The Old Order (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 7)

by Andrew Wareham

  Frances had the advantage of her upbringing in diplomatic and foreign circles; she was easily able to suppress her smiles.

  The three men sat over their port, the decanter hardly moving, all being of a rarely abstemious nature.

  “Getting’ old, my lord! Can’t handle the stuff as I used to.”

  Hawker laughed, said that he had never been able to, he had always had a weak head for his wines and, luckily, had noticed the fact at an early age.

  “Have you seen Castlereagh lately, Lord Andrews?”

  “Not for six months, thereabouts, I would say. My son Robert has seen him more frequently and, from the little he has said, seems to be concerned for him.”

  “He should be. He is my problem. I don’t take much of a part in politics, never have, but I have always been available to the Party in times of need. At intervals there has been a member or a minister in urgent need of funds and I have come up with the readies for them. With my income, which you know is not small, there has been no problem.”

  Hawker was richer than Tom by some margin, all inherited wealth; he had estates in several counties and had urban land-holdings as well. Tom did not know, it had never been necessary to find out, but he suspected that coal had been found on some of his acres in the North Country, adding greatly to his income.

  “Castlereagh came to me last year, nudged in my direction, short of cash and in some immediate need. I came up with a few thousands, repayable at the twelvemonth. He was back only two weeks ago, unable to meet the commitment. He wants to sell, rather than mortgage, one of his smaller parcels of land, enough to cover my loan and to satisfy his bank. Yet he is a rich man, or ought to be. Do you have an idea what’s goin’ on, my lord?”

  Robert was a banker, known to be in contact with Castlereagh. He had to maintain his client’s confidentiality so Hawker could not go directly to him. Tom might, possibly, act as a second-hand conduit of information.

  “In the most absolute confidence, gentlemen?”

  They nodded.

  “Blackmail. He has repeatedly behaved in a way that would bring down the reprobation of society, would in fact cause him to be given the cut direct by almost all of his acquaintance. Even Liverpool would be forced to dismiss him from the government. He would certainly be obliged to leave London, might well have to take up residence overseas. He has borrowed and paid up, and then repeated his offence and been caught out again. I doubt his entire sanity, think he must have a part of his brain that is not normal and which drives him to vile practice.”

  “Hell and damnation! If I do business with him then I may be tarred with his brush when, inevitably, some of his behaviour becomes publicly known. If I refuse him aid then he will be driven to the wall that much sooner, and I might be blamed for his exposure. There’s a lesson for you, my son! When you inherit, keep clear of politicians!”

  Book Seven: A Poor Man

  at the Gate Series

  Chapter Two

  The seventeenth hull off the yard slipped slowly down the greased timbers and into the muddy waters of the Mississippi. A work gang heaved on the cables and brought the wooden ship into the fitting-out berth, tying her up to the floating pontoon next to the open sheds and the single wooden crane. Next stage would be to build the upperworks and paddlewheel, the greater part of the engine already in place.

  Henry Star debated again whether that crane should be replaced in iron; it would look so much more modern, would serve as an advertisement for the yard. They might even paint a big, many pointed star on its side.

  There were four other ship builders on the river who were working in steam now; none of them had an iron crane.

  Steam had been accepted on the big river, every shipper was buying and there would be more than a hundred stern-wheelers by the end of the year. The Star yard had expanded three times since building its first and now had four slips, three for the big passenger steamers, one for smaller side-wheel workboats capable of tugging barges or rafts of timber or of bringing the biggest sailing ships into their berths.

  They had their own ocean-going berth as well and ships from England could tie up and offload directly into their closed warehouse. In the first year their stripped down steam engines had come into the city wharves and had been shifted onto barges and pulled the last few miles to the yard, often taking two weeks or more to make that last stretch of the voyage. Their competitors had been able to inspect the cargo at their leisure, measuring and drawing every piece sometimes, payment of a very few dollars making the bargees cooperative; that problem no longer existed and the yard had been able to keep its technical innovations secret for a few weeks longer. Unfortunately, as soon as the ship was handed over its engine room was wide-open to any inspection, and the steam engineers had to have full drawings to hand for purposes of maintenance and repair; commercial secrecy was impossible to achieve.

  There was much talk in the city of building a sea-going steamer, one that could work the small ports and landing stages of the Gulf from the Texas to Florida. The gains could be very great, politically as much as commercially, a fast, reliable steamer being able to direct commerce eastwards rather than slowly overland south into Mexico. A fleet of a dozen could carry cattle by the thousands along the coast and bring cheap meat into the towns rather than leaving it to waste. The Gulf could whip up fierce storms, and there were hurricanes at intervals, unpredictable and destructive; any steamer would need be robust and able to remain under power no matter how much the seas caused it to pitch and roll. General opinion was that the ship would have to carry a full suit of sails, steam side wheels more or less auxiliary to give greater speed in calmer weather or against ordinary winds. Henry was no engineer, lacked both education and inclination, but had an instinctive dislike of the proposal; other, bolder men could take a lead here, he would produce safe river ships that would not founder underneath his customers.

  The yard was increasingly profitable but was almost an embarrassment to Henry because of the problem of labour. Unskilled work, simple lifting and pulling, shifting heavy weights into their proper place in the engine rooms, was all done by the slaves who lived in cabins behind the yard, but all of the tradesmen were free wage-labourers. It was in the nature of things that slaves did not serve a seven year apprenticeship to become carpenters or boilermakers or blacksmiths or painters; it was not expected that they should or could. But in New Orleans there were very few skilled hands and almost all of them were free Creoles, often seemingly as black as the bond-servants themselves.

  The new yards had driven up the demand for master craftsmen, and had forced wages to higher levels in response.

  The politicians all agreed that it was not a good thing to encourage Creoles to live high off the hog, it could give them ideas unsuitable to their station in life, but they could see no way of cutting wages to a proper level.

  Even worse than the problem of wages was that the free hands worked side-by-side with the bond-servants and could not be prevented from talking to them, black men together and setting an appalling example.

  They had no wish to import skilled whites from the North or out of England – they increasingly had ridiculous notions about their own place in the great scheme of things. Inevitably, these jumped-up peasants were literate, and the things they read! Copies of Thomas Paine’s Rights of Man were known to be circulating in the city, and were certainly the pernicious import of these over-educated outsiders; few Southerners were likely to attempt such books, the words were too long.

  Henry had explained that it was impossible to work as an engineer without the ability to read drawings and to make accurate measurements, and that if a man could read one thing, then he would be able to read any other. When asked why any man should wish to read beyond Walter Scott he had no immediate answer, felt that they had perhaps failed to comprehend the absolute nature of literacy, but was certain that he was not the man to attempt to explain such a concept.

  He did once suggest that the boiler-room was no place f
or knights in shining armour, but he had received some very strange looks in response.

  Having no answer to the problem, it was easier for the politicians to point the finger of blame at the shipyard owners, to tell them that they must be acting irresponsibly.

  Henry was now both owner and political figure; that led to difficulties as he tried to run with hare and hounds both.

  In fact, the wealthier he became, the greater the problems he faced.

  He had thought as a boy that money would be the answer to all of the bugbears that seemed to surround him. As a child he had faced a world that seemed to him to be his enemy, that humiliated him on a daily basis; he was shorter, less agile, less questioning, less confident than his brothers, and he had concluded that the only way to come out on top was to be rich.

  His father had made himself a millionaire, and he was an assured, confident man, and probably very happy. Henry thought his father had been born poor - though he did not know for sure - and that he and his great friend, Lord Andrews, had clawed their way up to the very top, had made themselves respected. Obviously the money they had made was the key.

  Henry had been born to riches, which, as a younger son, he would not inherit. If he wanted to remain rich then he must make money of his own. He had now done so, but he was nonetheless not happy and he feared he was still not respected. He must fight his way further up the ladder, was obliged to make a place for himself amongst the leaders of the world, those who were both rich and powerful.

  The question facing him was deceptively simple – what must he do next, how could he climb and where to?

  He had decided that the first stage must be to make himself a landowner. Land was permanent, fixed and visible, ultimately respectable, and its owner must share those qualities.

  He had bought a large plantation well upriver, out towards the frontier, and had a house building to enthrone his wife. The land had come cheaply due to its location in the backwoods and the carelessness of its original owner, an enthusiast who had claimed a vast acreage and then had realised that he lacked the capital to clear and plant it; he had mortgaged his holding and bought slaves and started to set out his cotton but his repayments came due before he brought in a full crop. He had decamped and was said to have crossed the river and gone West to make a fortune the hard way; Henry wished him luck and bought up his debts and remortgaged the land, preferring to use a bank’s capital rather than his own, and able to borrow cheaply because he could guarantee to meet all of his payments from the shipyard’s profits.

  It would be seven years before the plantation was paying its way, but it would then become very rich in short order, provided the demand for cotton stayed high. All of the evidence from Lancashire said that the industry was continuing to expand, that there was no end in sight; and new mills had recently opened in New York, creating an additional set of buyers.

  His wealth assured then next step must be to attain some eminence in the field of politics.

  The Americans had no honours – he could not buy a title as would have been a logical enterprise in England, so he had to make himself a representative of some sort, a congressman or senator. It was strange, he thought, that the concept of an aristocracy, which very clearly existed in the new country, had not translated into the traditional orders.

  A number of leading Southern citizens had sought martial glory, buying commissions in militia of various degrees of legitimacy and engaging in more or less spurious campaigns against Indian tribes of questionable hostility. There were several Colonels in New Orleans, but few were entirely convincing and Henry was not inclined to follow their example for fear that a real war might eventuate.

  Sooner or later there would be conflict with the Spanish forces – Cuba, Texas, California were all in Spanish hands and were clearly destined to be American, or so it was said in the South. The Spanish had a large army, and a navy, and it seemed to Henry that a fight with them might not be a walkover considering that the South had neither and the Federal Government maintained very small forces. Most Southerners would tell you, loudly and repeatedly, that one Southern gentleman was the match for any five Dagoes, but the Spanish might be able to put ten times as many men in the field, which could lead to certain problems.

  Henry had fought in one war and had no wish to engage in another; he would not call himself Colonel, though he might seek higher rank later, if appropriate. Generals fought out of headquarters, but colonels were to be found in the field with their men, and Henry had seen quite sufficient of the bloody end of the sword; he did not think he was a coward, but he was sure he was not a fool.

  Becoming a representative in Louisiana was not too difficult a task and Henry had already invested a few thousands in the process; the next election should see him as an honourable member of the State assembly. Going further was less easy – there were only a few seats in the Federal Congress and a number of candidates to fill them. It would be necessary to obtain the backing of one of the powerful factions, not the simply political but those of all-round influence, which meant contacting and becoming very useful to one of the major criminals of the city, and he was not in the right sort of business to be directly valuable to the underworld. A banker, now, could always be of value and a lawyer could perform a number of services, but a builder of river ships was not of obvious utility.

  Henry was still considering how best to establish himself as he reached his house. Unusually Grace did not greet him at the door; he presumed she had company.

  “The missus, she in the back sittin’ room, suh.”

  The downstairs maid, fifty and rake-thin, obviously safe around a married man, gave a polite smile; she liked Mr Henry, he spoke funny but often said ‘please’ to her.

  “Is she on her own, Clara?”

  “No, suh, but she keepin’ it a surprise for you.”

  Henry went through, ready to throw his hands up in amaze.

  “Mrs Chard! How do ye do, ma’am! This is a surprise, I had not looked for you to visit us this year! Is the Judge with you, ma’am? Is he well?”

  Mrs Chard assured him that her husband was as fit as any fighting cock but had been tied down by his many commitments in New York; she had been unable to stay away from her daughter’s side, had come to visit with her only chick, would, with his permission, stay three months or so.

  “But of course, ma’am! I am very sure that we shall be pleased to put you up for as long as you wish. In fact, ma’am, if you are able to remain just a little longer, I expect our new house upriver to be ready before the middle of the year and your advice on furnishings would be very welcome to us both.”

  Mrs Chard had not been told of the new plantation. Grace, not having seen it herself yet and knowing that her mother would demand a full description, had delayed any mention of their new glories. She was suitably delighted, made an instant mental list of the New York dames she would brag to.

  “It might be possible in fact, ma’am, to arrange a voyage for us all on our newest steamer when she sets out on her proving runs next week. A day beyond Natchez, high on a river bluff to catch the fresh and cooling airs, building in the best of styles. Thinking on the matter, which I should have done before now, one might be able to order the bulk of the furniture so that it will be ready at the same time as the house.”

  That seemed an excellent idea to both, Grace especially enthusiastic.

  “I would like to escape from the muggy heat of New Orleans, husband, bearing in mind that I believe I may be increasing, sir!”

  It took Henry, who tended not to be coy in his speech, a moment to translate her words, to assimilate her meaning and to assemble the correct expression of delight.

  “I am so glad, my dear! A happy event indeed, and one I shall very much welcome. A son or a daughter to bless our house.”

  “Our first-born, Henry!”

  “But not, I very much hope, our last, my love!”

  They celebrated that evening and repaired to the best jeweller in New Orleans next
morning to purchase a proper memento of the greatly-desired event. After two years of marriage both had begun to wonder whether all was well in the procreation department; each was relieved, in his or her own fashion.

  Grace simply yearned for children.

  Henry wanted an heir, needed a family to round out his political profile, and would be happy to tie Judge Chard more tightly to his coat-tails. Besides that, the poor girl would so obviously enjoy a family, and she got little enough out of this marriage, he was inclined to be glad for her sake; guilt was an unfamiliar emotion for Henry and he did not like it.

  “You see, sir, we are short of farm hands up in our little villages out in the sticks. We are just about as far north and west as you can go and still be in New York State and the bulk of newcomers now are going further west and a fraction south of us. It occurred to me, having acted as agent settling the bulk of our farmers, who all came from one estate in England, and being in some way responsible for those people, that I might beg your assistance, Tammany Hall being renowned for its interest in the welfare of poor immigrants.”

  John Quillerson was proud of his straight face – few people could have made that particular statement without laughing.

  The short fat gentleman sat across the desk from him removed his cigar from his mouth, stared at its lit end before committing himself to an answer.

  “Sure, we are at that, but in the general way of things we like our people to stay close to hand, in our wards.”

  Tammany Hall dispensed charity on a fairly generous scale – no new immigrant, Irish particularly, would starve as a rule – and could normally find jobs and some kind of a roof for most. In return it demanded political loyalty, its ward heelers expecting every man to vote at least once in every election and where possible more frequently. ‘Vote early and vote often’ was a slogan attributed to the Hall, though in fact it was of Irish origin, like most of its protagonists. Sending votes away from the city was a concept unlikely to appeal to the Hall’s sachems.