Origins_Revolution

by Mark Henrikson

  “Just as well,” another voice said. “If we caught him, then we would have to feed him while he rots in jail or gets put in an orphanage. Costs a bloody fortune, no wonder our taxes are so high.”

  “Not anymore. Didn’t you hear? Petty criminals, along with some very nasty ones, are getting loaded onto ships bound for the New World. We’d have been rid of him for good,” the winded voice huffed. “Come on now, let’s get a wagon to cart Carlton out of here and into the infirmary.”

  While the two officers went back to the market to borrow a wagon, Paul got to his feet. He shuffled his way out into the streets of London and did his best to pretend like nothing happened. His bloodied shins ached with every stride until he reached the docks.

  There he took off his shoes, pulled up his pant legs and waded into the salty water to wash out his wounds and rinse clean his stolen potatoes. The wounds along his shins were not serious, but burned like they were dipped into a boiling pot as the sea salt ran over the abrasions.

  After that round of self-torture, Paul sat with his legs dangling over the dock to air dry while taking in the sights and sounds of his favorite place in the entire city. The towering ships were so powerful and majestic. The way the crews worked the decks, let down or tied up the sails and loaded cargo was like watching a choreographed dance.

  Paul pulled out one of his potatoes and took a healthy bite from the top. It was hard, had the consistency of sawdust in his mouth and tasted like droppings from a farm animal, but it was food. He would live another few days, and those were blessed days away from the orphanage where he escaped the physical and sexual abuses by the priests who ran the state funded facility.

  Paul realized that his freedom came at a cost as he looked down at his shins and massaged his wrist. Paul also knew that he was getting older. He would not be able to do this forever, but there were no jobs for vagrant orphans. Well, none that he was willing to perform anyway.

  As he took another bite of potato and choked down the vile mouthful, he watched a crew of sailors loading chicken and eggs, cattle, and grains. He realized that there was more food on one of these ships than he had ever seen in his life.

  With that fact running through his head, Paul took another bite of his potato. His body refused to choke it down. He spat out the contents, then reared back and threw the remaining half of his potato as far as he could into the bay waters.

  He struggled back to his feet, pulled out his remaining potato and gave it a good look. “Petty criminals now get put on those boats bound for the New World with all that food? To blazes with this garbage.”

  Paul then turned around and headed back to the market with his pilfered potato held high above his head. He suddenly had a guilty conscience that needed confessing since it would no longer be to the orphanage priests.

  Chapter 9: Crossing Paths

  throughout his many lifetimes, Valnor had experienced a multitude of living conditions. Residing among the Hanging Gardens of ancient Babylon was undeniably breathtaking in its beauty. To this day, Valnor still held it as the grandest place he had ever seen.

  On the other end of things, he had endured the public toilets of ancient Rome. The vile enclosures were shared by an entire street lined with apartment buildings; upwards of a thousand residents. All of them shared one sponge on the end of a stick to wipe after finishing their business, and those sponges were rarely changed.

  If that was not bad enough, rodents from the sewer system were known to climb up and scratch or bite citizen’s posteriors while using the toilets. Then of course, there was the stench. Methane gas would build up and occasionally ignite in an explosion. The Romans literally risked their lives when using a public toilet, which made them the worst places Valnor ever knew.

  As he sat below decks in a ship crossing the Atlantic Ocean bound for the New World, Valnor judged his current conditions to be little improved from the Roman toilet houses. Each person had at most six square feet of personal space. For Valnor, that gave him enough room to set his wooden chest on the floor and sit on it. The ceiling beams were only five feet above the floor and seemed to press down on the passengers like a coffin lid.

  All those sweaty bodies packed into tight quarters for six weeks without a bath made for a ripe odor, one that attracted every fly, maggot, and lice for miles around it seemed. At times, the more disgusting individuals could scrape a layer of gnats off their arms and legs. It was a deplorable place to be, but it was the only way for any of them to reach the New World.

  “Your move,” a young voice said to Valnor.

  The prompting drew his attention back to the chessboard set up between him and his opponent as they straddled the flat-topped chest holding his belongings. The boy was a quick study. Valnor had taught him how to play the game only a week earlier, and the kid was already executing attacks that went three or four moves deep in planning. He was still no match for Valnor, and Captain Hastelloy would have eaten him alive for sure, but it passed the time.

  Valnor was about to make his next move, the first in a six move sequence that would result in checkmate, when a commotion to his right made him stop.

  “Get your foot out of my face, woman,” a bearded man yelled as he slapped a leg that ventured into his space. The blow was loud and sent the woman’s two-year old daughter into a fit of terrified screams. “And shut that brat up while you’re at it. All day, every day for a week now we’ve all had to listen to that little bitch scream.”

  “She lost her father two days ago, that tends to make children cry,” the woman shouted back as she pulled the young one close for a hug. She looked mad enough to tear the man to pieces, but she remained seated against the wall. The little girl could barely manage to get her arms around the woman’s pregnant belly as she clung to her mother, still whimpering a bit.

  “That ain’t nobody’s problems but yours. And who the hell gets on a boat like this when they’re about to drop another baby? Do you have a death wish, or are you just that simple in the head?” the gruff man barked.

  “We were supposed to be on the last crossing this ship made three months ago, but they were all filled up by the time we got to the front of the line. The tickets cost us everything we had, we couldn’t just walk away so we took this voyage instead,” the woman responded with tears building in her eyes.

  The family’s story was tragic on every conceivable level. The husband died of dysentery two weeks into the voyage. Now the woman was fighting through the same affliction while struggling to care for a toddler and trying not to push herself into labor in the process. Unfortunately, she was failing in that effort.

  Valnor noticed her starting to breath heavy at regular intervals a few hours ago, and now there was a puddle of clear liquid seeping out from where she sat. Her water had broken. The baby needed to be delivered and soon, but there was no doctor to be found. Perhaps if the woman’s husband were still around she would have a slim chance, but not now. She took a gamble making the crossing and she lost that bet.

  “You’re looking over at her like there’s something you can do to help. Are you a doctor?” the boy asked of Valnor in a quiet voice.

  “No, just a concerned individual,” Valnor explained.

  “Well, your concern don’t do nothin’ to save her, so why bother lookin’?” the boy asked. “It ain’t none of your business, so let’s get on with the game. I think I got you this time.”

  “Even if I were a doctor, if I went to help that woman I expect I’d come back to find you running off with my trunk. Can’t be too careful with convicted thieves like you all over this ship,” Valnor said with a playful wink he forced to the surface. He was only half joking with the lad, and they both knew it.

  Another pain-filled scream from the woman caused the boy to cast a disapproving look in her direction. He shook his head after a moment and sighed in a mournful tone, “Stupid wench. She should never have gotten aboard. Now we all have to watch and listen to her die slowly.”

  “Desperate people
do desperate things,” Valnor instructed. “I seem to recall you bragging that you turned yourself in for stealing potatoes to get aboard this ship.”

  “Beats payin’ for the crossing, or working for some rich family as an indentured servant for the next ten years. When we land, I step off this boat a free man able to do as I please. I reckon that makes me the smartest lad aboard,” the boy boasted. “Now would you make your move already?”

  “I don’t see why you’re in such a hurry. The only thing you’ve got on me in this game is the lice falling from your head,” Valnor teased as he flicked one of the little critters off the game board. A few weeks earlier, even the sight of such a large head lice would have made Valnor jump back. These days it happened all too often and was no cause for shock or alarm.

  The two continued their game while the woman’s screams for help grew louder and more desperate. Valnor glanced over his shoulder and saw the liquid under her was now thick and crimson; it would not be long now. Three moves later, the woman’s wailing suddenly fell silent and allowed the little girl’s crying to be heard instead. Valnor looked over and observed a man who sat near her putting away a knife that he used to puncture her lungs and heart through the back. The murder was not committed out of anger; it was a mercy killing.

  “Hush now, hold onto your mother there sweety,” the man encouraged as he wrapped the mother’s arms around her daughter. He gestured with his head for two other men to help lift them up. They carried the pair to the window at the back of the ship that everyone used as a toilet.

  A nearby priest mumbled a prayer to himself as the dead mother and crying daughter were dropped out the window. A young scream of complete terror was heard for a moment before a splash swallowed the sound and never let go.

  “Nasty business that,” Valnor said with a shake of his head.

  “Better than starving to death in here, or being sent to an orphanage once we land. Trust me on that account,” the boy added. “They did that little girl a favor.”

  “Still, a nasty business,” Valnor sighed. He might have been able to do something, but caring for a two year old and/or an infant was not part of the plan. There were far more lives at risk if he did not stay focused on provoking the French and English to bring their raging covert war in the Americas out into the open. Staying out of the woman and her child’s affairs was for the greater good, but that knowledge did not make it any easier for him at that moment.

  By the time the three men made it back to the bloodied deck timbers, the woman’s food supplies and belongings were already being picked over. The group of three looked ready to fight for their fair share, but the five men rummaging through her former possessions drew blades and stared them down.

  “The only way to survive on a ship like this is to have friends,” the boy said to Valnor once the tensions eased.

  “I expect that statement will hold true once we get off this ship as well,” Valnor pointed out before asking with an inviting tone, “Is that what we are now, friends? I don’t even know your name.”

  He could not care for young children once they landed, but he could manager pulling this teenager under his wing. The lad was intelligent, a quick study, and street wise. He might even prove to be an asset down the line. The thought made Valnor feel a little less guilty about what he just witnessed with the pregnant woman and her daughter.

  “I’m Paul,” the boy said with his hand extended to make the introduction official.

  Valnor brushed away another louse from Paul’s sleeve before grasping his hand. “Alexander, and we’ll need to shave you down before they let you through customs when we land. You know that right?”

  “I don’t got no razor,” Paul admitted. “In fact, I don’t got much more than the clothes on my back.”

  “Fortunately, your new friend does,” Valnor said with a knock on the chest they both used as a seat. “It’s not much, but I do know everything that’s in here; don’t be getting any ideas. Now, let’s see about shaving that head of yours.”

  Chapter 10: House Poor

  the first thing George felt in the morning was a crushing headache. The pounding was right behind his eyes and threatened to pop them both right out of his skull. He was never one for drinking in excess, but he made an exception for his wedding night and now he was paying the price.

  He glanced to his right and found his lovely new bride still asleep alongside him. Just the sight of her made the throbbing in his head bearable. It was technically an arranged marriage of convenience since the union made George the largest landowner in Virginia. That said, she was intelligent, gracious, and carried a pleasant disposition on life. If that were not enough cause for jubilation, there was also genuine affection between the two of them.

  He saw Martha’s eyes flutter for a moment before opening to look at him with a broad smile. That vibrant energy between them held until George greeted her, “Good morning, Mrs. Washington.”

  “Good morning, Mr. George Washington. Did you sleep well?” Martha asked.

  “Like a stone,” George answered before getting to his feet and walking over to the window. He pulled open the heavy curtains and looked out across the estate for the first time as its master. The sight made him draw in a deep breath that filled his lungs with cool air and his pride with ambition. The fields were fallow for now, but the possibilities for fortune were endless with these lands.

  “Remember, you have a meeting with the grounds foreman this morning to discuss this year’s planting season. Should I have breakfast brought in before then?” Martha asked with a playful voice hinting she already knew the answer.

  George turned around in time to see his lovely wife rise to her knees and allow the covers to fall away from her naked body. He let out a soft chuckle on his way back to the bed. “I think that can wait, don’t you?”

  Three hours later, George waved the grounds foreman into his office for an update on the plantation’s state of affairs. “Come in and have a seat. We have much to discuss I expect.”

  “Thank you, sir, and congratulations again on your marriage to Mrs. Martha. She is a wonderful woman and you put on a spectacular celebration last night,” the stocky man with deeply tanned skin said on the way to the seat to which George gestured.

  “I couldn’t help but notice how barren the fields are right now. At this point in the season shouldn’t we have them already planted?” George asked, diving right into the matter to get him back to his expecting bride all the sooner. They were newlyweds after all.

  “Well spotted, sir, and that is the reason I asked to speak with you so soon after your nuptials. There has been no money to purchase seeds yet this year.”

  “What do you mean, there were funds set aside?” George asked with understandable confusion. “I saw the ledgers. The money was there just last month.”

  “Yes, sir, that is correct. However, the land taxes due were increased yet again this year. Those funds were confiscated as a down payment on the back taxes owed,” the foreman informed with great reluctance in his voice and eyes. The man clearly wanted to be anywhere but in this office delivering the news.

  “A down payment?” George repeated in open-mouthed awe. “Are you telling me that this estate has no crops planted yet for the year and is in debt to the crown for back taxes?”

  “That is the long and short of it, sir.”

  “What can I do then? Can the land be used as collateral to purchase seed?” George asked while his mind raced to adjust and conform to his new reality. He was still wealthy in land, but apparently dirt poor in liquid assets.

  “Much of the 18,000 acres has already been used as collateral. A further complication is that any additional funds raised would be taken by the tax collectors as they must be paid first by law.”

  George shook his head in disbelief and looked about the room for answers with desperate eyes, but found none. “I am at a loss then, what can I do to make this plantation a profitable endeavor?”

  “I do not presume to t
ell you what to do, sir, but Mrs. Martha and I do have a suggestion.”

  After a few silent seconds, George was compelled to ask, “Well…?”

  “Your background in military service may prove a saving grace,” the foreman began with his eyes reading George’s body language intently. “The governor is looking to send expeditions into the frontier territories, but no officers are willing to take the assignments. We feel the governor could be convinced to postpone or even forgive the debt and extend the estate a loan in exchange for your military service.”

  This was a setup. George was enraged and on the verge of bouncing the foreman off every wall in this office for trying to use him in this way. It dawned on him, though, that the true culprit was not this man, it was the woman upstairs. She put this into motion months ago when the marriage was first discussed, and George only had himself to blame.

  He was so over the moon with his good fortune that such a wealthy woman would marry him. He did some due diligence, but failed in his duty to perform a thorough investigation before saying ‘I do’ and formalizing the contract of marriage. She had him. She played his ambitions like a finely tuned Stradivarius violin, and now she had him.

  Rather than cause his rage to boil over, George found the realization brought a slight grin of satisfaction to his lips. He married a crafty woman, and that fact gave him a measure of pride. He was still a wealthy landowner. The actual fortunes would come eventually, but there were some hard years ahead before then. This knowledge made him sit up straight and issue a command to the foreman, “Set up a meeting with the governor then, if one is not already arranged that is.”

  “He is expecting you the day after tomorrow, sir,” the foreman admitted.

  George could not suppress a laugh any longer. He could either let his sudden turn of fortunes ruin him, or he could admire the craftiness of the scheme and play his part for the benefit of all involved, which included himself.