“There we are then sir, the Old Dock, as fast as I could make it.”
Stepping unsteadily from the chair, I thanked him for travelling so speedily and paid him his shilling.
The gate to the dock was unattended, so I walked straight in. Although I ran back and forth trying to find The Mulberry amongst the forest of masts that filled the basin, the ship was nowhere to be seen. Anxious that I might have gone to the wrong dock, I enquired at the nearby Custom House, only to discover that the information I’d been given was wrong; or at least the ship had been there in Old Dock, but fully loaded and fully crewed, she’d left on the morning tide. Downhearted and not knowing what else to do, I began walking back into the town.
As I walked, I considered my situation: I had little money, perhaps enough for a couple of days, but only if I could find cheap lodgings and victuals and I didn’t know who might hire me, as the nearest I’d ever been to the sea was walking by the stream that ran behind the Boar’s Head. It seemed there was no other option for me but to return to Marshall’s and see if they would re-hire me, or head back to the Rider’s.
I’d walked quite some way without really taking note of my route and found myself completely lost. Stopping, I decided to look for a chair or hackney cab to take me back to the docks. I knew there wouldn’t be any more coaches until morning, so I hoped to find a bed for the night in one of the many inns I’d seen as I flew through the streets on my way to Old Dock. But as I was about to hire a cab whose driver was clearly looking for trade, across the road I spotted offices belonging to one Thomas Marshall Esq. Although I couldn’t be certain that this was the same Thomas Marshall who owned Marshall’s Mines, I knew it had to be a possibility.
Negotiating the traffic and disappointing the cabbie, I crossed the road and entered the office, hoping this might finally be the stroke of good fortune I was seeking. As well as being surprisingly deep, the office was quite narrow and sparsely furnished. Standing at the back were two men leaning over a table, both completely absorbed in the paperwork laid out before them. At the front, looking down from a high stool raised on a plinth and set behind a desk, sat a thin, pinch-faced clerk. Clearly lording it over the office, he appeared less than pleased that I’d entered his kingdom.
On seeing him, my first thought was to make my apologies and leave, but if there was any chance of finding a place on another ship, I was determined not to miss it. So avoiding his bad-tempered look, I asked the clerk if the Thomas Marshall named on the office’s door was the same as the one who owned the salt mines. In a voice that made it clear, he considered the fact to be common knowledge for anyone who might be worthy of asking, he confirmed that it was. Ignoring his tone, I explained I had, until that morning, worked as a miner for Mr Marshall and before that had spent three years working on the pans. But before I could say any more and louder than he needed, I imagined to impress the two men at the back of the office, he told me that he knew of no positions in Liverpool that might suit a miner and that he certainly didn’t have any himself. After starting with such hope of new opportunity, my day had been full of nothing but disappointment and so, defeated, I thanked him for his time and left; his attention had already returned to his work. As I turned to leave, I saw one of the two men at the back of the office glance up and appear to notice me, but as he may simply have been distracted by the clerk, I thought nothing more of it.
Night was falling and as I knew there would be no chance of finding employment before morning, my thoughts returned to my search for a cheap bed for the night. I’d noticed several places close to Old Dock selling liquor and offering lodgings, and by the look of them I’d guessed they would be cheap. So having no alternative, I decided to make my way back there.
Most shops were closing for the night, and as they shut, so the many ale houses and gin shops that had stood unnoticed in the darkness, were springing into life. I’d started my journey back to the Old Dock thinking I might again find a cab or chair to take me. But as I pressed on through the increasing crowds, hoping I was heading in the right direction, it became clear I would be fortunate to find one free. If I saw a cab discharging passengers seeking Liverpool’s dubious night time pleasures, before I could hail it others, who presumably wished to avoid the same delights, would claim it ahead of me. So having no other choice but to walk, I knew that at least the shilling I’d save in fare would allow me a better supper.
As I pressed on, the aroma of gin, ale and of food cooking filled the air, but I suppose because it was still new to me, the smell of the Mersey persisted and signalled the way to the docks. I was unused to the size of the crowds that buffeted me as I tried to make my way, so I stepped off the path and walked in the gutter. Even though it was full of filth and most others avoided it, by stepping carefully over the worst, I at least managed to move a little quicker in the direction I thought I needed to head.
Because I was still unsure I was going the right way and was still looking for somewhere I recognised, the first time it happened I imagined the girl was only being friendly and helpful, if a little forward.
“Evenin’ chuck. Looking for somewhere to spend the night?”
It took me a moment to understand she was talking to me, but when I realised what she’d asked, I was keen to know if she could help me.
“Just you come with me darlin’,” she said. “If you’ve got a guinea to spend on a girl, I’ll keep you warm all night.”
Looking at her properly for the first time, I saw how gaudy she was, wearing clothes and colour to attract her clients, I realised the girl’s trade. Feeling a fool, I made my excuses and walked hastily away, the girl’s laughter ringing in my ears. No longer surprised, I ignored the women, some in groups, others on their own and all seemingly drunk, who tried to stop me with similar questions.
Happily, as the smell of the river grew stronger, I knew I must be approaching my destination. Emerging from the town onto Duke’s Place, I could see the river and turning towards Salt House Dock knew the Old Dock was just around the corner. So excusing myself from the unwanted attentions of yet another woman offering her services, I was passing between the dock and a salt works when suddenly, coming from the works, a man stepped straight across my path. Although I managed to stop before either of us came to any harm, he’d emerged too close to me for us not to collide.
Muttering minor apologies to each other, we both set off again, me towards Old Dock and because he crossed over, I knew he could only be heading for Salt House Dock. I’d gone only a few yards further when I heard someone call. Though I had no reason to think it was me being hailed, instinctively I glanced back over my shoulder and was surprised to find that the man I’d just collided with was looking straight at me. As I turned round fully, he called out.
“Hold on their lad, can I have a word?”
His face was familiar but for a moment I couldn’t recall where I’d seen him. From his dress I could see he was well-to-do, so, curious to know why he would want to speak to the likes of me, I waited as he crossed back over.
Joining me, he said,
“You won’t remember me.”
It was at that moment I remembered where I’d seen this short, rather rotund man before.
“No, no, I remember you,” I said. “You were in Marshall’s this afternoon. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
“No, not at all.” He gave a wry smile. “Can’t say the same for that sour-faced clerk.”
Pulling me from the edge of the path and saving me from being struck by a carriage trundling up the narrow road behind me, he said,
“Look, I overheard what you said to that clerk and I think we may be able to help each other. That’s if I’m right to assume you’re still seeking employment?”
When I told him I was, he said,
“Good… Forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Wade Stubbs,” pointing out the salt works he added, “and amongst my business interests, I share ownership of this place with Tom Marshall.”
I
told him my name and hoped he might be about to offer me employment in the salt work, but what he said next took me completely by surprise.
“I also have an interest in a West Indies’ plantation that’s owned mostly and run completely by my brother Thomas. Tom has plans to start a salt producing venture on the plantation, but he needs someone who understands salt panning to help him run it. The ship carrying supplies back to the plantation leaves tomorrow and up until now I’ve been unable to find anyone suitable who’s also willing to take their chances in the Caribbean. Seeing you again down here in the docks, I guessed you might still be looking for a ship and remembering you told that clerk you had worked in the pans, I put the two things together and wondered if we might be able to help each other.”
He looked at me questioningly, but I was still trying to take in everything he’d told me. Sensing my confusion, he said,
“Anyway, let’s not stand here. If you think you might be interested, we can go over to the ship and then I can tell you more about it. If, when you’ve heard all I’ve got to say, you’re not interested, then just walk away.”
I knew little about the West Indies and nothing of what this ‘salt production venture’ might be, but I couldn’t see that I had anything to lose.
The Bridget was a hive of activity and was clearly being made ready to leave on the early tide. Picking my way carefully between piled boxes of provisions yet to be stored and stepping gingerly over ropes not yet properly coiled, I followed Mr Stubbs below deck. Here, every spare space seemed already to have been used for storage and I wondered how room was ever going to be found for all the supplies still waiting on deck.
As we worked our way through the ship, we passed several sailors packing still more supplies into every nook and cranny, squeezing themselves into the smallest of spaces to allow us to pass. Finally, when I thought we must have reached the stern, Mr Stubbs stopped and knocked sharply on a door almost hidden by two improvised pillars of boxes.
In answer to a commanding call to enter, I followed Mr Stubbs into the Captain’s quarters. Immediately in front of us, the Captain sat behind a desk, charts spread out in front of him. His bunk ran the length of one wall and above it a chaos of logs and more charts filled two shelves of similar length to the bunk. On the opposite wall, fixed next to the cabin’s only porthole, a lamp provided light to the whole cabin. I squeezed into the only remaining space with Mr Stubbs. He was the first to speak.
“Evening Captain; I don’t want to hold you up, just wanted to check everything was on schedule.”
“Evening Mr Stubbs. Aye, we’ll be ready in plenty of time to catch the morning tide.”
Mr Stubbs clasped his hands together as if he was about to offer prayer and said,
“That’s excellent Captain, excellent.”
Looking my way, he said,
“This young man is Will Bostock and I’m hoping he’s going to help my brother run the plantation. If he agrees to my proposal, you do have a berth for him, don’t you Captain?”
“You told me you hoped to be sending a passenger Mr Stubbs, so I’ve kept a cabin free down on the orlop.”
I sensed the Captain was a little irritated, but satisfied, Mr Stubbs turned to me and said,
“Come on then lad, let’s go and find this cabin, then I’ll tell you all about the plantation and Tom’s plan for producing salt.”
Telling the Captain he’d be back in the morning to see him off, Mr Stubbs shepherded me from his cabin and back through the ship.
We weigh anchor within the hour and though I’m not sure how I’ll find the journey, Mr Stubbs told me to expect some nausea until I get my ‘sea legs’; at least I can look forward to a better life when we reach the Turks and Caicos Islands. I’d never heard of them before, but Mr Stubbs showed me a map of all the West Indies and though these islands look quite small compared to some of the others, he told me that the Cheshire House Plantation is the largest in all of the Turks and Caicos.
Last night, he also told me all about the plantation and then went on to explain his brother’s plan. He said that for some time Tom had seen how the slaves on the plantation trapped pools of sea water and after the water evaporated, scraped up the salt residue that remained and used it to flavour their food. He believes it will be possible to create much larger pools and produce salt on a commercial scale. He thinks he’ll be able to export what he produces to the southern United States and I’ve agreed to help him set up and run the venture.
This morning, Mr Stubbs returned to the ship for the last time and before he left, he asked me if there was anyone he might tell where I was going. In all that’s happened since yesterday, I hadn’t given a thought to Adie or the Riders. Adie can’t read and I’m not sure about Tom, but I know Elizabeth can, so I’ve written her a note explaining where I’m going and Mr Stubbs says he’ll make sure she gets it.
Things can change so quickly and often at times and in ways you least expect. Take me for example. Yesterday, as I made my way back to the docks, I’d been thinking I might have no choice but to return to Marshall’s or even the Rider’s – I didn’t look forward to either prospect, and for different reasons I wasn’t at all sure how each might receive me. Now, not even a day later, I’m about to travel thousands of miles to a strange place I didn’t know existed until yesterday, where I’ll work for a man I’ve never met. It seems no time at all had passed since I was strolling back up the gennel, expecting my family to be up and that I’d be leaving shortly with Dad and John for work. Instead, they and most of my family are dead and here I am saying farewell to England not knowing when, or indeed if, I’ll ever return.
Part Three
Elizabeth
All in a Name
How she’s changed; it’s wonderful to see. When Adie came to me, she was pale and gaunt and feared speaking in case it brought her trouble. Always quiet, she seemed to live in a world of her own. But now, with long black hair, dark skin and soft chestnut eyes, she’s growing into a beautiful, young woman, full of life and always ready to speak her mind. I thought Will’s leaving would set her back, but although she appeared a little quiet for a day or two, she grew even closer to me after he’d gone.
I suppose it must be four year’s since Will left and all we’ve ever had from him was a scribbled note saying he was joining a ship bound for the West Indies. He said that when he got there, he was going to be in charge of salt panning on a plantation. Tom says he’s never heard of such a thing, that he’s sure there’s no salt panning in the West Indies and I must have read Will’s note wrongly. But Tom can’t read and he’s always hated that I can – he says it’s a waste of time – anyway, whatever he thinks, I know I read that note right. Mind you, in a way I wish I hadn’t because Will said nothing about when he might be back or, if he was staying in the West Indies, when he expected to send for his sister to join him. Although Adie never said, I know she hoped to hear more because when I read her the note she only asked,
“Is that all he said?”
When I replied that it was, she looked crestfallen but said nothing. But as I said, she seemed to quickly put it behind her. I suppose she’d made up her mind that either he’d write again when he was ready for her to join him, or just turn up at our door.
She’s a fiery soul and now she always says what she thinks, no matter the consequences; I suppose she’ll have to learn a little caution as she gets older, but I hope she never lets that fire go out. She isn’t selfish mind. She may have her own opinions but that’s not to say she isn’t a great little helper. She seems always to want to do for me the best job she can – it makes my heart ache to see her; even if I ask her to do something for me that’s completely new to her, she always does her best to get it right.
Yes, and she’s not so little now, either. I believe if she grows as fast in the next six months as in the last six, she’ll be taller than me by Easter. Mind you, her dad was a tall man and Hannah wasn’t small, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.
> As well as being a great help, she’s good company too. When we work, jobs go more easily and time passes quickly because we chat and laugh and tell each other our dreams. Of course, I’ve never told her my greatest dream, but I have every hope that one day it may come true; I know she thinks of me like her mum and sometimes I dare to believe she might even think of me as her mum.
The other day I felt the time was right to talk to her about her name. In the years since the accident, despite all we’ve talked about, that subject has never been raised and I’ve kept my vow and we’ve always called her Adie.
It was a beautiful autumnal day and we were walking slowly back from town. In the morning there had been quite a sharp chill, but in the early afternoon there was a balmy sun shining, its light glowing in warm colours that matched the russets and reds of the autumn leaves; we walked slowly because we knew Tom wouldn’t be home for hours. It was then it struck me how comfortable we were with each other and how confident in each other’s love we’d become, so it was then that I said it; there was little forethought and certainly no malice.
“We haven’t ever discussed your name, have we Adie? You know, your full name I mean. We’ve never talked about why it was given to you and you’ve never asked, but I think you know yours is not an ordinary name, so I wonder would you like me to tell you what I know about it?”
First hesitating, she then carried on walking and I kept silent because I could see she was thinking. Finally, she spoke,
“We get along, don’t we? You and me I mean.”
Surprised, I said,
“Of course we do. You know we do. Why would you ask such a thing?”
She stopped, turned, looked straight at me and declared,
“Because I think my name’s a curse and only brings trouble. It brought trouble to Mum and Dad. It left you and Mr Rider stuck with me, and all the other children in the village taunt me about it; they still don’t want anything to do with me. And worst of all, I think it’s why my family was killed, so I don’t talk about it ’cos I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
Admonition Page 11