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

by Andrew Wareham

  Peachey hanged three days later, rather to the disapproval of the people of Finedon who regarded him as silly, not criminal. There was a general feeling that if the intended victim had been one of them rather than my lord, then he would have lived.

  Tom returned from Kettering aware that he had lost much of his reputation amongst his own people, he was now seen as being on the side of the hangers and floggers, he was associated with coercion. One hanging, and that of a ne’er-do-well who was no great loss to the village, had destroyed much of the work of twenty years and he doubted he had either the time or the energy to put it all together again. He had a suspicion that Robert would not attempt to – he was a banker now, a member of a class of people not renowned for their love of their fellow-man. A pity, but perhaps he had been wrong to try to cross the boundaries, perhaps, in the end, he had simply discovered that it was not possible for all of the people, rich and poor, leaders and led, to discover a community of interest. He had always hoped, vaguely, to discover that all people were brothers under the skin, but it seemed less likely now than ever it had in the past. A pity if that were so and it left him even more lonely than he had felt just a few days before.

  James disembarked from his transport at Madras, leading his half company of fit soldiers and its tail of sick and convalescents. Almost a quarter of the men remained aboard, returning to their barracks at Bombay for assessment and almost certain discharge, broken by the fevers and probably incapable of ever working again – some of them might be fortunate enough to get a Greenwich pension, the majority would become beggars. James, vaguely aware of their plight, was unmoved, they were not his responsibility any more, his job was to look after the soldiers in his ranks.

  “Keep them together, Sergeant Murphy, in shade if possible, smoking permitted, ready for parade at ten minutes’ notice. I must go to,” he stopped, consulted the note he had received an hour before and which had brought them all ashore, “the Harbour-Master’s Offices where I will find Colonel Ogilvie, a Company Officer, who will pass on our orders.”

  James folded the note carefully, tucked it away in his pocket-book. He treated pieces of paper with respect, they could be dangerous if misread.

  “Don’t fancy that, Sergeant Murphy, taking orders from the Company!”

  “Not uncommon for us, sir, begging your pardon. Rifles detachments are often posted with Company forces, sir.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Murphy – I could have looked stupid for not knowing that.”

  Murphy agreed, but thought it better not to say so. He pointed across to a sign saying ‘HARBOUR-MASTER’, suggested that it was probably where he had to go, turned to the men.

  “Stand easy, but don’t stray, no booze. You can smoke or chew. Unbutton as you want to but we’re at ten minutes warning.”

  He led them to the shade of a godown where they sat on bales waiting to be loaded, ignoring the fluttering labourers who were worried that the soldiers might damage or piss upon their goods.

  James entered the office, fixed the Indian clerk with a very firm stare, asked for Colonel Ogilvie in a loud, clear voice, in the hope that the native might be helped to understand him. The young clerk, fluent in English and with a vocabulary far superior to James’, smiled and bobbed and bowed and led him through to a back room, closing the door gently and politely; the Company gave him a wage ten times greater than he could ever hope to earn elsewhere and he must pay the price in subservience.

  Ogilvie was a typical Company officer – promoted exclusively by seniority, none of this nonsense of ‘merit’ in the Company’s armies – he was well into his fifties, sun-dried and rake-thin, apart from a substantial pot belly, almost bald, eyes both yellow and bloodshot and not at all pretty to behold, veins in his cheeks broken, short of breath. He did not like King’s officers, as a general rule – upstarts promoted by money and very unprofessional – but could make an exception for Riflemen, who tended to be more from the middle sort of people than the upper. He knew that James’ father was a peer, disapproved of this evidence that the so-called aristocracy were infiltrating the ranks of the fighting army now that it was peacetime. They had to work together, however, and would share the same mess for much of the next couple of years, so he had to make the young man welcome, and he came well-recommended. He spotted James’ left hand, cleanly mutilated, probably by sword cut rather than cannon or musket ball, and approved of it – the boy had seen his own blood at hand-to-hand, not merely other people’s, and that tended to make a better soldier, it destroyed the illusion of immortality.

  “Lieutenant Andrews, my orders are that you are to join my command for the campaign in Ceylon. You will know that the southern part, which had been Dutch held, surrendered to us early in the First War, in ’95 or ’96, I believe, but the rest of the island, ruled out of Kandy, has remained in native hands. That is to be remedied, primarily because their king, and I’m damned if I remember his name, far too long, wants us out. I have one of the brigades from the Madras Presidency - two battalions of sepoy infantry; two regiments of horse; four batteries of field artillery, King’s soldiers the latter, it being thought better not to put cannon in the sepoys’ hands, just in case of temptation, you know. The sepoys have their Light Companies but no rifles and you are to make up that lack, obviously enough. How many of you are there?”

  “Very few, sir. I am in command of little more than a half-company of men fit to stand in battle – fifty-three and only one sergeant at this morning’s muster. I am the only officer, sir – one captain killed in action, one invalided out; three lieutenants dead of fever; one ensign on the sick list who may yet recover, one who is to return to England, if he survives long enough to reach his ship.”

  “A year, at least, before replacements can arrive from England – can you hold the command for that time, sir?”

  “I have commanded in the field, sir, both here and on the African Slave Coast, but I have slight knowledge of barracks’ routine.”

  “Well, that is an honest answer, young man, and one I am pleased to hear from you. I expect us to campaign throughout the whole of the Dry Season and by its end you should have no difficulties in coping with the barracks. What of your sergeants? You need more than one.”

  “One more and a corporal in his place, sir – I would not promote in the absence of a captain, that being a sadly ill-mannered thing to do I thought when I was only temporarily in command. If I am to have the men for a year then I know the two I want, sir.”

  “Good! Make them and take your men to Swallow transport, she is at the wharfside, you won’t need boats. The hope is to sail in four days, and I expect we shall actually be gone by this time next week. There is a King’s Quartermaster at the barracks here and he has instructions to allow you to indent on his stores; he will short-change you, of course, and you should visit the Company’s man to make up any lack, making the normal arrangement with him.”

  Ogilvie saw the blank expression on James’ face.

  “Grease, Mr Andrews.”

  Still no understanding.

  “Speak to your sergeant, sir; I am sure he will be able to explain.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You will sail on the Swallow, of course, but I would be pleased if you were to become a member of our mess in port, on the Indiaman, Queen of Persia.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Swallow had been a merchantman, no doubt would be again, for the moment was a troop transport, the fore hold cleared and set with rows of hooks for hammocks and with mess tables and benches that let down on ropes from the deckhead. Half of the spaces were already taken by the artillery but there was just sufficient room for the Rifles – had they been at full strength they would have had to sleep in relays. The after hold contained the field guns, six to each battery, five of nine pound cannon and a twelve pound howitzer apiece. The horses had already sailed on their own transport, would hopefully be waiting in port having had time to regain condition and be ready for duty. It all seemed very effici
ent to James, but he knew that the Company had been in the habit of mounting military expeditions since first it was formed and no doubt had learned all the tricks.

  “Quartermaster, Sergeant Murphy – Colonel Ogilvie said that you would explain to me about their ‘grease’…”

  Murphy did, very patiently.

  John Quillerson finally came home in the New Year – he had been delayed by weather in New York and then had performed some commissions in Liverpool and London for his American contacts before he could make his way back, or so he said.

  “I have received a letter from the blacksmith, White, telling me that they had arrived safely and were about to set up their homes, thanks to your efficient organisation, sir. I was very pleased to hear of it, of course. He seems to think you have ambitious plans for them, particularly in the way of an iron works of some sort?”

  “They need a source of cash, my lord, an income as well as their farm produce. They have gone to an area where there is coal and iron and water and small workings of other metals, some of which they may be able to quarry easily enough to make the effort profitable for a few years. Money is going to be their great worry, my lord, if they are to prosper. They have timber, but no way of getting logs to the coast, they would have to build a mill and send planks and joists into town. When the canal comes it may be possible, but there is a large investment needed first – a project for their sons, perhaps. So, I think they have to work iron, my lord.”

  “What of government, Mr Quillerson? They are part of New York State, I understand, but do they have parishes and town councils as well?”

  “They will have, my lord, when they grow sufficiently to need them – there are more important concerns to deal with first. The northern states are better organised, I believe, and the settlers can fall into a pattern. I am told that in the South, in the slave states where the plantations are, things are very different. I know that some of the Spanish lands are seeking independence from their European masters, and believe that not all wish to become part of the States. It is very untidy, my lord, but I would not be at all surprised to discover the lands from the Texas and to the west and south becoming kingdoms and archdukedoms, split up like the Germanies are now. There is, after all, no overwhelming reason why the whole continent should simply be one country.”

  “But not in the north of the continent, you believe.”

  “No, my lord, I have made enquiries and find that neither Canada nor the United States want a third country setting itself up between them. I believe that some of the more educated Indians, the Iroquois Confederation, once upon a time had ambitions towards independence, but that was well squashed by both Britain and America.”

  “You intend to return to New York, I believe, Mr Quillerson.”

  “I do, my lord, I am going to become an agent for the some of the many thousands who wish to emigrate from England. I believe it will provide me with a good living, my lord.”

  “I hope it may, sir. Could you also act as agent for the works on the estate here? Mr Cairncross will give you details, but, in brief, he will require large quantities of hard and soft woods suitable for wagon making and for the frames of machines – better bought from America than from the Baltic. The Russians are making a thorough nuisance of themselves, yet again, and supplies from the northern European forests will almost certainly be interrupted time and again.”

  Young Mr Quillerson would be very happy to assist – he was in favour of adding to his income in any way possible now that he had discovered that he could earn his living.

  “When do you return to New York, sir?”

  “Next month, I hope, my lord – I need only remain as long as it takes to find an agent who can run an office in Kettering, or perhaps Wellingborough, for me, a place where men can make the arrangements to sail. The agent will need to charter a ship as well, whenever he has a group of men and their families together. An attorney might be best for the purpose, I suspect, my lord.”

  “Mr Paul Latimer, Sir Charles’ youngest brother, has recently put up his plate in Kettering, my lord,” Quillerson elder commented. “He might well be open to any suggestion that could increase his income, the number of clients available being limited in a small town.”

  “Will you see Colonel Miller while in New York, Mr Quillerson?”

  “Frequently, I suspect, my lord.”

  Thus confirming all of Tom’s suspicions that the young man was being used, probably with his own full knowledge, in one, or more, of very nasty schemes.

  “Convey my regards to the gentleman, if you would be so good, and tell him that I still much hope to see him at the Hall, where he is very welcome.”

  The colonists themselves were frantically busy, despite being almost house-bound by the first deep winter they had ever experienced.

  They had built their cabins in a frenzied communal effort, working every daylight hour under the tutelage of a pair of backwoodsmen hired by young Quillerson. The procedure was simple enough and all of them had helped build barn or byre or to put a new roof on an old cottage, they were all men of their hands.

  They had each identified their own section from those pegged out in advance, some preferring entirely flat land where they would grow cereal crops and keep milch cows, others wanting hillsides as well for sheep and beef cattle or orchards. The land was well-watered and of more or less equal quality so there was little dispute – they could all see a good living, eventually.

  Each farmer chose a site for the homestead, sheltered if possible, raised above flood level, close to a suitable spot for a well, then levelled a small section to provide a base for their first cabin and set four corner posts firmly into deep footings. There were logs in plenty to hand, young Quillerson having hired a gang to work over the spring and summer at felling trees, and they set to with adze and axe to cut flat planes and strip the bark. The logs were then laid horizontally, one on top of the other to a height of about eight feet, notched and interlocked at the corners and firmly tied into the posts, the cracks in between stuffed with moss and pounded bark. With care it was possible to make the wall virtually draught free and a layer of wet clay along the joints completed the process.

  Where a man had two or three well-grown sons he could raise his own walls, but the roof was a different matter, requiring the help of the whole community in turn. The farmer would build flat A-frames to the precise dimensions of his walls, a pair of gable ends and two or three along the middle, cutting and trimming his timbers as carefully as he could. He would then measure up his ridge-piece, stringers and joists, planing the timber if he had the tools and the skill. When all was ready he would call for help and on the appointed day all of the menfolk would raise the gable ends and hold them in position, exactly vertical, while they were hurriedly nailed firm to each other and to the walls. Once the main beams were in place it was fairly simple to fix a lining of hurdles covered with thickly needled fir branches for insulation and then laths to carry wooden shingles against the rain and snow-melt. The skeleton of the house once built the next step was to add a stone fireplace and chimney, make and hang a heavy door, add a porch if possible, ideally with a second door to form an airlock for warmth and then perhaps to cut a window or two, if they possessed glass to put in it. Internal partition walls followed and then a table and a couple of benches.

  Externally, the dunny was an early essential, best connected by a covered walk to the house – it was possible to get lost in the snow in a dark night, and that meant certain death, they were told.

  The barn could follow later unless they had stock which would need winter shelter.

  The winter months were spent making furniture and planing, tonguing and grooving matchboards for a ceiling or a wooden floor. Most of the farmers cut fence posts and rails for a paddock for the draughthorses or oxen, and did all they could to build their sheds. They all had to cut firewood, having had insufficient time to set up a full winter stock and they all learned the wisdom of filling the wood lot in summer and
fall – logging was cruel work in winter.

  They learned as well that they had to work together if they were to survive. Not everybody knew how to build an oven, but they all needed to bake bread and the men and women with the skills taught those who needed help. They were almost all farmers, and the other tradesmen had valuable contributions to make; most importantly, they knew each other, were a community already and knew that each had something to offer as well as much to take.

  The four single men had found themselves left out at first. They had quickly built a small cabin with four bunks and a fireplace and had then taken their guns out into the forest where they had rapidly discovered that they lacked the local skills – in the first week of hunting not only did they not bring any meat home, they never saw a single animal.

  One of the Americans, Caleb Witherspoon, had a long rifle with him and took them out after letting them discover for themselves that they had some learning to do. He had been well paid and remained with them for the rest of the year – by Christmas the four were bringing back almost as much as he did on his own. Caleb took them upriver to a lake late in December, pointed out the richer vegetation, much of it still green, and explained that the larger deer were attracted to it. They came back with the makings of a Christmas feast for the whole village.

  White had built his cabin on his small lot in the village itself, strictly speaking in the place where the village would grow, his being the first house in it. He had followed this with a free-standing stone wall, twenty feet long and eight high, a foot thick, made from field stone, dry-laid; it would be the basis for his forge. Initially he put a wooden lean-to against the wall with a second on the reverse for his stock of charcoal and had assembled the parts of his forge; for the first year he would use bar stock bought in from outside as his raw material, after that he hoped to smelt his own iron. There was an immediate call for horseshoes, which he had expected, but after that he found himself busy producing wagon furniture, door hinges, water troughs and buckets and, much to his surprise, garden forks and shovels and spades and hoes, all of the farmers having decided to dig much larger kitchen gardens than they had originally planned for. The long, cold winters had persuaded them to grow more in the way of roots and greens and beans than they had planned to store. Most of them had decided as well to dig a root cellar over the coming summer.