The Bitter Land (The Duty and Destiny Series Book 2) Read online

  The waiting room at the Admiralty, infamous in the service, his name written on a slip of paper, silently taken away by a flunkey; a pair of large porters watching quietly, just in case they were needed by an over-importunate officer. Three post captains sat in the most comfortable chairs, all digesting the worn uniform, the swab newly shifted to the right shoulder, the deep tan on face and hands, a competitor for the few ships available. Half a dozen lieutenants of varying age and uniform poverty, staring in undisguised envy at the young man who had had a chance, the chance they yearned for.

  He waited less than thirty minutes during which one of the captains and four of the lieutenants in succession were called and presumably spoken to and dismissed, all in a dead, dry silence. A porter walked across, bent and whispered to him.

  “Captain Harris. The First Lord will see you now.”

  A few steps along the corridor and into the old, old room with the huge table where the Board sat, the great chart of European seas on the wall, the pointer connected to the wind vane on the roof telling them of every change. Oak panelling and furniture granted the room a dark maturity, gave a feeling of importance to the chamber, must create an air of solemnity that would overawe the minds of the mere politicos who came into it. The First Lord habitually worked in that room, must be moulded by it, come to feel that he was a part of its long stream of history, find himself obliged to live up to its demands – if he had the capacity.

  The First Lord stood courteously as Frederick entered.

  “Captain Harris! Good morning to you, sir!”

  “My lord! Good morning.”

  A brief appraisal, approval of the accent and bearing – Harris was a gentleman by birth, not merely by rank as so many sailors were. It helped.

  “Be seated, Captain Harris. I ordered you here, sir, so that I might get to see you, put a face to the Gazette letters and to the representations I have received about you.”

  Frederick looked, and was, surprised – it had not occurred to him that he would be personally known, at least by repute, to Their Lordships.

  “Yes, sir – the West India Company has addressed the Board in the most fulsome terms. It would seem that a director was aboard one of their vessels when Hercule appeared, was busily commending his soul to God when the tiny Athene made such a remarkable job of her. The Company will be pleased to hear of your further employment, Captain Harris, and has told Mr Pitt of the navy’s care for their interests and how we should have more ships and bigger – a useful testimonial. As a result, in part, of the Company’s love for you, you are to have a choice, sir – a rare thing for a young captain. The post ship, Laurel, 24, is on the Brest blockade, and you can have her in two weeks time; alternatively, you may stay some six months on half pay and take a frigate, probably Warrior, 32, currently in the yard, to the Mediterranean, to Stamboul in the first instance, carrying our envoy to the Sublime Porte.”

  “That is generous indeed, my lord. May I make so bold as to beg for Warrior, my lord? I have been nearly three years away and in that time my elder brother’s health has been destroyed by a fall, and I am like to become heir to the estate. My parents are not as young as they were, and I should spend some time at home – six months would please them greatly, I venture.”

  “Good. I am sorry to hear of your brother, but pleased for you, of course. Your father is himself brother to Viscount Alton, I believe?”

  “He is, my lord.”

  “Excellent, it is always good to have the right sort on board our ships, Captain Harris.”

  Frederick made his bow, left in search of a posting house – he could, perhaps, reach Guildford in the day. The porters, aware that he was well in with his lordship, were able to assist, putting him into a hack carriage and pointing him in the right direction; had he been out of favour they would not have given him the time of day.

  An hour and he was indulging in the sinful luxury of four horses, twenty eight pounds paid for the privilege of journeying some seventy miles by the following noon. They would make probably as much as twelve miles an hour in daylight, so long as it stayed dry, and he would be warm beneath his rug, well-sprung and as comfortable as it was ever possible to be travelling in England. He had sent an express – three pounds, it had cost him – to the Crown in Portsmouth where Bosomtwi and Ablett and Marc and Jean were waiting, the big ex-slaves now firmly part of his retinue. They had found a carrier who would take them to Boorley Green, but had been unwilling to arrive unheralded and announce that they were Captain Frederick’s people without him there to give them countenance; they felt it might be a shock to his parents, particularly bearing in mind the amount of dunnage they had accumulated in nearly three years overseas. During their week in Portsmouth they had taken their tickets to the Paymaster and next week they would go to their bankers at Bishops Waltham, to become acquainted with the accounts the prize agent had opened for them; it would be interesting to see what they would do with the one hundred and fifty or so pounds that would be presented to each.

  English scenery in a damp October, harvest weeks over, leaves falling in wet masses, the colour leached out of them, everything pale, washed out, except for the bright green grass. Frederick, a stranger in the land, occupied himself for the first miles in trying to pin down the differences, concluded finally that it was age – England was somehow old, mature, slow, the Caribbean lands young, sharp-edged, coarse. The English landscape was all water-colour and pastels, olive, lavender, tan; the Sugar Islands vibrant oil-paints, scarlet, gold, emerald; both were lush - cultivated land and waste all covered, no hint of desert, yet a man could wake from a long coma and know instantly whether he was in one or the other. The temperature also helped one distinguish, he found, burrowing into the rug and turning up his greatcoat, especially when it came on to rain, that English rain, light, unending, all-pervading, character-forming – it was small wonder that the English had a reputation as bloody-minded pirates, growing up in this climate.

  Home to Boorley Green, his parents again at the big door, surprised to see him nearly a year before his earliest time.

  “I brought the Charlotte frigate home – was made post captain in August.”

  Great shows of delight and all of the enquiries.

  “Six months, I believe, before I am to be given a frigate to go to the Med, to the Ottoman at Stamboul. It is, of course, the Admiralty, so I may be sent in a bumboat to the Hottentots at Cape Town next week, the spelling of both being much the same to Admiralty clerks.”

  They sat over tea in his mother’s drawing room, Frederick noting with approval a new table and curtains, the evidence of prosperity in the house.

  “Brother George not here, Mother?”

  “He sleeps of an afternoon. He will come down to dinner – better not to wake the poor boy early.”

  His father shook his head silently, mouthed ‘later’ at him.

  “I have brought a difficulty with me, Mother, Father. As a captain, naval custom is that I have followers – my coxswain and servants who go with me from ship to ship, and will retire from the navy to my personal service when the time comes. They are mine for my lifetime, except the most unusual circumstances intervene. So I now have four personal servants who are in Portsmouth at the moment, will be here tomorrow.”

  “Grooms’ quarters – we built another stables block soon after you left – George was in funds at the time, a thousand spare that had come from the horses and cards in a run of luck – his last lucky stroke, it would seem – and wanted to keep racehorses of his own. The loft space has six rooms in it, better for your men than sharing in the attics, I suspect.”

  Unsaid but hanging in the air was the comment that the maidservants dwelt in the attics and four lusty sailormen might not be ideal companions for them.

  “I might well wish to set up my own establishment soon, Father.”

  “We hoped you might – we see Marianne at least twice a week – she will probably ride over tomorrow or the next day. You are a rich man now, your own household is eminently practical. That for tomorrow, however – tell us! What is this of the Hercule? Captain Ainslie of Thetis published his letter in the Gazette to report on her taking, mentioned Athene repeatedly and named you seven separate times! We have his letter here – see! You were made captain in the Magpie for this, so the victory was seen as yours – indeed, Ainslie says just that. Tell us all!”

  Easier said than done – how does one explain to parents that one’s chief claim to fame is as a most efficient butcher of one’s fellow man? Recount the story, blunt and uncompromising, what alternative is there?

  George came down to dinner on the arm of a manservant hired for him, a medical attendant who could assist with his squalid needs, able to lift him when his own legs failed, as frequently they did. He was skeletal and weak, could manage only a couple of paces together before he must halt and get his breath; his head drooped and his eyes were dull and he could barely summon the energy or understanding to shake Frederick’s hand. His mouth stank, his teeth were yellowed, there was a black ring around his irises seen close to. He ate no more than two mouthfuls of each remove, drank half a glass of water, said nothing. He followed his mother to huddle by her fire as soon as she rose.

  “He is like an old man, Father!”

  “He will not age much more, Frederick.”

  “Soon?”

  “His doctor says that his brain has not recovered from the blow on the head when he fell, that it may have exacerbated some other illness – I do not understand all of his jargon, I fear. Suffice it to say that when he sleeps, at intervals he stops breathing, an apnoea, the doctors call it, I remember that term. He chokes, wakes and breathes, falls asleep lightly, drifts deeper again and then it happens, again. One day, or night more likely, the sleep will b
e too deep, the exhaustion too great…”

  Frederick nodded sadly, he understood.

  “On a very different note, my son, your prize agent has remitted quite enormous sums of money from Antigua!”

  “One quarter part of the value of any prize comes to the captain, sir. Sugar is high in price, and tobacco, coffee, cacao, logwood, mahogany, cotton, even humble copra, are none of them to be sneezed at. The Admiral favoured me in my little Magpie and we became rich. Early in the war, and the French strong on many of their islands, sir, so that there is a busy commerce for cruisers to prey upon – it will not always be so, but is very pleasing while it exists.”

  “Twenty three thousands to your account, my son!”

  “There may yet be a little more, I suspect, sir – it takes time to wind up the prize account. How do Consols stand, sir?”

  “Government Loan Stock is paying four and one half per centum, at present, and that is your income.”

  “A thousand a year, sir?”

  “A little more.”

  They sat together, calculating, pencilling in rough figures. A respectable farmhouse and twenty acres at one end of the spectrum, costing about seven hundreds; four thousand would buy a young mansion and one hundred and fifty acres.

  “We must choose according to availability, sir. Whatever comes on the market reasonably close to hand.”

  “Near enough to be part of the estate, I would advise. Even should George live another twenty years there is small prospect of an heir from him – he will not take a wife. You will certainly inherit, and, to be brutal, you should wed as soon as you may, so that your lady may present us with an heir, for yours is an uncommon risky profession, at least in the way you choose to pursue it. You will not wish to marry while wearing black for your brother, so that will be a year’s delay – better far to be wed before the poor lad dies!”

  Death was ever-present – at least a fifth of all children failed to reach adulthood - one half of those born to the poorest – so tragedy was an expected part of life, was less resented even if no less painful than it would be in later years when medicine had a curative function. The job of the doctor – the physician – was to palliate, to make death a less painful process, and they enjoyed occasional success; the surgeon by his drastic intervention often preserved life, at the price of mutilation painfully born – but no operation could benefit George. They could discuss George’s death as a given fact rather than a shocking outrage, and its ramifications could be encompassed the more easily.

  “So, a thousand a year of your own, your pay on shore of, what, about one hundred and fifty a year?”

  “Thereabouts, sir – the sum varies according to one’s merits and, particularly, the rate of one’s last ship.”

  “Your mother’s one hundred and my allowance to my heir of three hundred – for George no longer uses money – gives you an income close to sixteen hundreds, which is more than respectable. Will you expect to come in the way of more prize money?”

  “Less and less as the war continues, sir, certainly not in such showers as this, except I am rarely lucky. Whilst I have a frigate and am favoured – as I truly am at the moment – then there will always be some – but it is most unlikely to be the great outpourings of gold coins of the last twelvemonth.”

  “And Danae had a certain price to pay for her wealth, I understand!”

  Frederick looked blank, slowly pursued the classical allusion, finally grinned and nodded – he had been to sea rather than to Latin school, after all.

  Another glass of port and family news – Uncle Frederick in country seclusion, his health and current habits unknown; his father’s side all well and begetting a profusion of sons, Frederick now about fifteenth in line for the title – if he wanted one he would need carve out his own, his father said, only partly in jest.

  They joined his mother, sat alone, George having dragged himself off to his bed.

  “He is ever tired – too enervated to read or talk, energy only to go out to his horses for a while, to fuss them and enjoy their company, for he lacks the strength to ride. Poor, poor boy!”

  She sat back by the wood fire, working candles placed to show the crochet she was speedily hooking, hands and eyes busy, mind elsewhere in a private world. Her hair was still old-fashionedly long, pinned up as it always had been in his memory, strands of grey prominent at what, forty five or so. Frederick glanced again at his father, ten years the elder, little pot-belly of late middle age showing, balding fast, eyes yellowing – perhaps that was why he was harping on so about the inheritance.

  Talk widened – the war, inevitably, and its effects on the land, in so many ways beneficial. Enclosure had almost been forced to expand over the past few years, government made to accept and encourage it, from the need to produce more grain and beef in England as the German breadbasket withered away. From the point of view of the landed proprietors, enclosure was the best thing to happen in the past millennium, and what was good for the rich and powerful was, in the nature of things, the best for the country, which itself could then grow richer and more powerful. Local events made the point quite clearly, as far as Frederick’s father could see.

  Boorley Green had been part enclosed in Elizabethan times but the bulk of the parish had continued under champion, modern enclosure occurring only after Frederick had first gone to sea. The old strip system had long since disappeared, all of the yeomen and tenants farming their own blocks, but there had been a massive common amounting to nearly a third of the land in the parish as well as patches of wasteland and coppice and marsh spread randomly and inconveniently throughout. Every man in the parish, other than the unlawful squatters, had had feudal claims to the common and woodland, differing in detail in every family according to their specific inheritance. Labourers had the right to pasture one, two or three cows, rarely more, ten or twenty geese, a goat or a sow; they had had rights to firewood, pea and bean sticks, hazels and sloes and blackberries, crab apples and chestnuts, all from known trees and clumps of timber. Certain families could take withies for basket making, others could make hurdles, two could cut reeds for thatch. All could lift rabbits from the warrens and eels from the ponds, in laid down numbers and at given times. No one had been rich, starvation had been rare; few ever saw cash, but the parish had been generally self-sufficient, mainly because it lay on prosperous land.

  Enclosure had changed this comfortable pattern, destroyed the whole way of life. The common and all of the patches of waste were brought into ploughland in neatly hedged fields; the marsh was drained, together with most of the ponds; the bulk of the woodland was felled, the remainder turned into orchards or carefully coppiced, worked commercially. The fields now produced wheat, barley, peas, beans and turnips in scientific rotation, the few remaining animals kept on planted leys, eating their grass under supervision as it were. At each harvest loaded wains rattled slowly down the tracks to market in Botley, Wickham, Fareham and Southampton, and earned gold for the few big farmers. The labourers, though, suddenly found themselves reduced to wage slaves – their rights had translated into shares in the enclosed land, but only if they could prove them, which required written documentation from a community of illiterates.

  Those who proved their claim were scrupulously and fairly given their land, and were bidden to fence and ditch, plough and seed it, lacking plough-cattle, the ploughs themselves, seed corn and money. Nineteen out of twenty of those awarded land sold out in six months, for lack of an alternative.

  The new, efficient agriculture needed fewer hands working full-time, so the wars with their unending demand for soldiers and sailors were a Godsend, the taxes well worth paying for the peace they granted in the villages. The new wealth demanded maidservants, and, besides, any girl always had an asset she could sell in the barrack towns or ports. The surplus people had soon disappeared, the proximity of Portsmouth helping greatly, leaving the land the better for their absence.