Samuel thought that to be an excellent idea – he had far rather not commit himself without prior and deep cogitation. It was not, he told himself, that he was slow-minded, but he had far rather take matters cautiously. Slow and steady could often win the race, he knew.
He stayed overnight in Liverpool, occupying himself profitably by writing up the agreement with Mr Hayes in contract form, ready to be sent to him for his signature.
‘Better than boozing and whoring the night away’, he told himself, self-righteously.
The morning saw a leisurely breakfast and slowly on the road out to St Helens. The coach paralleled the line of the new canal for much of the way out towards Haydock and he saw a few narrow boats already using part of the waterway, a gain of less than ten miles worth the effort of offloading into wagons for the remainder of the journey.
The canal was not very wide, little more than fifteen feet from bank to bank and had a towpath on both sides where possible.
‘Necessary to purchase a right of way of about twenty-five feet, but construction may demand greater width for access.’
He made a note in his little book, kept with him wherever he went.
They came to one of the frequent hump-backed bridges crossing the canal at every lane and farm track. The driver stopped at Samuel’s demand while he ambled across and peered down to estimate the depth of water, taking his notes as he did so.
‘Three feet at most. The canal boat must draw no more than twenty-four inches laden, at a guess.’
There was a boat tied up to a canalside wharf a mile further up the canal and he took the opportunity to pace out its length at about seventy feet. Quick calculation gave a carrying capacity of around ninety cubic yards, less living space and overhang to bow and stern, which must take away a little capacity. It was substantially greater than any wagon.
A cubic yard of coal weighed more or less a ton, but he much doubted that it would be possible to load ninety tons of coal aboard a narrowboat. He thought it would be unable to float so great an amount in three feet of water at a little more than six feet in breadth – but he was wholly ignorant of the calculations involved. He would have to discover by trial and error when the time came.
A few more miles and he came to the head of navigation, the end of the finished canal. There was a great mass of busy, running men, an apparent confusion that was hard to sort out at first.
The canal was cutting through a low rise of no more than twenty feet, the spoil dumped into wheelbarrows which were run to the other side of the hill where there was a small valley with a tiny stream running transverse to the canal. There was a brick-built culvert to take the stream and the valley was being infilled to make the canal level. It was hard labour, the men running their wheelbarrows along narrow planks to keep them out of the mud. Samuel would not have liked that work, he thought; he was not even sure he could have done it. He looked back at the canal in the cutting and swore aloud in amazement.
The ditch was cut to eighteen feet wide and six feet deep and then infilled with clay to make it waterproof regardless of the nature of the soil. There was a gang of forty or fifty men puddling the clay, working it with wooden clay-spades and their bare feet.
He watched one man as he thrust the shovel into the sticky mass and lifted a full load and turned it over and then thrust the shovel repeatedly to break it down to a thick cream which he lifted and threw down again time after time, trampling rhythmically the while. Samuel knew, vaguely, that puddling clay removed all of the trapped air in the mass, made it denser and impermeable to water. It was killing labour, slow, moving forward inches in an hour, shifting God knew how many tons of clay, pulling it up and out of the morass and repeating every few seconds.
He had never seen men so heavily muscled.
An ordinary farm labourer was normally within reason strong. Samuel doubted one would last ten minutes at this job. His colliers would do little better.
He called the driver to move on, stopped him a distance later, next to a group of five better-dressed men clustered around a map or plan of the route, surveyors, he imagined.
“I beg your pardon for disturbing you gentlemen, but I am interested in a projected canal along the line of the River Trent near Stoke. Where do you find men the likes of these you have working for you, may I ask?”
The apparent senior of them laughed and shook his head.
“You do not find them, sir – they do not exist in nature. These men make themselves on the workings - or die trying. They are our navigators, the hardest workers on the face of the planet, and some of the best paid, I might add. Are you involved in the projection of the new canal, sir?”
“Not yet. My name is Samuel Heythorne and I am the owner of pits and a pottery and a glassworks and several distilleries. My interest in the canal is as a customer, in the first instance, though I do not doubt that I shall become involved in the actual project.”
He had said sufficient to make it clear that he was rich, might well be their employer of a later day on another project.
“We are engineers and surveyors, Mr Heythorne, trying to set the best course for our project. The most straight line crosses too large a river for our taste – the viaduct to carry the canal would be the better part of forty feet high. How many millions of bricks that might be, I shudder to think! Every other course also has objections, we discover, so we seek the least expensive, knowing that holders of shares will have to dig deep into their pockets whichever we choose. Remember the rule, Mr Heythorne – every one pound share will end up costing you two, if you are lucky!”
They laughed and returned to their heated discussion of possible routes while Samuel called the driver to take the quickest road towards Warrington and the Midlands.
It came on to rain and Samuel spent the better part of two days sat in a slow-moving coach behind plodding, straining horses. He had nothing to do other than read and think – he could not even look out over the countryside obscured as it was by sheets of rain.
He had managed to plot out his next few years by the time he reached Thornehills.
The firm would not become involved in canal-building, it was far too risky a game. There was a chance of substantial profits from the initial speculation, but a far greater likelihood of huge losses. The ownership of a canal was likely to be a source of profit still, but only if it was bought from its bankrupt progenitors. The original projectors could take the losses and be forced to sell up the miles they had completed, probably well below cost. The new owners could then run the canal at a tidy profit.
It might be possible to build a canal without encountering financial disaster, but the odds were against it. No geological survey was perfect and any canal could run into unfavourable ground that would massively increase its costs of construction. Inclement weather might flood the workings at any time. Costs of bricks might rise, and they used millions of them for culverts and bridges and causeways. Workers might simply be unavailable in particular areas. The cost of the land they must purchase could not be predicted of a certainty.
There was little doubt in Samuel’s mind that the firm should wait and then play the role of the vulture, picking the meat off the carcass of the dead undertaking.
When the canal was running, there would be the opportunity to build their own fleet of narrowboats, operating for hire on the waterway, carrying coals and heavy iron goods especially, and also providing carriage for pottery, possibly all the way to London, eventually.
Samuel explained his thoughts to his mother, making it clear that he was much opposed to any idea of buying shares in the initial construction of any artificial waterway.
She agreed, gravely.
“We are not adventurers, my son. Let the bold heroes take the lead, placing themselves into the forefront of change. We shall be content to take a very respectable profit from the fruits of their endeavours. Very wise, Samuel. Have you spoken to Josephine this morning? You should tell her you are back.”
“Of course, she
must be lonely now, solitary in the schoolroom with no more than her piano and violin as company, and Miss Smithers, of course. She is what, thirteen years of age now? She will wish to leave her seclusion soon and become part of the larger world. What will Miss Smithers do then, Mother?”
“I do not yet know, Samuel; we might, perhaps, think of opening a small Free School for the children of our people in the area of Thornehills. It might not be to our disadvantage to produce a dozen of literate boys every year, Samuel.”
There were jobs in which the ability to read and write was an advantage and it was not always easy to find clerks.
“Storekeepers must keep their lists of stocks, Mother, and the costing and billing offices are always short of men with pens. What an excellent idea, to produce our own people, obligated to us since childhood, able to rise in the world due to our kind generosity. So many advantages to us in such an undertaking.”
“Very much so, my son. Additionally, such an act of charity to those who are set below us. We must be praised from all of the local pulpits – and that can often be useful.”
Samuel agreed it could be useful to have the name Heythorne associated with acts of benevolence.
“You will be pleased to know that I was successful in making an agreement with Mr Hayes. Case bottles of gin for the African trade and empty bottles to be sold to the Sugar Islands, and possibly into America. We might well find ourselves needing to increase our production of gin and glass alike.”
“Gin, Samuel, is to be considered. Are we wise to remain in production of strong waters? We have been producing for some twenty years now. In that time, we have paid not a penny to the Revenue men – not even in bribes!”
Samuel sat back in his armchair in the office room, drank from his cup of tea, fussed with pen and papers while he cogitated. He was, as ever, unwilling to make an immediate response – careful thought before he opened his mouth, that was becoming his watchword.
“Is it possible that we may have remained unknown, Mother?”
He answered his own question with a vigorous headshake.
“Highly unlikely! It must rather be the case that there has been pressure upon the Revenue to turn the blind eye to us. Do you know how and why, Mother?”
She sat back, steepling her fingers and seeking the precise words she required.
“I suspect the Wakerley influence, Samuel. The family is big in the county now since Captain Wakerley made his name and fortune a score of years ago in the Forty-Five. Your father rode at Captain Wakerley’s side and performed more than one favour for him thereafter. Then, of course, there was the mystery of your father’s sad demise. Nick played a part in the discovery of some of the perpetrators, and in their punishment. Captain Wakerley did not have entirely clean hands, I believe, but Nick thought it too dangerous to kill him and pressured him to be of assistance to us. After fifteen years, that desire to do us a favour or two may be far less strong.”
Samuel was inclined to be indignant, but quite rapidly came to accept they had made a substantial profit from the Wakerleys, and money was more important than revenge to the sensible man.
“Then we must either ensure that the blind eye will continue to be turned or remove ourselves from the dangerous proximity of the stills, Mother. Should I discuss the question with Nick first, do you think?”
“You must, Samuel. Do not forget that Nick is the manager of the distilleries and would lose his place was the firm to sell them.”
Samuel berated himself for his negligence – he had forgotten a necessary detail of his business and that was hard to excuse. He drank his tea and left the office for the study room. He found Josephine concentrating on a piece of art, a watercolour, a still life of a single rose.
“Very pretty! Abe sent his best from the ship, Josephine.”
“That was kind of him, Samuel. Do you think he was really happy to go? He seemed a little unwilling when he entered the coach.”
“Leaving did not come easy to him, but he was looking forward to his adventures within two hours of departing. He will enjoy himself out there in a way he could not here. Are you not lonely on your own here?”
“A little. But I shall not be alone while you come to visit me, Samuel.”
He smiled and pledged himself to do so. It was another obligation, but one he must not neglect; he liked Josephine more than he did his own sister, he found. A few more words and he went to discover Nick, found that he was not in his cottage, being out at the stills, so his lady said.
“Begging thy pardon, Mr Samuel, but Nick said he had problems at the new place at Palethorpe, being as he much feared there was a fellow there with his hand in the till, as you might say.”
“I must go to the glassworks today so I may well see him there. If I do not, please ask him if he will be so good as to see me when he conveniently can.”
Samuel found a very angry Nick at Palethorpe.
“An outrage, Mr Heythorne. A wicked brute beast who has dared to defraud us of several pounds, how many I do not yet know. The ingratitude is the most shocking part of the business, sir, for he is a young man who was orphaned five years ago when his parents were killed underground in one of the pits whose owners pay their dues to Mr Malone. That good man knew I was to appoint a clerk and begged of me to give a place to the youth, the boy having his letters.”
It was indeed shocking, Samuel agreed, indignant that their charity should be thrown back in their faces.
“What has he done?”
“Bilked the firm and our honoured customers, sir. You will remember that we make a potato spirit as well as our ordinary gin and the sloe gin? This scion of wickedness chose to admix potato spirit with the sloe gin, thus to produce extra at a lower cost. He then sold off the gin he had abstracted, on the sly. Finally, he produced more of the potato spirit by running the stills more frequently than he recorded. Had he been content to adulterate the sloe gin, I might never have noticed, but the extra runs of the potato stills added to the amount of coke we use and drew my attention. I have spoken to him this afternoon, all innocent-seeming, asking him for the accounts for the purchase of coke, as they seemed somewhat out of kilter. I have set two boys on to watch him, for I expect him to find an excuse to go to his lodging and collect his ill-gotten gains and run. His absconding will be proof of his evil, I doubt not.”
“An act of wickedness, Nick. One shudders to think of the way in which he has repaid your kindness. I am disgusted!”
“And me, sir. The depths of human depravity still have the power to amaze me!
“While we wait, Nick, I would like to discuss the stills with you. We have been running them for a long time now, Nick, and have paid not a penny to the Revenue men.”
“Quite right too, Mr Heythorne, they have no right to interfere with the liberties of free-born Englishmen.”
“Possibly. My mother suspects that the Wakerley influence has kept them at a distance. If she is right, then we are beholden to a gentleman who may one day cease to be concerned for us.”
Nick hoped that might not be so but had to agree it was not impossible.
“Might we be well-advised to sell out, Nick? To cut and run while the going is good?”
It was a shocking thought. Nick discovered he must nonetheless consider it – he firmly believed that nothing was unthinkable. Once lodged in his mind, Nick had to admit that it was an attractive prospect.
“The coal and glass and potteries are entirely lawful, Mr Heythorne. Our only venture into criminality lies in the stills. Should we discard them, then we are entirely reputable. It is time to shed our less than savoury past, sir! Let us sell and be gone from that field.”
“What of you, Nick? If we sell, then your living in part disappears.”
“Oh, you are kind to consider such a factor, sir, but you must not fret yourself! I shall spend more of my days at my pottery, which requires closer supervision if it is to become the institution that I desire. As for mere cash – I have my sidelines and may alwa
ys accept the occasional additional contract. My personal services are often asked for, Mr Heythorne, and I can continue to profit from them. Hush now! Here comes one of the youths I set to be a watcher!”
A ragged boy appeared at the office door.
“Just gone to ‘is rooms, so ‘e ‘as, Mister Nick. Told the bloke what works with ‘im as ‘ow ‘e were going for a piss, but ‘e went the other way to the jakes. Mickey is watching ‘im to see where ‘e goes like, Mister Nick.”
“Then you have done very well, Neddy. A shilling for thee now. This is Mister Heythorne himself who is pleased with you.”
Samuel nodded, said he had done his work well.
“Will you have more for the pair, Nick?”
“I shall look after them, sir. I am inclined to set on a pair of assistants and think they might do well. Do you run down to the road, Neddy, and see whether the villain flees there.”
A few minutes and Mickey, short, skinny, bow-legged from rickets and dressed in even grimier rags, begged their pardons and told them that the mark was running.
“Ain’t goin’ back to that office place, Mister Nick. Jumped over the fence at the back and sneakin’ down to the road, so ‘e is.”
“Through the bramble bushes at the back?”
“Thass it. Swearin’ summat fierce for catchin’ on they thorns, so ‘e is.”
“Then we will stroll down to the highway and wait for him to emerge, Mickey. Go and join Neddy now and bring him to me. There will be work for the pair of you. You have done a good job for me and you are now my own people.”
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