Soon he saw the mariner’s lead being swung out into the water and Jemmy explained that it had been greased with tallow so that whatever lay at the bottom would stick to it. At the parallel where the Chesapeake joined the Atlantic the bottom consisted of mud mixed with sand and small oyster shells. If the lead brought up this mixture then, said Jemmy,
‘Our latitude’s thirty-seven degrees north, Gav, and the Capes of Virginia lies dead ahead.’
Regina appeared not to be listening to Gav and Jemmy’s conversation. Elbows leaning on the bulwarks, she was gazing absently into space. She was not sure whether she would be glad to reach Virginia or not. She had no idea what she was going to do when she got there. Would it be best to continue acting the part of a boy, she wondered. Not that she had any fears of Mistress Annabella finding her in this far-off land. But it might be easier for a boy than a girl to find work or buy a piece of land, or do anything. Perhaps she could be employed in Ramsay’s store along with Gav until she had a chance to look around and see what other opportunities there were.
‘Look! Look!’ Gav shouted again. Flying fish with white bodies and black wings were rising out of the water and skittering above the waves with dolphins pursuing them. Sometimes they soared into the air for ten to twenty feet before dropping back with a gentle little splashing noise into the continual swishing of the water.
Regina wished time would stand still and she would always remain like this, shut inside herself, never reaching anywhere, never needing to make any decisions, just standing staring out at the vast ocean. But sadness came to blur the edges of her rigidity and hang heavy on her like a black cloak. It cut her off even further from the frolicking life in the water, from Gav and Jemmy chatting, from the sailors energetically working the pumps and singing.
‘… Oh, pump away in merry, merry strife,
Oh, heave away for to save dear life,
Oh, pump her out from down below,
Oh, pump her out and away we’ll go.
The starboard pump is like the crew,
It’s all worn out an’ will not do,
Leave her, Johnny, we can pump no more,
It’s time we wuz upon dry shore.’
Without saying anything, Regina turned away. Gav did not notice her go. He was too thrilled by everything that was going on and interested in what Jemmy was telling him. She went to the cuddy and sat at the table with white knuckled hands in front of her. Lack of sleep screwed her on a rack between wakefulness and repose. Nightmares born of the darkness refused to die. Flitting about like shadows they haunted the daylight hours, straining her with anxiety. She longed for some haven where she could relax and rest and have no need to worry about anything or anybody. But life was a snake pit where nothing could be expected except evil abuse. Anything different had to be fought for or paid for and she was girding herself to do both.
She’d heard that the Colonies were always desperate for servants of any sort so that there should be no difficulty getting a job beside Gav in Ramsay’s store. But it would only be a temporary measure. One day she would have a store of her own. Or something even bigger and better. One day she would have servants serving her. The certainty of this gave her some satisfaction and lightened her spirits so that later during what was known as a ‘smooth spell’, she was able to enjoy the first cooked meal she and Gav (or anyone else for that matter) had had for several days.
It was impossible not only to cook in the galley when it was stormy but for anyone to walk from the galley to the table with the food. Many a man had lost his reviving hot drink of tea before reaching the foc’stle. Many a dish of salt beef had ended in the scuppers.
That night the weather remained calm and she took a lantern on deck and stood gazing at the sea’s looking-glass surface speckled with star dust. A gentle breeze was blowing the ship over the dark water leaving a wake of silver fire. The fairy image remained with her long after she returned to her cabin and lay awake, as still as a corpse, listening to the creaking and groaning of the ship.
She was still awake when morning came and Gav scrambled happily from the bunk. It seemed as if she had lain the whole night long with eyes and ears alert. Yet black spaces in her memory indicated that there must have been occasions when sleep crept up on her.
‘Regina! I mean Reggie,’ Gav hastily corrected himself. ‘Come on, we don’t want to miss the first sight of land. Jemmy says we might reach the Chesapeake today.’
But it was not that day but the next before they heard the cry of ‘Land ho! Land ho! Land ahead on the larboard bow.’
Everyone was jubilant. Even Mr Jubb could not contain his excitement. His face flushed and his eyes shone. Captain Kilfuddy frisked about the deck and rubbed his hands with glee. He was quite cranky with delight.
‘Och, what a wonderful science is navigation!’ he cried out. ‘Is it no’ astonishing, Maister Chisholm, that we’ve safely crossed thousands of miles of trackless ocean and found land again? The verra land we planned to reach.’
‘Indeed it is, sir,’ Gav agreed.
‘Let us a’ thank God,’ said the captain, taking off his hat and gazing heavenwards, ‘for our preservation from the perils of the deep. We thank ye, Lord. Aye, we thank ye.’
Then he thumped his hat back on and grinned delightedly round at everyone again.
By that afternoon they had reached the Chesapeake—‘The Noblest Bay in the Universe’—and they were sailing deep into the James River.
Gav feverishly chattered all the time. The New World had obviously cast a spell over him and Regina couldn’t blame him for being so impressed. She had never expected to see such thickly wooded shores or trees of such enormous proportions. The forests looked ancient, primeval. They had a reverent gloom that was awesome and frightening. Everything was giant size. Foot long bullfrogs made the deep bellowing sounds of oxen, enormous turtles sunned themselves on the river banks and swam with their heads out of water. Shoals of fish packed the river, and there were whales and porpoises in abundance. The water was black with ducks and when they took flight there was a great rustling and vibration like a storm coming through the trees. Wild geese were everywhere too and they rose in such enormous numbers that the noise made by their wings sounded like a whirlwind.
Flocks of four or five hundred turkeys could be seen hustling along. Some must have weighed fifty pounds and more.
At last, through the tangle of undergrowth and the forests of giant pine and oak and chestnut, clearings began to appear and projecting into the muddy waters of the river were the rough wood landings of the plantations.
The Glasgow Lass billowed along on a fine breeze until she reached the wharf which was backed by the log warehouses and sheds where hogsheads of tobacco had been collected ready for shipping. Nearer the backcloth of trees could be seen the timber building that served as the store. There was a jailhouse too with a scaffold and pillory. In front of the jailhouse stretched a large clearing. Over on one side stood a cluster of log cabins of various sizes, some with large brick chimneys built out on one wall from ground to roof. Some had curtains at sparkling glass windows and all the doors lay open. From all directions people were hastening to the wharf to welcome the ship as it glided in. Negro slaves ran to catch the lines and warp the vessel into the side.
A gang plank was made ready and down strutted Captain Kilfuddy into the dusty bilge-stinking heat wearing his hair tied back in a bow and a large black stock muffling his neck and chin. He was greeted by the store manager, Mr Speckles, who, despite his shifty eyes, looked and was genuinely glad to see him. Mr Speckles was a lonely skeleton of a man with a pale scurfy face and nails bitten down until there was a red rim protruding at the end of each finger.
The Virginians did not like store managers to whom they owed a great deal of money and Mr Speckles, like the other managers of the stores in the chain that stretched deep into the interior, had been advised by the Glasgow tobacco lords not to become too friendly with the neighbouring planters. They were also fo
rbidden to marry. Shiploads of women had been sent over to Virginia from Scotland for the purpose of supplying wives for planters and other men but storekeepers were supposed to concentrate all their time and attention on nothing but business.
‘And what have you got for me this time, Cap’n?’ he queried, his eyes jerking furtively this way and that.
‘All that ye asked for and more, Mr Speckles,’ the captain announced proudly. ‘There’s everything from linens, damask, gloves, china teacups, silver plates, cutlery, fine furniture, pots and pans and tools, to convicts and indentured servants.’
‘Thank the Lord for the servants. How many lassies did Maister Ramsay send me?’
‘No lassies, Mr Speckles. Just one lad. Gav Chisholm’s the name. Aye, but there’s another who’s willing. A cousin of wee Gav’s. As smart a young lad as any, I’ll wager.’
‘Ah, well, a servant’s a servant. One’s better than none and two’s even better. There’s plenty planters here, as you can see, Cap’n. They’re waiting for the goods being ready for sale in the store. But they’re even more anxious for servants. Some of them aren’t too keen on having Negroes in the house. Even in the fields they’re more of a hindrance than a help at first. They’re slow and clumsy and that’s not much use when seedlings have to be transplanted.’
‘The convicts are women. Most of them quite hale and hearty.’
‘Good, good.’
‘Here’s the lads I was telling you about.’ The captain raised his voice. ‘Maisters Chisholm. Over here with ye. Aye, there ye are.’ He beamed at them when they arrived at his side. ‘Aren’t they a smart looking pair, Mr Speckles?’
‘Indeed, indeed. If you come into the store I’ll take you upstairs and show you your room. My living quarters and my counting house are above the shop. It’s best, I think, that you should be where I can keep an eye on you. We’ll talk business later. Will you come up as well, Cap’n, and I’ll give you a dram.’
Mr Speckles was wearing a brown tie-wig, a dusty-looking green frockcoat and breeches, a long brown waistcoat and brown buckled shoes. He walked in a jerky fashion with his hands tucked underneath the tails of his coat and puffs of dust spurting up from behind his heels.
‘You’ve given your orders to unload, I’ve no doubt.’
‘Aye, aye,’ said the captain. ‘Everything’s under way, don’t you worry, Mr Speckles.’
But just to make certain, Mr Speckles stopped at the door of the store and blinked back at the wharf. There, sure enough, were Mr Jubb and the bosun shouting orders to the men who were busy unloading the cargo and singing so heartily they all but drowned out Mr Jubb’s and the bosun’s cries. Later these same men would come ashore gaily rigged-up in varied costume. Most wore white stockings, loose white duck trousers, blue jackets and checked or striped shirts. Some swaggered ashore wearing gay sashes full of pistols and cutlasses. They would make for the path through the trees that led to another clearing and the Widow Shoozie’s tavern.
Mr Speckles heaved a quick little sigh. Even the thought of a woman tormented him. The need for one continually clawed at his innards, distracting him from his work making him absent-minded and a prey to secret acts with his slaves and himself that he was bitterly ashamed of. With an effort he banished such thoughts from his mind.
There was an outside wooden stair at the side of the store that led to the living quarters and the counting house and as he climbed it, he gripped his hands tightly under his coat tails, making them bulge and flip.
Reaching a narrow inside passage at the top of the stairs he indicated where Gav and Regina had to go and then led Captain Kilfuddy into the counting house. At an open window there was a table and chairs where they settled to savour their dram. From the window could be seen The Glasgow Lass, her masts like fragile threads compared with the trees crowding in on either side of the clearing.
Mr Speckles said:
‘I’ve had a hard time on my own these past few weeks, Cap’n. My clerk and two servants died of the fever and a woman slave was drowned. All since I’ve last seen you. I’m dogged with bad luck, sir. Dogged by it.’ He fingered his glass round and round, never raising his eyes from it.
‘Aye,’ the captain agreed. ‘That’s verra true. You get more than your share of stormy weather, Mr Speckles. But be of good cheer, you’re not shipwrecked yet.’ The old man raised his glass. ‘Yer good health, sir.’
Mr Speckles nodded, lifting his own glass but his eyes not quite reaching the same height.
‘Safe journey back to Glasgow, Cap’n.’
While the two men were downing their whisky, Regina and Gav surveyed their new home. The walls of the room were made of huge logs and the chinks were filled with clay. There were two bunk beds, a table dark with stains, and two chairs. From the glassless window they could see a vegetable patch and a tiny cornfield. The corn had been planted between tree stumps as that part of the forest had been cleared. Then there was the forest itself like a gigantic wall.
Heat shimmered like yellow steam outside but inside it was dark brown and comparatively cool.
‘Isn’t this marvellous?’ Gav said.
Regina shrugged.
‘I suppose it’s better than sleeping in filthy cold closes in Glasgow.’
‘Maybe later we’ll get time to go exploring. Do you think I should change into my old clothes now?’
‘No, better wait until he’s spoken to us and told us what our duties are.’
‘Are you going to be a girl again?’ Gav asked.
Regina looked away. She felt afraid of anyone knowing she was female. Yet for how much longer could she hide her swelling breasts and rounding hips.
‘Mind your own business,’ she said.
10
ANNABELLA decided to wear scarlet on her wedding day. Letitia Halyburton and her daughters Griselle and Phemy had tried pleading, cajoling and bullying her into the white satin dress trimmed with silver. Or even the flowered silk. But Annabella was adamant. She was wearing the scarlet taffeta and to hell with the lot of them.
Griselle said,
‘It’s not even fashionable any more. Everyone’s wearing delicate pastel shades in London.’
Griselle was very proud of the fact that she had been to that far-off city and never missed an opportunity of bringing up the fact in conversation.
‘I don’t care a damn what they’re wearing in London.’
‘But, Annabella …’
‘I do what I please and I wear what I please.’
Griselle’s lips primped. She had a draw string mouth like her mother and was stiff-backed like Letitia too.
‘You may wear what you please, Annabella, but I don’t think it pleases you much to be marrying the minister.’
Annabella flicked out her fan and tipped her head high.
‘I dare say, Mistress Griselle, I’ll be as happy, if not happier, married to Mr Blackadder as you are to my brother Douglas.’
Griselle flushed. Douglas was a fop and not renowned for any strength of character. It had often been said that the devil had been at work in the Ramsay house and twisted everything about so that Annabella had all the spunk and her brother was the delicate, giggling female.
There was no need to persuade him to dress up. At that very moment he was at home fussing and fluttering into his frilly shirt and his suit of flowered silk. He would also have painted his face as the gentlemen of fashion did in England but he hadn’t the courage to withstand the wrath that the sight of cosmetics would explode in his father.
He was to be the bridesman and was expected to appear at the Ramsay house within the hour and escort Annabella to the church. His father’s displeasure at the perfumed powder he’d used on his wig would be hard enough to bear. By the time he reached the house, however, his father had left for the church and the bridesmaids were waiting eagerly for his arrival. Everyone was on tiptoe with anticipation it seemed, except the bride.
Annabella was sitting in her bedroom like a queen, head held high,
fan flicking. Her eyes were wide open yet she did not seem to be looking at anyone or anything.
Twice Phemy had to say,
‘Annabella, dear, your brother has arrived and we are ready to form the procession.’
Then suddenly Annabella bounced to her feet and swooped towards the door like a flame setting the room ablaze.
Everyone hustled excitedly after her, hitching up skirts and petticoats to protect them from the dirt of the turnpike stairs leading down to the back yard.
Outside the close in Saltmarket Street a piper was waiting and when he saw Annabella approaching like a whirlwind, he hastily set his pipes skirling to the tune of ‘Fye, let’s a’ to the Bridal.’ Behind him the bridal procession formed in readiness to follow the piper up Saltmarket Street, round by the Cross and along Trongate Street to the church. The bride was supported on one side by Douglas, the bridesman, and on the other by a young bridesmaid called Netty. Douglas and Netty linked arms with Annabella and from Netty’s left hand and Douglas’s right was held a white scarf which festooned across the figure of the bride. Behind them were two young girls bearing a scarf in the same way and behind them again fluttered Griselle and Phemy and another girl called Sukie. The sun sparkled the bridesmaids’ wide-skirted yellow and blue and silver satin gowns and made riotous gardens of the flowered silks which Douglas, Griselle, Phemy and Sukie wore.
The procession drew the attention of crowds of townspeople who either leaned from windows to watch or jostled about on either side of the street or merrily joined in. Children skipped after it too and blue-coated beggars and one-eared thieves and tousy-haired harlots. People clapped their hands and danced up and down and there was a great babble and buzz of laughter and of excitement that almost drowned the music of the pipes.
The church was packed inside and the heat of the day had increased the stench of living bodies as well as those long dead. The earthen floor was continuously being dug up and human bones kicked aside to make room for fresh bodies. People complained about the bones and the smell of them to no avail. But no one was in the mood for complaining today as they crushed aside to make way for the bridal procession.
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy Page 39