They could not call on her in that dreadful little house on the dockside. The drive to the front door alone was more than most of the ladies could stomach. They sent their footmen to leave their cards, but they did not call in person, and Frances, reading the signs quite correctly, knew that she must wait until they moved into the big house in Queens Square.
At the end of the week, Josiah decided to take a gamble. He would send Rose out with insurance only for goods. No insurer would cover him for shipping slaves. Josiah was too desperate for profits to wait. He threw down his hat, took Captain Smedley by the arm as they walked along the quayside, and thrust him toward the ship.
“Go!” he exclaimed. “And sail her as if she were your own. I tell you honestly, Captain Smedley, we have to see a mighty profit on this sailing, and we are taking a mighty risk.”
The captain nodded. “I am ready. I will join her at the Kingsroad, when the pilot has brought her down the channel. I will do my best for you, Mr. Cole, as I always have done.”
“There will be a note for you in your cabin.” Josiah’s face was hungry. “We may need to bend the law a little on this voyage, Captain Smedley. You would have no difficulty with that, I take it.”
“As long as the ship and my crew are safe . . .”
Josiah nodded. “Keep the ship safe, whatever you do. I will see her set sail on the tide at dawn tomorrow. And your orders will be on your chart table in your cabin.”
The captain stooped and picked up Josiah’s hat and returned it to him with a smile. “Cover your head, Mr. Cole, I shall see you in the Merchant Venturers’ Company yet.”
Josiah bared his brown teeth. “Please God,” he said tightly.
NEXT MORNING JOSIAH WAS up early waiting on the quayside in thick cold fog. Rose was loading her final stores, extra boxes of trade goods carried swiftly and efficiently from Josiah’s warehouse: crate after crate of Birmingham muskets with flints and shot and gunpowder. Josiah was pouring munitions into Africa, to feed their need of guns.
Captain Smedley was not aboard; he would join the ship at Kingsroad anchorage, when the pilot had guided her down the Avon Gorge, with the rowboats towing her. Josiah wrote one final letter of instructions to him and left it in his cabin.
4th September 1788
On this Trip above all Others, I must stress that we have to show a Profit. To this End select the Very best Negroes you can find; but do not Delay too long off Africa. Ship Women and young children and Pack them very Close. I want you to carry as many as Six Hundred. The Extra deaths in passage will be paid for by the Extra profit in taking So many.
On this voyage, on this one Voyage only, you are to Go straight to the Spanish colonies and sell the slaves There, for Bullion. The papers to cover this Voyage make No mention of the Spanish colonies, and you will Destroy this letter when you have Read it. I know that this is Smuggling, and you will see a Bonus on your Return. This will be the only Time I will ask you to Trade with the Spanish, and I will Reward your Success. Buy what Sugar they offer, provided it is of Good quality, but take No notes of Credit. I want nothing but Gold and Sugar. Do not Fail me, Captain Smedley—Ship as many as you can find, and Pack them Tight!
The Rose was rocking temptingly on the tide, the waves slapping the quayside. The pilot came aboard as Josiah watched the barges attaching their lines.
“Take care, now,” Josiah said under his breath. The ship was uninsured for the middle voyage and would be perilously overloaded. He dared not tell Sarah; he hardly dared acknowledge to himself what he was doing.
The dockers slipped Rose’s moorings, and the rope snaked through the green water and was hauled up to the ship. The rowboats moved slowly forward, and the towing ropes sprang out of the water and quivered tautly, shedding drops of liquid silver along their length. There was the silent, precious moment when the ship hesitated, as if she could not believe that she were free, freely in her element after weeks of being tied to land; then slowly, almost reluctantly, the Rose moved away from the dockside and gathered speed as she glided down the channel toward the heights of the Avon gorge.
“Godspeed,” Josiah said under his breath. She was undercapitalized on this trip. She was financed by himself and only three other small partners. He had taken three shares to himself, and the others had only one share each. He had borrowed to buy the extra trade goods; he owed more than a thousand pounds on her. She was undercapitalized and underinsured. Josiah had no choice but to send her outside the law to sell to the Spanish plantations. It was a risk he had never taken before, but the Spanish would pay highly and in bullion. Josiah was sailing very close to the wind. “Godspeed,” he said.
AS IF TO JUSTIFY JOSIAH’S belief in his luck, that very day, when the sun had risen, showing red through the smoke from the lead-shot tower, Mr. Waring took breakfast with his wife and finally decided to sell the house in Queens Square to the Coles. Mrs. Waring had heard from the bishop’s wife herself that the new Mrs. Cole was the daughter of the Reverend John Scott, who had held the living at Claverton Down. Stephen Waring was frankly incredulous that a Miss Scott should marry a man such as Josiah and sleep above a sugar store, but Mrs. Waring was more acute. “I daresay if Josiah Cole is good enough for Lord Scott, he is good enough to buy our house,” she remarked archly. “And I daresay, Mr. Waring, that you can name your price if Mr. Cole has to provide a good house for his new wife.”
Mr. Waring said nothing, but when he retreated to his office, he wrote a note to Josiah naming a price for the house that was high enough to discourage any but the most eager.
If Josiah had been a regular at the top table of the coffee shop, he would have known that other houses in Queens Square were about to come on the market. If Josiah had been acquainted with the wealthy men of the city, he would have been in no hurry to snap up 29 Queens Square when 18 and 31 would be on the market within the month. The richest merchants were moving from the square; the city center was becoming too noisy, too dirty, and too crowded for them. Their wives had ambitions to be ladies of leisure; they did not want a parlor that also did service as an office.
Park Street was paved almost to the crown of the hill, and on either side of the street elegant town houses in pale honey stone were springing up. The first few houses in Great George Street had been sold, and others were planned. The astute men were buying up land all around Great George Street and on either side of Park Street, and architects were drawing plans for elegant terraces to rise one above the other all the way up the hill. Mr. Waring was discreetly negotiating, through an agent, for land even farther from the dockside. He did not share Josiah’s love of the city center. Mr. Waring was interested in Clifton.
Queens Square was falling from fashion, and the prices would slide as soon as it became apparent. Mr. Waring opened the paper again and added a note along the bottom.
I can Offer you this house at This price for a Week Only, Mr. Cole. I have had a Pressing enquiry from Another man to Whom I must reply within Eight days.
He folded the paper over, dropped red wax on it, and pressed his seal on it.
Thoughtfully, he took up another page.
Dear Tom,
Oblige me by Keeping your house Off the market for a Week. I have a Buyer for mine, and I do not want him Distracted.
He scrawled his initial and sprinkled sand over the note, rang for a footman to deliver them both, and went through to the parlor.
“I think you should call on Mrs. Cole, my dear,” he said to his wife. “Warehouse or no warehouse, I think she would reward an acquaintance. And certainly I shall be happy to do business with her husband.”
CHAPTER
7
WE HAVE TO RISE,” Josiah said to Sarah, Stephen Waring’s note in his hand. “We have to move in the circles where capital is available. The little men are growing wary of risk, and the bigger men want only large investments. You are right: The trade is in a temporary decline. It will boom again—we have seen it come and go—and we have to ride out these doldrums
. There are great chances in this city if we can but grasp them. We have to move in the circles of those that know.”
Sarah was pale with anxiety. “We had only three partners for Rose,” she said. “And she will not be home until late next year. Daisy will not be in until this December. We cannot overextend ourselves, Josiah. Mr. Waring’s price is far too high for that house. We are carrying too great a risk on the Rose, and too much of our capital is tied up in her. We cannot buy a new house as well.”
“Then we must borrow,” Josiah said determinedly. “Another house might not come vacant for months, even years. You know how sought-after that address is, Sarah. I have been waiting for a house for nearly a year. We have to buy it now; we dare not wait. We have to borrow.”
Sarah shook her head. She feared debt more than anything in the world. “Is there nothing left from her dowry?” She nodded to the room above the parlor, where Frances was lying down, sick with a headache, her curtains drawn against the noise of the streets near her window and the smell from the middens in the backyards.
“No, it was all invested in Daisy.”
“Please God that she comes in safe with them and we see a profit.”
Josiah bowed his head. “Please God,” he said.
The Vessel Daisy, at St. Kitts.
15th August 1788
Dear Mr. Cole,
I send this Letter to you by the Bristol ship Adventure, which is leaving Port tomorrow, to Announce that I have arrived Safely in St. Kitts, Praise God.
Tomorrow I shall arrange for the Sale of the majority of the Slaves who are generally Good in health and Well in appearance. Prices seem to be Lower than at my Last Visit, but you can be Assured I shall do my Best.
According to your Instruction, I have reserved Twenty slaves for your use. Three men, Five women, Four infants, Four girls, and Four boys. I will bring them Home as you Instructed and will indeed take Care that they have Blankets, as they may be Weakened by Cold.
I will Seek other Cargo tomorrow, but I Fear we may be Disappointed this Late in the Season. Be Assured, however, That I will do my best as Per your Instructions.
With God’s Will I shall Complete my business here within the Month and set sail for Bristol as Soon as may be Possible. I hope to convey my respects to you in person in the month of December 1788.
Your obdt servant,
Capt. William Lisle.
Josiah placed the letter before Sarah. She threw her needlework to one side and snatched it up.
“Where did you have this?”
“From the master of the Adventurer. He had a good crossing. The letter is dated August; it has taken him only six weeks to get home. He does not speak well of the trade in St. Kitts.”
“What does it say about the slaves?” Sarah scanned the letter quickly and then looked up. “Twenty,” she said. “And as I ordered, children, and he has even brought infants.”
“Infants?” Frances was at the table, making entries into the household ledger. A pile of bills was under a paperweight, and she was ticking them off as she entered the petty sums.
“If I could have bought babes in arms, I would have done,” Sarah declared. “They are bound to learn the quickest, and you have the more work from them.”
“Oh,” Frances said. “When will they arrive?”
“January at the latest,” Josiah replied. “It takes more than a month to load the ship in the West Indies, and then he will have to come home through the autumn storms. Please God they will make safe landfall by Christmas.”
“We will be in the new house by then,” Frances said. The end of the summer had brought an end to the dreadful smell of the dock and the continual fear of cholera and typhoid in the old town, but autumn wind and rain meant that Frances was confined even more to the little parlor. She suffered painful claustrophobia from the small rooms and low ceilings of the house. It would never be anything more than a warehouse with rooms tacked on the side; the fireplaces were inadequate, and the constant smoke made Frances cough and cough. The rainy weather made driving a rare pleasure, and she could not walk out among the dockside workers. She spent every day in the cramped parlor with Sarah, unless she chose to sit alone in her unheated bedroom. Nobody called at the little house on the quayside. No one invited them to any parties. Nothing would breach the Coles’ loneliness and isolation until they moved into Queens Square. “Surely we should be in the new house by then!”
Josiah glanced at her. “I am sorry for this delay,” he said. “It is all the fault of Mr. Waring. I have paid the deposit we agreed, but his builder is taking longer than he promised, and Mr. Waring’s new house is not yet ready. He has been delayed by the weather. We are all waiting on each other.”
“We would have been hard-pressed to pay the whole in any case,” Sarah pointed out. “If we do not move until after Daisy comes in, we will have her profits to go toward the final payment.”
“Another two or three months!” Frances exclaimed involuntarily.
Sarah looked at her sharply. “This house was a palace to my mother. I have always been proud to live here.”
Frances bit her lip. In the four months of her marriage, she had learned that Sarah was defensive about their home. “I did not mean to be impolite,” she said carefully. “But I should like to be able to walk out of doors, and the noise from the quay is very disturbing. We will have no society until we move.” She glanced at Josiah. “It was part of the agreement,” she reminded them. “When Josiah first wrote to me, he promised that we would live in Queens Square.”
“She is right,” Josiah said fairly. “And Queens Square is our side of the bargain. We will move as soon as we can, and, if need be, I can find the money, with or without the Daisy.”
“You mean borrowing,” Sarah snapped.
“I mean forward selling,” Josiah said steadily. “I can sell Daisy’s cargo while she is still at sea and complete the payment for the Queens Square house with the money.”
“It is a risk,” Sarah said. She glanced at Frances, hoping for support. “If the ship sinks, then we have to carry the loss and repay the buyers of the cargo. I am sure Frances would not want us to take such a risk just for her benefit.”
Frances gave Josiah a demure smile. “If you think it is worth the risk, husband, then I must follow your judgment. And if it ensures that we get the house . . .”
“Very wifely,” Sarah commented acidly.
“As soon as Mr. Waring is ready to leave, I will complete the sale and we shall move to Queens Square,” Josiah declared, closing the subject. “But I am glad to have heard that Captain Lisle is well. The Daisy always was a lucky ship. Godspeed to her as she sets sail!”
WHEN THE DAISY WAS ready to leave, the little shelter that they had made on her deck was dismantled and the slaves returned to the hold. Mehuru was not strong enough to stand; he lay on the dirty straw and watched the others hold out their hands for manacles and their feet for leg irons.
The sun shimmered on the blue water, and the quayside of St. Kitts wavered before his dazed eyes. The dark green terraced hills melted slowly into the low, beautiful grasslands of his home. Mehuru thought that soon his body would release its tenacious grip on life. Soon the pain would be over. Soon he would be home. If the gods were kind to him, if his ancestors sought his soul, he would be home and lying on the breast of the kindly fertile earth of Africa once more.
The captain, watching them as they were chained and sent below, noticed for the first time that Mehuru’s skin and muscles were wasting away.
“What the devil is ailing him?” he demanded. “Is he sick?”
They watched him when the food came and saw that he lay with his face turned away. Then they came and bolted an iron mask around his head with a funnel going into his mouth. Twice a day they poured scalding soup down his throat. The first day Mehuru felt nothing; he was floating and gliding down the sweet river of his home. But that night he was tortured with pain as his shrunken stomach griped on the food. Next day he felt
the spiteful heat of the soup, burning his throat and his mouth. The third day he fought them, but they got it down despite his struggles. The fourth day they took the mask off, and he knew he was hungry. He came back from his journey into darkness, and he heard Snake’s voice counseling patience and wisdom. He knew himself to be wiser for having risked everything. He tried to find within himself some power as a survivor, as a living ghost, since all his power as a man, even as a human being, had been stolen from him.
The ship set sail. Mehuru felt himself rolling on his shelf again and wondered if he was to spend the rest of his life in half darkness with the wash of waves pouring through the grating, longing for his home and forever in exile. He would not fast again; he could not bear the grip of the white men and the sharp, evil pain as the boiling soup threatened to drown him. Instead he ate his share of the common pot of food.
It grew bitter, colder than any weather Mehuru had known before. When they were ordered on deck to dance, Mehuru could not recognize the sea, could not recognize the sun. The waters were a deep, sullen gray; the wind had a smell behind it that was icy cold. He could not comprehend where the sun had gone; it seemed to be walking farther and farther away, and it was losing its heat and strength. Every day it grew smaller and paler. Mehuru thought that the ship was sailing into permanent night. When the shadow of the grating moved across the floor of the hold, the squares of sunlight were insipid and pale. Through the grille he could see the sky veiled, slurred with clouds. He had never seen a sky so thick. Even in the rainy season at home, the storm clouds would suddenly part and the sun would burn through. He and one of the other men lay close together for warmth. Mehuru missed the others who had gone. They seemed very few in the echoing hold, and they were fearful and could not comfort each other.