Foreign Mud

by Andrew Wareham

  We made the Pool of London without mishap and tied up and I sought out Mr Ainslie’s agent, having his direction safely tucked away in my breast pocket.

  “My name is Jackson, sir, lately of Bombay. Mr Ainslie may have mentioned my name.”

  There was a very cautious acceptance that the gentleman – a canny Scot, lean and closed-looking, dressed clean and grey and wearing steel-rimmed spectacles, never one to sport gold – might have heard of both of us.

  “I have a substantial sum in bullion waiting aboard my transport and needing safe storage for the short while, sir. I may be indulging in the China trade before too long and will wish to use the services of a London factor.”

  “My name is McKay, as you know, Mr Jackson. I am always available to serve the needs of Mr Ainslie’s acquaintance.”

  He spoke with no trace of the Scots in his voice, presumably for wishing not to offend London merchants. I discovered on a later day that a proportion of so-called Scotsmen in business in England were of the Jewish persuasion and had never seen Hadrian’s Wall. It transpired that some forms of alien were preferred to others in London and that while Scots might be mocked by the mob, Jews were frequently pelted.

  McKay quickly organised dray and horses and six large porters and sent them with me to the ship, condescending to accompany me himself. His distant manner thawed as he watched the flow of crates come out of the little hold; he almost smiled.

  “Mainly taels, Mr McKay, but I understand that silver is in short supply in London the while. There is a little – two or three thousands, no more – in gold pagodas and dust. I have some Bills of Exchange that may be discounted for something more.”

  McKay raised an eyebrow at that last, wondering just whose Bills they might be. I named four of the biggest firms in the West African Trade, as it was politely called in London, and he nodded approvingly.

  “Bills on those names will discount easily, Mr Jackson. Bombay merchants are rarely to be seen at Cape Coast Castle, or so I am told.”

  I explained my interest in a private ship of war and how it had come about. He was aware of conditions in the China Trade and was interested to hear that my patron had left Canton.

  “The gentleman will hardly wish to remain in Bombay, Mr Jackson…”

  I ventured to disagree, in part.

  “I believe he will retain a presence there, Mr McKay, for wishing to have access to the Persian trade, an alternative to the Silk Road which is currently experiencing difficulties as order breaks down in the western parts of China and in central Asia generally. There is a feeling that overland trade will fall away these next few years. The lord himself has no intention of staying in Bombay – he would inevitably find difficulties arising with John Company, there being no room for triads in their polity. The feeling was that he will finally gravitate to New York, that city being as corrupt as Canton and without any effective central government to intervene. I was told that the Qing are losing power in China while Washington has yet to gain power in America. I have every expectation of dealing with his people there in the early future.”

  Mr McKay was interested, wondering just what goods might be traded in and out of New York. I confessed that I did not know as yet; I could not imagine it would be too difficult to find out.

  The dray loaded and the six porters formed up as guards, nervous seeming as they hefted wooden batons they had brought with them and which now appeared the flimsiest of weapons. Their leader made no attempt to hide his anxiety.

  “We been watched, Mr McKay. The longshoremen seen us loading up heavy crates and got an idea what it might be, sir.”

  McKay sent one off at the run to bring men from his own favoured source, a gang located distant from the waterfront.

  “They will be the better part of an hour getting here, Mr Jackson!”

  I called to Fred, asked what he was carrying.

  “Cutlass, Master Giles, and just the two long pistols. What about you, sir?”

  I confessed to being underprepared.

  “Just the two short double-barrels, Fred. What of our two men?”

  Valet and barber apologised for carrying only a single knife apiece. The barber was prepared to surrender his second-best pair of cutthroat razors to the cause, one apiece so they had something for their left hands.

  “Ain’t you got a blade, Master Giles?”

  “Not as such, Fred. Sorry!”

  I turned to the coaster, still tied up, its master and three crew readying themselves for an evening in London Town, a rare treat.

  “Master, have you anything useful I might hire for a short while?”

  He offered the services of all four, at a rate of pay to be discussed later when the nature of the work had revealed itself.

  “Got a bit aboard, sir, acos of they Frogs what sometimes is to be found off our shores. Out of Brittany, the buggers! Got four old short buckshot guns, what we makes special in Poole for usselves. You might say they was blunderbusses, if you was old fashioned. Half a dozen of cutlasses as well, and you can ‘ave one of they, if you likes.”

  I thanked him and borrowed the cutlass – a normal sort of blade, slightly curved and heavy, with a point but mostly for slashing. He produced his blunderbusses – no more than eighteen inches in the barrel and a good two inch bore. The load was a sort of triangular buckshot, pyramid shaped in fact, a quarter of an inch on the side in lead, and a good two ounces of black powder.

  “Needs a strong arm to hold that when you fire, Master.”

  “The sea ain’t no place for weaklings, sir. Got it worked out, we have. I fire first and hands my gun back on me left while Jarge passes me ‘is on the right and sets to the reload. Alfie do the same with Pete stood to ‘is back.”

  George and Peter were younger hands, small built for not being fully grown men yet.

  I dug into my purse and found eight guineas, handed them out, two apiece.

  “Extras for being willing to help me out, Master. We can talk about the fee afterwards. Will you need to leave men here to guard your ship?”

  He laughed and shook his head.

  “Paid for that already, so I ‘as, Master. Ties up at the wharf and the rats send their bagman along to take their fee for safekeeping, so they do. Pay him the charge they sets and the ship be safe, and its cargo while it’s aboard. Don’t nobody cross the dock rats, sir, not if they want not to ‘ave their throats cut.”

  McKay quietly agreed.

  “Cargo is safe aboard ship, provided you pay, Mr Jackson. The ship itself will not be touched. Their protection does not extend on shore, unfortunately.”

  I noticed clusters of the ragged and idle drifting towards the dray, and then quietly disappearing again as they took in the pistols and long guns and blades that had appeared.

  “The organised gangs will take time to gather together. By then, we shall be safe in my premises, Mr Jackson. I pay my insurance and am assured of my protection; add to that, my walls are masonry, not wood, and the windows are well barred. It is only in the street that we need have any fears, and I think with these men present we shall be unmolested.”

  Thirty slow minutes up from the docks took us back to McKay’s premises and inside his warehouse where we unloaded and I paid off the four from the ship, very generously for wanting a good name in Poole. There was always a chance that I would be working there again and it was useful to be known.

  We made a formal count of the bullion – the silver by weight, the gold coins by number and face value. The pagoda was known in London as were the various other gold coins from Portugal and Spain and Persia and Venice, in that order of frequency; all could be instantly converted into guineas. McKay made an offer for the taels; being in the China Trade predominantly he frequently sent silver overseas and found it increasing difficult to source. He was happy to pay a few points over par for genuine taels and catties that would be taken without question by his correspondents.

  He directed the four of us to a hotel used much by the merchant com
munity and in the habit of looking after rich guests.

  “Not the match of the West End hotels for ostentation, Mr Jackson, but their superior in terms of food and simple comforts and far less expensive! Tomorrow, sir, we must speak to a banker regarding facilities for you and then send an Express to Mr Ainslie informing him of your presence in London.”

  I did not know of the Express and McKay explained it to be a rapid, and very expensive, messenger system sending letters to any location in Britain by horseback, their privacy guaranteed.

  “As well, Mr Jackson, no professional criminal will interfere with their riders and no amateur will do so twice. They are very well protected with their own people to investigate any attack upon them and to apprehend and punish the evil-doers.”

  I established my accounts with the banker recommended by McKay and enjoyed a quiet rest in the big city, a place I had never seen before. The hotel provided our meals, English beef but well cooked by a foreigner, no Englishman understanding more than the production of overdone boot leather ribs and steaks. At McKay’s earnest suggestion, I patronised a tailor favoured by the merchant community and equipped myself with frockcoat and breeches and half boots to fit in with mercantile tastes. It was important not to stand out, it seemed.

  On the fifth day a reply came from Ainslie.

  Chapter Nine

  The note from Ainslie was brief, a single sheet of quarto folded and sealed – there was no such thing as an envelope in those days; very much a new invention of these last ten years since the penny post came into existence.

  ‘Dear Mr Jackson,

  I am Pleased to hear of Your Presence in our Homeland and must Welcome you to my Residence at your Convenience. I am well as is my Family and much look forward to Seeing You again. I have sent instructions to Mr McKay regarding those Funds I hold for you.

  Your Humble and Obedient Servant,

  Alexander Ainslie, KB.’

  It was an old-fashioned missive, much in the style that was favoured then, especially for the scattering of capital letters, they being used for any word thought to be of importance and applied in a way we find funny now. At least he did not use the old long ‘f’ for the letter ‘s’ – which made it likely he was self-taught. Any schoolmaster of the older generation would have used the Germanic ‘f’ and would have imbued his pupils with its necessity. It told me a little more of the man and increased my respect for him – all that he was, and that was a great deal, was of his own creation.

  Men like Ainslie have left me with little love for the hereditary principle. Of course, my own son has contributed to that feeling. Add to that, living through the reigns of Prinny and Silly Billy has given a contempt for the idea that simply being born is a qualification for anything. Not to worry! I shall make acquaintance with the Grim Reaper soon enough and will have no further cause to concern myself about such matters.

  On another side issue – my dear boy sent a letter home only yesterday to announce his pending nuptials. His mother has been bending his ear these fifteen years on the need for an heir and he has listened to her at last. A ‘good’ wife, as well, in terms of her connections if not for the wealth she brings with her – poor as a church mouse, hasn’t got a thousand to her name. That’s why Fred is acceptable to her family, of course – half a million and more ain’t to be sniffed at, even by the Brudenells. We must go to London in a few days to attend the necessary parties. Poor little Fred! He begged his mother to ‘speak to me’ and ensure that I behaved myself in company. I do know how to do that, will for his sake on this occasion; I shall eschew vulgarity, and amusement!

  Where was I?

  Ainslie, that was it, making me welcome. I had been nine parts certain that he would be happy to see me, but a niggling little doubt said that I had seen him off carrying more than twenty thousands of mine and not a word on paper, no contract, no agreement, no receipts. A gentleman’s word might be his bond, and so it seemed to have transpired, but we were neither of us of that persuasion!

  McKay had been friendly enough before, knowing I had a few thousand and habitually carried pistols; whatever Ainslie had written to him had left him positively obsequious. He bowed low as I entered his premises and scurried to set a chair for me.

  “A fine morning, Mr Jackson! Will you set out for Hampshire soon, sir? Mr Ainslie has instructed me to furnish you with his precise direction, and to draw a little map for finding him, the county’s roads being somewhat obscure, as are all of those outside of the greater towns of England!”

  “Tomorrow, I would expect, Mr McKay. What is this ‘KB’ against Mr Ainslie’s name? New, is it not?”

  “Knight Bachelor, Mr Jackson. The least form of the knighthood commonly granted to those who have performed some service to the Crown or to their neighbourhood, or who will do so and are recognised as deserving.”

  I was moderately impressed.

  “Sir Alexander, then?”

  “That is so, Mr Jackson. A recognition of the gentleman’s general merits.”

  Young I may have been, and effectively new to England, but I understood that to mean that he was richer than most and therefore welcomed to the clan of the great and the good.

  “For today, Mr McKay, I must discuss matters of trade with you, I believe. I have a few guineas sat idle and that will never do!”

  McKay showed less than eager to do business, which surprised me.

  “It might be better, Mr Jackson, was you to talk with Sir Alexander first… I believe, that is to say, I know, that he has some proposals to put to you, sir. Their nature has not been vouchsafed to me, but I do not doubt they will be much to your interest, sir. I can say that I have reason to suppose that he has some desire to step back from direct involvement in trade. I understand that since he has been granted the honour of a knighthood he is to take some part in the good governance of his part of Hampshire and particularly the raising of local Volunteers. As a gentleman he will find it easier to deal with others of his rank if he is not, as they think, contaminated by trade.”

  The war had seemed far distant from London and I had thought nothing of it and did not understand the nature of Volunteers. I raised an inquiring eyebrow.

  “There is a shortage of soldiers in England, Mr Jackson. Many of the redcoat regiments have been sent overseas – to Ireland and India, as always, and lately to the Sugar Islands in some numbers and also to Canada, the new America having made noises about the border there. As well, there is need for a garrison in Gibraltar and there are a few troops down on the Coast, as you may know. The effect is that there is some feeling that should the French ever invade, there are few men to hand to defeat them. Such being the case, the Militia has been made up to strength and new bodies of Fencibles and Volunteers are being raised. The latter, of course, are under the command of the local gentry who provide their uniforms and pay for their muskets and powder and arrange for them to be trained. There are a few of Yeomanry, as well, horse soldiers that is, but not so many of them, cavalry being expensive and riding stock not so easy to come by. Fencibles are more professional than Volunteers and may take some of the functions of the Militia and may as well be called to serve overseas; they are paid, while Volunteers generally are not.”

  It was easy to see that a nabob was more than welcome when it came to shelling out for a few hundred yokels under arms.

  “So, Mr Ainslie is become a leading local gentleman, you say, Mr McKay?”

  “So he writes me, yes, Mr Jackson. I am given to believe that he wishes to discuss his trading activities with you. And yours, of course. There is the problem that a gentleman cannot expect to be involved in Trade and you are of gentle birth.”

  Still the case, I fear. I have no desire to be a gentleman, of course, but my family have inclinations that way. I must bow down to their wishes, I suppose… one day.

  “What does that mean for me, Mr McKay?”

  “I do not know for sure, sir. Sir Alexander will explain, I do not doubt. For the moment, sir, I would wis
h to borrow your funds and set them to work for me, as indeed, Sir Alexander has suggested. I could pay you four per centum on the year, sir.”

  I laughed.

  “You would pay me twelve hundred pounds, you say, Mr McKay… I might propose that you make me a sleeping partner and entitled to twenty-five per centum of your annual profits, with sight of the books.”

  I was fairly much certain that he was worth more than ninety thousand, although that was all my offer implied. I was fishing, no more, wondering just how short credit might be in London at that time, whether the possession of money in cash singled me out. McKay took my offer seriously, which was a surprise.

  “Twenty-five per centum, Mr Jackson? I feel that might be to set yourself rather high, sir. I might be able to guarantee you an income of two thousand per annum, sir, against a longer loan.”

  We dickered and debated for an hour and in the end I agreed to a loan of thirty thousand for one year at eighteen hundred pounds, the matter of a partnership to be considered at repayment. While I did not know what Ainslie wanted, I could hardly commit myself too far ahead, yet I could not put a cargo together in time for that year’s convoy out to Bombay. McKay’s proposal made good sense.

  I held back a little more than two thousand for my expenses on the year and sat down with the map McKay offered.

  “Mr Ainslie is located to the north of Winchester, sir, outside of the village of Micheldever, on the chalk Downs. Mostly sheep country, he has told me, but with an increasing amount of wheat in the sheltered south-facing valleys, of which he owns several.”

  That meant little to me. McKay explained that the price of wheat was rising every year, for some reason unknown. The effect was to increase the income of those fortunate landlords who possessed wheatfields and, concomitantly, to add to the value of their estates. The process of enclosure, which I had not heard of, was also putting money in the landowners’ pockets.