The Romanticism of Scott was evidently rubbing off on James, he noticed it himself, wondering where he had picked up the idea of a ‘good cause’. A soldier needed no causes at all; he should obey his orders without querying the motivations behind them. Equally, slavery was an evil, of that he had no doubt, so perhaps he was entitled to be proud of having played a small part in its extirpation. Lord Star had been especially pleased with him, now he came to think of it, and he had recently become a named patron of the Anti-Slavery Society, strange for a Cotton King, although he was Chapel and the Nonconformists had themselves lately joined the cause of Emancipation.

  He was to report at Bombay itself, the Rifles quite possibly having been detached to another part of the country so that he must discover where exactly he was to go. He would take the opportunity to further his brief acquaintance with Major Wolverstone – his allowance would be paid through Roberts so it made sense to make contact there at an early stage. He wondered whether his parents had arranged something, if perhaps he would find himself held back in the city as ADC to the Governor-General or whatever they called him – possible, his mother might want that though he thought Father would not, but the Governor, if that’s what he was, was related to the Grafhams, he believed, he seemed to remember his mother making something of that when they were thinking of a career for Robert. Poor old Rob! Married and settled down already – it wasn’t all milk and honey being the heir to the title, lots of money, of course, but James felt he didn’t need that, his allowance was quite adequate until he married, and that would not be until he was a captain at least, probably major. Say four years as a lieutenant, if there was a campaign or two to make it look right, then buy his captaincy, six years at least before he took up a majority – so it was ten years before he would be expected to become a family man – he would be old by then, close to thirty! The captain said he expected to make port tomorrow, a good passage, little more than twenty weeks at sea – he was glad he had never wanted to be a sailor, it was the most boring thing imaginable, day after day crawling across the empty oceans, eating bad food and talking to the same few people with nothing new to say. Nothing to occupy himself with, either, Miss Burns was becoming prettier every day, and that would never do! Still, Bombay would undoubtedly provide some entertainment, though, thinking on it, Wolverstone had seemed a rather straight-laced sort – that could be difficult, a soldier who had achieved distinction but was now one of his father’s people – he would have to tread carefully there.

  Once ashore James made his way to the offices of the Governor, judging it better to go there than to the barracks of the only King’s forces in the town, they were cavalry, he believed, would have little time for a soldier of the line – obviously, he would not go to the Company’s people for orders. He gave his name to a clerk sat at a desk just inside the main doors, fully expecting to be told, eventually, to come back next day or the one after to see a junior official, was instead ushered up a flight of stairs after no more than a ten-minute delay, was taken into the private office of the Governor himself.

  “Cavendish, Lieutenant Andrews – I believe we are cousins at one remove – your parents wrote that you were coming out. You are to report to your people next week, Lieutenant – a few days to acclimatise first, you will be able to stay with Major Wolverstone for the week, I presume? If not, though I can see no reason why not, we can make other arrangements. Then it will, I understand, be a ship again for you – there is a tidy little war going on against the Burmese and you are to take a detachment of your Rifles to the east coast – one of the Marine frigates will provide you with a passage, I understand. It was thought that you would prefer to be busy, rather than sit about in barracks for the next couple of years – you have already been involved in one campaign, I know, so you will be happy to do some more real soldiering.”

  James made his thanks – he was very pleased to be given the opportunity, suspected that some other, less favoured, unknown subaltern would be very displeased to be pushed back into the barracks, but that was the way of life, after all. He accompanied his guide to a carriage – a ‘gharry’, he was told – and was taken to Wolverstone’s bungalow where he found that the major, forewarned, had hired a couple of extra house staff for his entertainment – he presumed that he would not object. Two smiling, very willing young lasses, both far more attractive than Miss Burns, and available with no strings attached – he had no objections at all.

  Book Four: A Poor Man

  at the Gate Series

  Chapter Four

  John Quillerson was not at the dockside – it would have been merest coincidence had he been with no way of knowing to the nearest week when they would reach New York. There was a message with the agents and arrangements had been made for warehousing of the colonists’ baggage and household effects and rooms had been hired in a pair of large inns on the northern outskirts of the city, an hour’s journey by carriage through the great town, larger far than Bristol which was the biggest built-up area most had ever seen before. He joined them there later in the
day.

  “I thought America was empty, Mr Quillerson – this place must be nigh on as big as London town!”

  “Not one tenth as large, Mr White, as some of the ex-soldiers would tell you, sir.” Quillerson was dismissive, all business, the sophisticate in the presence of hicks. “Now, Mr White, we have time enough, just, to reach your lands and to raise cabins there before winter sets in, provided all work together. We shall take a flatboat up the river for two days and then wagons for one more, two families to each wagon – using horses rather than oxen as there is a road for much of the way and a pair of Americans – frontiersmen – have scouted out a fairly flat track for the remainder. I have paid a gang of labourers to cut trees over this summer so some of the hardest work has been done on each of the sections and in the new village and you will be able to erect and roof two-roomed places for each family, I expect. Over the years people will be able to expand their shacks and turn them into respectable homesteads – but that will take time.”

  White was somewhat daunted by the prospect – he had not really considered some of the practicalities and the golden haze of a free life in a new land began to take a slight tarnish.

  “My lord has arranged for there to be sacks of flour for every household and I have been able to buy in some quantity of roots. Meat will be the responsibility of the hunters this year – the last communication said there was to be four single men, lately soldiers and discharged from the Army, who would be able to walk the woods. I have bought rifled muskets and powder and ball for them, as well as a pair of scatter guns for wildfowling. There are none of hostile Indians in the vicinity, I believe, so there is little need for a fort, but every family must have a musket and ball at least – there are bears and, or so I am told, wolves in winter, and the occasional big cat has been reported, and the odd outlaw band, though those are rare indeed. They were mostly soldiers of the late war who were defeated in the invasion of Canada and took to marauding – few still live, I am assured, justice being both arbitrary and vigorous in the backwoods. We should set out tomorrow, at dawn, Mr White.”

  White, who had known John Quillerson as an idle and incompetent youth in England, was surprised, and upset, to find him to be an assertive and able man in America. He enquired whether the young gentleman intended to settle with their new community.

  “No, Mr White – a settler without a wife? Impossible, sir! And I have no intention to change my single state in the immediate future. I have it in mind, in fact, to return to England for a month or two to arrange for advertisements in the local newspapers and to charter a ship to make her passage at twice a year to bring more of vigorous agricultural workers to the States. In exchange for a small fee, I shall file on sections of land for them and make arrangements much as I have for the Finedon people. They will not have cash to hand in the first year or two, so they will take a loan from the bank, secured against their land and repayable in twenty years, typically. The thrifty will be well-off by then and will be able to pay off a hundred or two quite easily, I think.”

  It occurred to White that the unthrifty would have put together working farms by then and that Mr John Quillerson would be in the way of coming in to a very large holding of eminently rentable lands by the age of forty. There was nothing unlawful in his scheme, and it was only reasonable that those who worked hard and saved sensibly would come out as wealthy men themselves, and there was no particular reason why the idle and feckless should prosper.

  “A very sensible plan, Mr Quillerson.”

  The wagons had been loaded from the warehouse, appeared at dawn, the teams of shire horses bringing them to the dock where the river boats waited and then sent back to the city. Lighter horses, which could at a pinch be used as riding stock, less able to pull heavy weights but much more capable of walking for days at a time, would be waiting where the river shallowed. The families anxiously made inventory of their precious possessions, found, to their amazement, that nothing had been stolen.

  “An arrangement at the docks, Mr White. A small payment made to the gang that has control of the wharves we use and they will steal nothing themselves and ensure that no casual thief who happens by will walk off with anything, including his own hands, apparently. Not a desirable way of doing things, but far the most practical and, when in Rome, you know …”

  White did know but had not been aware he was in Rome – this seemed much more like Babylon.

  The wagons would be their shelter for the night on their way to their farmsteads and their home for as long as it took to raise a dry cabin – at eighteen feet long and five wide they were an incentive in themselves to rapid building. Each had a canvas tilt and was warranted to be waterproof, but they would be cramped accommodation for the families.

  John Quillerson provided a list he had made in consultation with longer established American farmers and outlining the basic minimum necessities for the homesteader. He suggested that where a family was lacking he would be able to supply the items required.

  At a price, of course.

  White took a copy of the list, agreed to talk to every family over the days of travel and discover what, if anything, they needed.

  “Spinning wheel and hand-loom – most of the goodwives will have those with them, especially where the daughters are handy. Soap-kettles, for boiling lye and fats, I know both of the Barneys have them and they will probably sell to the rest of us, they always did back in Finedon. A copper for washing-day – everybody’s got one of they! Pots and pans and pewterware and some earthenware dishes, most of us should have enough of them, same for knives and forks and spoons; buckets, both wooden and metal, if possible – should be right for them. Grindstones – we mostly used a piece of ironstone back in Finedon, ought to be able to pick up a bit of sandstone of some sort out here. Scissors and shears – they should all have them, if not, I can make them up as soon as the forge is going. Needles – knitting, sewing and crochet – might be a problem with darning needles, they break and ain’t easy to make. Nails, I brought half a dozen buckets of them from the old smithy.”

  He glanced through the other items, called his wife to conference.

  “Cotton and woollen sheeting and blanketing, Mr White, in the bolt to be cut out and sewn up; we have a little, but was expecting to buy more. The same for heavy woollies for thick work trousers and dresses – only a little. Leather? None. Linen and flannel for drawers and such – plenty and enough. Seeds for the kitchen garden – plenty and to spare, enough to plant at twice in case they should fail; a few of flowers, as well. Blocks of salt, enough; and some soap ready made. A mirror, for the house – no, I doubt we have one between us all, Mr White. Empty glass and earthenware bottles, for ginger-beer and such! Not one, I never gave that a thought! Pens, ink and writing-paper, I have not, nor I should think has any of us.”

  The lacks were noted and would be made good, before winter.

  “We will all need work to do when the snow is on the ground, Mr White.”

  John Quillerson produced a little notebook, glanced at his aide-memoire.

  “Iron and coals, Mr White – a man came out from Lancashire, from the Roberts Works, and has gone out into the hills surrounding your lands. He has located three different workings of iron and one of good steam-coal and says that he has spotted small pockets of other minerals, shallow and hence workable without great expense. I have set a family of charcoal-burners – low, Diddicoi types – to work already, and they will have a few tons to hand for you – you will make your own arrangements for paying them, I presume, sir?”

  “I shall, Mr Quillerson. Have you given thought to the location of the village, sir?”

  “On the river, in the valley where it leaves the hills of the area, there is a bench some thirty feet above the bottom land, wide and fairly flat, and fertile, good for gardens. The valley sides will provide some shelter from the worst of the weather and the terrace itself seems to be above any flood line. The area is heavily wooded on the hills, of course, the whole of that cou
ntry is, tall hardwoods on the lower slopes and soft at higher except where the land is steep, and there the berry bushes grow thick. It seems likely that where the valley turns and presents a south-facing aspect it would be possible to plant fruit trees that would crop heavily. The valley widens out, becomes a plain in fact, just south of the site and gives a considerable expanse of good wheat and corn lands before rising to gentler hills which would take cattle or hogs, maybe even sheep, though I am less certain of what they require. The canal, when it comes, will be a bare ten miles distant.”

  “The coal and iron you spoke of, sir, will they be accessible by wagon?”

  “I would think so, Mr White. In time a trackway would make sense, I expect.”

  It seemed to White that the young man was thinking more of an ironworks than a forge, a degree of ambition that had not previously occurred to him.

  “What of the mill, sir?”

  “Above the village a bare quarter of a mile the stream takes a wide turn around an outcropping of hard rock. It should be possible to throw a weir across, no more than fifty or sixty feet wide, to provide a header pond and then a flume to, if possible, an undershot wheel – I have drawings published here in the States which suggest how it might be done, stage by stage. There is a great interest in the needs of new settlers, obviously enough, and a large number of books and pamphlets addressing various topics of concern to them. I have bought some, had thought to place them in the schoolroom for the use of all.”

  White was impressed, again, at the young man’s breadth of vision, began slowly to wonder where it was leading. The States was a young country, was not even, necessarily, a country at all in the old, European sense. He had read that the Dutch settlers at the Cape were suggesting that they had the right to strike out on their own, away from the existing government there, creating their own new country in effect – possibly young Mr Quillerson had much the same set of ideas in the back of his mind. There was room in this new continent for another homeland, a buffer between Canada and the United States and possibly welcome to both. A letter back to England, to seek advice from my lord, might be a very wise move on his part – for all he knew this might be part of some grand plan of my lord’s, in which case he would be well advised to cooperate; equally, was my lord in ignorance of his agent’s activities then he might be very thankful to the man who dropped him the hard word.