by Ken Follett
“Those two men robbed me.”
“I knew we shouldn’t have come.” He took her by the arm to lead her out of the alley.
“McAsh knocked them down and rescued me,” she said.
“That’s no reason to kiss him,” said her husband.
19
JAY’S REGIMENT WAS ON DUTY IN PALACE YARD ON the day of John Wilkes’s trial.
The liberal hero had been convicted of criminal libel years ago and had fled to Paris. On his return, earlier that year, he was accused of being an outlaw. But while the legal action against him dragged on he won the Middlesex by-election handsomely. However, he had not yet taken his seat in Parliament, and the government hoped to prevent him doing so by having him convicted in court.
Jay steadied his horse and looked nervously over the crowd of several hundred Wilkes supporters milling around outside Westminster Hall, where the trial was taking place. Many of them wore pinned to their hats the blue cockade that identified them as Wilkesites. Tories such as Jay’s father wanted Mikes silenced, but everyone was worried about what his supporters would do.
If violence broke out, Jay’s regiment was supposed to keep order. There was a small detachment of guards—too damn small, in Jay’s opinion: just forty men and a few officers under Colonel Cranbrough, Jay’s commanding officer. They formed a thin red-and-white line between the court building and the mob.
Cranbrough took orders from the Westminster magistrates, represented by Sir John Fielding. Fielding was blind, but that did not seem to hinder him in his work. He was a famous reforming justice, although Jay thought him too soft. He had been known to say that crime was caused by poverty. That was like saying adultery was caused by marriage.
The young officers were always hoping to see action, and Jay said he felt the same, but he was also scared. He had never actually used his sword or gun in a real fight.
It was a long day, and the captains took turns to break off from patrolling and drink a glass of wine. Toward the end of the afternoon, while Jay was giving his horse an apple, he was approached by Sidney Lennox.
His heart sank. Lennox wanted his money. No doubt he had intended to ask for it when he called at Grosvenor Square but had postponed the request because of the wedding.
Jay did not have the money. But he was terrified that Lennox would go to his father.
He put on a show of bravado. “What are you doing here, Lennox? I didn’t know you were a Wilkesite.”
“John Wilkes can go to the devil,” Lennox replied. “I’ve come about the hundred and fifty pounds you lost at Lord Archer’s faro game.”
Jay blanched at the reminder of the amount. His father gave him thirty pounds a month, but it was never enough, and he did not know when he could lay his hands on a hundred and fifty. The thought that his father might find out he had lost more money gambling made his legs feel weak. He would do anything to avoid that. “I may have to ask you to wait a little longer,” he said with a feeble attempt at an air of superior indifference.
Lennox did not reply directly. “I believe you know a man called Mack McAsh.”
“Unfortunately I do.”
“He’s started his own coal heaving gang, with the help of Caspar Gordonson. The two of them are causing a lot of trouble.”
“It doesn’t surprise me. He was a damned nuisance in my father’s coal mine.”
“The problem is not just McAsh,” Lennox went on. “His two cronies, Dermot Riley and Charlie Smith, have gangs of their own now, and there’ll be more by the end of the week.”
“That will cost you undertakers a fortune.”
“It will ruin the trade unless it’s stopped.”
“All the same, it’s not my problem.”
“But you could help me with it.”
“I doubt it.” Jay did not want to get involved with Lennox’s business.
“It would be worth money to me.”
“How much?” Jay said warily.
“A hundred and fifty pounds.”
Jay’s heart leaped. The prospect of wiping out his debt was a godsend.
But Lennox would not readily give away so much. He must want a heavyweight favor. “What would I have to do?” Jay said suspiciously.
“I want the ship owners to refuse to hire McAsh’s gangs. Now, some of the coal shippers are undertakers themselves, so they will cooperate. But most are independent. The biggest owner in London is your father. If he gave a lead, the others would follow.”
“But why should he? He doesn’t care about undertakers and coal heavers.”
“He’s alderman of Wapping, and the undertakers have a lot of votes. He ought to defend our interests. Besides, the coal heavers are a troublesome crowd, and we keep them under control.”
Jay frowned. It was a tall order. He had no influence at all with his father. Few people did: Sir George could not be influenced into coming in out of the rain. But Jay had to try.
A roar from the crowd signaled that Wilkes was coming out Jay mounted his horse hastily. “I’ll see what I can do,” he called to Lennox as he trotted away.
Jay found Chip Marlborough and said: “What’s happening?”
“Wilkes has been refused bail and committed to the King’s Bench Prison.”
The colonel was mustering his officers. He said to Jay: “Pass the word—no one is to fire unless Sir John gives the order. Tell your men.”
Jay suppressed an anxious protest. How were soldiers to control the mob if their hands were tied? But he rode around and relayed the instruction.
A carriage emerged from the gateway. The crowd gave a bloodcurdling roar, and Jay felt a stab of fear. The soldiers made a path for the carriage by beating the mob with their muskets. Wilkes’s supporters ran across Westminster Bridge, and Jay realized that the carriage would have to cross the river into Surrey to get to the prison. He spurred his horse toward the bridge, but Colonel Cranbrough waved him down. “Don’t cross the bridge,” he commanded. “Our orders are to keep the peace here, outside the court.”
Jay reined in. Surrey was a separate district, and the Surrey magistrates had not asked for army support. This was ridiculous. He watched, helpless, as the carriage crossed the river Thames. Before it reached the Surrey side the crowd stopped it and detached the horses.
Sir John Fielding was in the heart of the throng, following the carriage with two assistants to guide him and tell him what was happening. As Jay watched, a dozen strong men got between the traces and began to pull the carriage themselves. They turned it around and headed back toward Westminster, and the mob roared its approval.
Jay’s heart beat faster. What would happen when the mob reached Palace Yard? Colonel Cranbrough was holding up a cautionary hand, indicating that they should do nothing.
Jay said to Chip: “Do you think we could take the carriage away from the mob?”
“The magistrates don’t want any bloodshed,” Chip said.
One of Sir John’s clerks darted through the crowd and conferred with Cranbrough.
Once across the bridge the mob turned the carriage east. Cranbrough shouted to his men: “Follow at a distance—don’t take action!”
The detachment of guards fell in behind the mob. Jay ground his teeth. This was humiliating. A few rounds of musket fire would disperse the crowd in a minute. He could see that Wilkes would make political capital out of being fired on by the troops, but so what?
The carriage was drawn along the Strand and into the heart of the city. The mob sang and danced and shouted “Wilkes and liberty!” and “Number forty-five!” They did not stop until they reached Spitalfields. There the carriage drew up outside the church. Wilkes got out and went into the Three Tuns tavern, followed hastily by Sir John Fielding.
Some of his supporters went in after them, but they could not all get through the door. They milled about in the street for a while, and then Wilkes appeared at an upstairs window, to tumultuous applause. He began to speak. Jay was too far away to hear everything, but he caught the ge
neral drift: Wilkes was appealing for order.
During the speech Fielding’s clerk came out and spoke to Colonel Cranbrough again. Cranbrough whispered the news to his captains. A deal had been done: Wilkes would slip out of a back door and surrender himself at the King’s Bench Prison tonight.
Wilkes finished his speech, waved and bowed, and vanished. As it became clear that he was not going to reappear, the crowd began to get bored and drift away. Sir John came out of the Three Tuns and shook Cranbrough’s hand. “A splendid job, Colonel, and my thanks to your men. Bloodshed was avoided and the law was satisfied.” He was putting a brave face on it, Jay thought, but the truth was that the law had been laughed at by the mob.
As the guard marched back to Hyde Park, Jay felt depressed. He had been keyed up for a fight all day, and the letdown was hard to bear. But the government could not go on appeasing the mob forever. Sooner or later they would try to clamp down. Then there would be action.
When he had dismissed his men and checked that the horses were taken care of, Jay remembered Lennox’s proposition. Jay was reluctant to put Lennox’s plan to his father, but it would be easier than asking for a hundred and fifty pounds to pay another gambling debt. So he decided to call in at Grosvenor Square on his way home.
It was late. The family had eaten supper, the footman said, and Sir George was in the small study at the back of the house. Jay hesitated in the cold, marble-floored hall. He hated to ask his father for anything. He would either be scorned for wanting the wrong thing, or reprimanded for demanding more than his due. But he had to go through with it. He knocked on the door and went in.
Sir George was drinking wine and yawning over a list of molasses prices. Jay sat down and said: “Wilkes was refused bail.”
“So I heard.”
Perhaps his father would like to hear how Jay’s regiment had kept the peace. “The mob drew his carriage to Spitalfields, and we followed, but he promised to surrender himself tonight.”
“Good. What brings you here so late?”
Jay gave up trying to interest his father in what he had done today. “Did you know that Malachi McAsh has surfaced here in London?”
His father shook his head. “I don’t think it matters,” he said dismissively.
“He’s stirring up trouble among the coal heavers.”
“That doesn’t take much doing—they’re a quarrelsome lot.”
“I’ve been asked to approach you on behalf of the undertakers.”
Sir George raised his eyebrows. “Why you?” he said in a tone that implied no one with any sense would employ Jay as an ambassador.
Jay shrugged. “I happen to be acquainted with one particular undertaker, and he asked me to come to you.”
“Tavern keepers are a powerful voting group,” Sir George said thoughtfully. “What’s the proposition?”
“McAsh and his friends have started independent gangs who don’t work through the undertakers. The undertakers are asking ship owners to be loyal to them and turn away the new gangs. They feel that if you give a lead the other shippers will follow.”
“I’m not sure I should interfere. It’s not our battle.”
Jay was disappointed. He thought he had put the proposition well. He pretended indifference. “It’s nothing to me, but I’m surprised—you’re always saying we’ve got to take a firm line with seditious laboring men who get ideas above their station.”
At that moment there was a terrific hammering at the front door. Sir George frowned and Jay stepped into the hall to have a look. A footman hurried past and opened the door. There stood a burly workingman with clogs on his feet and a blue cockade in his greasy cap. “Light up!” he ordered the footman. “Illuminate for Wilkes!”
Sir George emerged from the study and stood with Jay, watching. Jay said: “They do this—make people put candles in all their windows in support of Wilkes.”
Sir George said: “What’s that on the door?”
They walked forward. The number 45 was chalked on the door. Outside in the square a small mob was going from house to house.
Sir George confronted the man on the doorstep. “Do you know what you’ve done?” he said. “That number is a code. It means: ‘The king is a liar.’ Your precious Wilkes has gone to jail for it, and you could too.”
“Will you light up for Wilkes?” the man said, ignoring Sir George’s speech.
Sir George reddened. It infuriated him when the lower orders failed to treat him with deference. “Go to the devil!” he said, and he slammed the door in the man’s face.
He went back to the study and Jay followed him. As they sat down they heard the sound of breaking glass. They both jumped up again and rushed into the dining room at the front of the house. There was a broken pane in one of the two windows and a stone on the polished wood floor. “That’s Best Crown Glass!” Sir George said furiously. “Two shillings a square foot!” As they stood staring, another stone crashed through the other window.
Sir George stepped into the hall and spoke to the footman. “Tell everyone to move to the back of the house, out of harm’s way,” he said.
The footman, looking scared, said: “Wouldn’t it be better just to put candles in the windows like they said, sir?”
“Shut your damned mouth and do as you’re told,” Sir George replied.
There was a third smash somewhere upstairs, and Jay heard his mother scream in fright. He ran up the stairs, his heart pounding, and met her coming out of the drawing room. “Are you all right, Mama?”
She was pale but calm. “I’m fine—what’s happening?”
Sir George came up the stairs saying with suppressed fury: “Nothing to be afraid of, just a damned Wilkesite mob. We’ll stay out of the way until they’ve gone.”
As more windows were smashed they all hurried into the small sitting-room at the rear of the house. Jay could see his father was boiling with rage. Being forced to retreat was guaranteed to madden him. This might be the moment to bring up Lennox’s request again. Throwing caution to the winds he said: “You know, Father, we really have to start dealing more decisively with these troublemakers.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“I was thinking of McAsh and the coal heavers. If they’re allowed to defy authority once, they’ll do it again.” It was not like him to speak this way, and he caught a curious glance from his mother. He plowed on. “Better to nip these things in the bud. Teach them to know their place.”
Sir George looked as if he were about to make another angry rejoinder; then he hesitated, scowled and said: “You’re absolutely right. We’ll do it tomorrow.”
Jay smiled.
20
As MACK WALKED DOWN THE MUDDY LANE KNOWN AS Wapping High Street he felt he knew what it must be like to be king. From every tavern doorway, from windows and yards and rooftops, men waved at him, called out his name and pointed him out to their friends. Everyone wanted to shake his hand. But the men’s appreciation was nothing compared with that of their wives. The men were not only bringing home three or four times as much money, they were also ending the day much soberer. The women embraced him in the street and kissed his hands and called to their neighbors, saying: “It’s Mack McAsh, the man who defied the undertakers, come quick and see!”
He reached the waterfront and looked over the broad gray river. The tide was high and there were several new ships at anchor. He looked for a boatman to row him out. The traditional undertakers waited at their taverns until the captains came to them and asked for a gang to uncoal their ships: Mack and his gangs went to the captains, saving them time and making sure of the work.
He went out to the Prince of Denmark and climbed aboard. The crew had gone ashore, leaving one old sailor smoking a pipe on deck. He directed Mack to the captain’s cabin. The skipper was at the table, writing laboriously in the ship’s log with a quill pen. “Good day to you, Captain,” Mack said with a friendly smile. “I’m Mack McAsh.”
“What is it?” the m
an said gruffly. He did not ask Mack to take a seat.
Mack ignored his rudeness: captains were never very polite. “Would you like your ship uncoaled quickly and efficiently tomorrow?” he said pleasantly.
“No.”
Mack was surprised. Had someone got here before him? “Who’s going to do it for you, then?”
“None of your damn business.”
“It certainly is my business; but if you don’t want to tell me, no matter—someone else will.”
“Good day to you, then.”
Mack frowned. He was reluctant to leave without finding out what was wrong. “What the devil is the trouble with you, Captain—have I done something to offend you?”
“I’ve nothing more to say to you, young man, and you’ll oblige me by taking your leave.”
Mack had a bad feeling about this but he could not think of anything else to say, so he left. Ships’ captains were a notoriously bad-tempered lot—perhaps because they were away from their wives so much.
He looked along the river. Another new ship, Whitehaven Jack, was anchored next to the Prince. Her crew were still furling sails and winding ropes into neat coils on the deck. Mack decided to try her next, and got his boatman to take him there.
He found the captain on the poop deck with a young gentleman in sword and wig. He greeted them with the relaxed courtesy which, he had found, was the fastest way to win people’s confidence. “Captain, sir, good day to you both.”
This captain was polite. “Good day to you. This is Mr. Tallow, the owner’s son. What’s your business?”
Mack replied: “Would you like your ship uncoaled tomorrow by a fast and sober gang?”
The captain and the gentleman spoke together.
“Yes,” said the captain.
“No,” said Tallow.
The captain showed surprise and looked questioningly at Tallow. The young man addressed Mack, saying: “You’re McAsh, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I believe shippers are beginning to take my name as a guarantee of good work—”
“We don’t want you,” said Tallow.
This second rejection riled Mack. “Why not?” he said challengingly.