First Fleet

by M Howard Morgan

  ‘You are a good shot and strong, as you will need to be, Jack, for it’s a hard course you seem set on. When will you go?’ Giles’ face was sombre and his voice now low.

  ‘I had planned to take my commission and join the Portsmouth Division in two or three months. However, your news has caused me to re-think. I will be at your wedding, have no fear.’

  Jack explained how he had met an officer of the Corps in London earlier in the year and how he had become convinced that the future for him now lay in foreign service. He had come to understand that he could not follow his father and spend his days in a gloomy set of rooms, or in courts, surrounded by bulky papers and yellowing books. He wanted to see something of the world, learn of different peoples, explore other territories, and increase his knowledge of science and nature. He had learned from his time in the yeomanry with Giles that he could command men and he had learned weaponry under the careful tutelage of Major Stonehouse, one of his father’s friends, from a young age.

  ‘It is what I must do. There must be something in the blood of the Vizzards that sets us wandering. I know that in my heart I cannot settle to the life of a provincial lawyer. There is so much to discover about the world, and there is adventure to be had! I believe George must have felt that way too. There it is then, my news. Still – what of you, are you to continue with soldiering?’

  His friend hesitated. Mountjoy had always enjoyed being a soldier, but was ambitious for property, status and wealth. His father had been a timber merchant in Gloucester, but had died leaving only a small inheritance and too many debts. He slowly shook his head from side to side.

  ‘No, Jack. I will be resigning my commission and will assist his Lordship, my father-in-law to be, to manage his estate. He has that place near Chipping Sodbury that you will know. I have had enough of chasing villains over the Cotswolds through all weather and sleeping rough. Time to settle to a comfortable life and enjoy my sweet Louise, to raise a family in time. I am a very lucky man my boy, and I do know it.’

  Their conversation was interrupted as Brice returned to the table, another bottle of port in his hand. ‘It appears you gents are more concerned with natterin’ likes a pair of old fish wives than drinkin’ my fine port, so here’s you be. Drink up now and mebbe I can join in your reminiscin’?’

  The old sailor was still tanned, the corners of his eyes wrinkled, and his squint remained from years of peering at distant horizons.

  ‘Sit you down, Bill and have a glass by all means,’ offered Jack, ‘we have decided our futures and as an old friend you must tell us the news. So what have you to say?’

  Bill pulled a chair and sat. ‘Well lads, ‘tis hard to make a livin’ from The Ram these days. Hard everywhere I reckon. Farms are a’ struggling; even old Caldwell next door has left us, and the fields just left to rot. Many of the boys have gone for the big towns, and those what is left are mostly thievin' scoundrels! Master Giles knows that full well, he bein’ out at all hours tryin’ to catch ‘em. The old hands spend a few pence on me cider and ale but trade ain’t what it was, and that’s no mistake. I be hard pressed to keep the old house goin’, in truth.’

  Jack grunted. ‘You’re the scoundrel, Bricey, what of this business with Henry Wills in Bristol? That must be bringing in a pretty penny. I hear he’s doing rather well with his tobacco, and most of the village knows you helped him with some of that prize money of yours! Then there is that inn on Welsh Back – folk say you are a sleeping partner and are seen there in the company of... well, I will speak no more of that.’

  Both knew that Brice was a shrewd old bird, and not the man to squander his money. Although no one really knew how much he had legitimately received from the Admiralty, Jack was certain that a lot more had come his way ‘under the canvas’ as Brice was fond of saying. He had been a bosun and a follower of Admiral Lord Hood, who had tolerated and even held a grudging respect for the man.

  ‘Now you can keep quiet about that, Master Jack.’ The florid, weather-beaten face grinned back at him. ‘Your father put me in touch with Mister Wills, aye and a few other gennelmen too. It’s been a profitable arrangement for the both of us, and doubtless helped you on your way, I don’t mind sayin’. Still, I am right pleased that you boys ‘ave turned out as well as you ‘ave. I’ve had to keep my eye on you boys over the years, an’ there’s tales I could be tellin’ if I had a mind to!’

  ‘In that case old friend, we had better finish this bottle and settle up with you, before your tongue runs away with you,’ was Giles’ response. ‘It is well time we were away from here and off to our beds while we can still walk.’ He laughed at the old man and rose to his feet, a little unsteadily. ‘Come, Jack, I’ll take part of the journey with you and make sure you get home safely!’

  4

  Gloucester

  The younger of the Vizzard boys was quick of mind and deed, impetuous, strong-willed and strong of arm. He was born and grew up in the five valleys of Stroud, and learned something of living on the land. With his elder brother, he gained skill in riding and hunting. He played cricket, swam and fished in the Severn, rode horses, shot game-birds and rabbits. He became more proficient with firearms than his elder sibling, and had greater skill with a sword.

  Perhaps it was inevitable that he should study law. His father would hear of nothing else. After the grammar school in Gloucester, he went up to Oxford, to Oriel, his father’s old college, and gained his degree with ease. He enjoyed his time there. He studied diligently, unlike many of the students of the day, and studied too the taverns of the city. Was it the majesty of law, or the logic of the subject? Did he relish the verbal, intellectual combat? Was it something more subliminal? In his heart he knew the answer. He was there for his father. History he enjoyed. While not captivating him, he was competent with mathematics. The sciences he had grown to appreciate and value. Literature was his love.

  Jack was still unsure of his future after taking his degree. Often he stayed with a college friend with access to rooms in Middle Temple. He dined in, as was required of his intended profession, but increasingly became drawn to other pastimes. His interest in politics, quick wits and ready, natural charm attracted the attention of more established members of society and instead of returning to Gloucestershire, he found amusement in some of the grand houses in London.

  It was at a ball and by a mutual friend that he was introduced to Cecelia. She was the daughter of General John Mostyn, the colonel of the 1st King’s Dragoon Guards, and she had pursued him with vigour. It was a strange affair, Jack thought. Not spiritual or sensual, not conducted with the intimacy he might have wished for, but with undoubted passion; the more so, because she was the wife of one of her father’s officers. The Major was wonderfully ignorant of the matter, as must often be the case with such relationships, he thought. Still, he enjoyed the liaison and felt that she did not share her favours with others, although clearly she enjoyed the company of men, mostly of the military. She laughed a good deal, he decided. That was part of her attraction, but sometimes too loudly.

  During a dinner in Cadogan Square, he found himself seated directly opposite an officer, a Captain of Marines, dressed in a scarlet coat. The man was tall, broad of shoulder and patently strongly built, and Jack found him a fascinating individual. A dark, keloid scar crossed his forehead, just above the eyebrows. A cheap wig failed to disguise the short, wiry, greying hair beneath. For some minutes, he listened to the man, realising that here was one of the few to have survived the slaughter of Bunker Hill.

  ‘I was a mere sergeant then’ he was saying, ‘and like sheep in a field we were’. He continued, graphically describing the British attack on the American line. ‘I was commissioned in the field that day,’ he spoke proudly, ‘one of the first to be so honoured, but then, nearly all our officers fell in those attacks.’ His immediate neighbour, a young woman of plain visage, eager to impress, smiled encouragement.

  Jack questioned him. ‘Surely though, sir, it is necessary to purchase one’
s commission? Does it not take a good deal of capital to take up in your regiment?’

  ‘Not in the Corps’, he answered. ‘In the marines gold will not buy a man a captaincy, but courage and merit will.’ His chest swelled perceptibly. ‘You should try it young man.’ This spoken almost too intensely, thought Jack.

  Still, he pondered, a reasonable suggestion that had set his mind working. Why should I not? Military service in foreign lands, the chance of adventure, and the opportunity to distinguish himself. A sailor he might not be, but a soldier of the sea, well that was a very different circumstance altogether. The conversation turned away, Jack absently contributing, but with only half his mind. He attempted to engage the officer in further discussion, but found the man trying to entertain the adjacent young lady in conversation and drinking too much to be willing to indulge him.

  During the following weeks, he spent a good deal of time thinking about such a life. On another impulse, he took a coach ride to Chatham just to observe the marines who were in barracks there. He watched the officers in the Kings Arms and spoke to two of them during dinner. He observed, with other townsfolk, a field drill held outside the town. He became convinced that the life they had was a good one, and that it would suit him well. On his return to London, he took a carriage to the Admiralty and arranged an interview with a senior officer. Assured that he was suitable for a commission, he promptly visited a new tailor’s shop, Plater and Co. of Cheapside and ordered additional clothes, including uniform coats, breeches, shirts, regimental small clothes and a cleverly crafted trunk for his various possessions. Hessian boots he ordered from Gilbert’s of Old Bond Street. Other equipment, he was informed, could be obtained once his commission had been confirmed and he reported to barracks for duty.

  However, for the present, Cecilia continued to amuse.

  ‘JACK, THERE YOU ARE my boy.’ His father greeted him at breakfast a few days later. ‘Now what are you about? Have you any business in Gloucester?’

  ‘As chance has it, I do father. I am due to call on Sir Robert tomorrow. Why do you ask?

  Sir Robert was the former colonel of the 28th Foot and had taught the young man something of military tactics when he and Giles had spent time together in the yeomanry.

  ‘I am appearing for an unfortunate woman accused of stealing from Mister Day, although he does not believe it to be true himself, and it may be instructive for you to assist, if that is possible. The information laid comes from a most disreputable source and you may enjoy the opportunity to sharpen your skills in examining the witness.’ Henry had never seen his son at work since he had been called to the bar and wished to see Jack appear before the Assize at Gloucester at the first opportunity. ‘We should make a formidable team methinks. What do you say?’

  Jack swallowed the cheese he was eating, and drank some of the expensive coffee he always enjoyed.

  ‘Father, it is rather difficult for me...’ Jack started to say.

  ‘Nonsense, it’s a capital idea.’ Henry interrupted, clearly excited at the prospect.

  ‘Willoughby is for the Crown, awful man, simply dreadful advocate to boot, and it will do your career no harm to cross swords with him. Justice Marshall has the assize – good judge that man - and I will be dining in his rooms tomorrow evening. Send a messenger to Sir Robert and see him another day.’ Henry looked at his son across the breakfast table, with an earnest expression that inhibited any refusal.

  Further protest was futile, Jack could see, and had no choice but to agree.

  ‘What facts are alleged and who is this disreputable source? How do you intend to persuade the court of her innocence?’ He said, resigned to his fate to spend a day in court.

  ‘That’s the spirit, my boy.’ With the response he desired, Henry Vizzard launched into a detailed account of the circumstances that had resulted in the unfortunate lady, a valued worker at Day’s Mill in Nailsworth, finding herself thrown into Gloucester gaol and after many months delay, finally to make an appearance in the dock.

  Jack listened attentively while studying the brief his father’s clerk, in an extremely neat, copperplate style, had carefully penned. Seeing quickly the Crown had a flawed case, he realised this was one young girl who he could assist. He knew also that all the Assize and Quarter Session courts were readily committing folk to long terms of imprisonment for even minor crimes, because lawlessness was rife in the cities, and now increasingly in the country. The gaols were crowded and there was much concern, frequently expressed in the newspapers, over the growing criminal population. He knew too that the Government was troubled because the war in America had closed the main repository for transportation of the criminal class, as the newspapers described the recipients of British justice. The hulks that Lord North had commissioned a dozen years ago were growing in number with a thousand convicts added to them every year. William Wilberforce, the member for Kingston upon Hull, had tirelessly pressed for reform of the prisons and Jack had heard him speak on the subject, had even met him last year.

  Henry came to the end of his explanation and interrupted his thoughts. ‘So, what do you think lad? Can we do something for the girl?

  Jack put down the brief and smiled across to his father. He leaned back in the chair, lacing his hands together behind his head. ‘Yes, father - I do believe we can.’

  THE JUDGE’S LODGINGS were in the grounds of Gloucester Cathedral, a short walk from King’s School, where Jack had first encountered Latin, grammar, and mathematics. He had walked around the old cloisters and had looked down at the old stone benches, still showing the scratchings of students from earlier centuries. Gerald of Wales was reputed to have studied there. He had some happy memories of his own time, and enjoyed looking again at the intricate filigree of the cloister. His father wished to have time alone with the judge, so to occupy himself, he entered the Church of Saint Peter.

  It was a tranquil, magical building, with several splendours to match any in Europe. The Cathedral housed the tombs of Robert Curthose, Duke of Normandy the eldest son of the Conqueror; and that of Edward II, murdered in a brutal, barbarous fashion at nearby Berkeley Castle. He walked along the nave, gazing upwards in awe at the Arcadian columns, each seven feet wide at the base, reaching over thirty feet in height. He stopped before the great East Window, commemorating the Battle of Crecy, marvelling at the scale, colour and magnificence of it.

  The sound of ‘Great Peter’, the largest Bourdon bell in England, announced evensong, reminded him that time had passed, so he left the building, through the West Door, and strode across College Green to the judge’s lodgings and joined his father and the judge for dinner.

  ‘Never saw Willoughby so bested, young Vizzard. I must say, sound arguments, and a commendable speech, young man. Thought I would have to send her down, until you illuminated the flaw in his case. Tell me something if you would, a question arose in my mind, but not in the prosecutor’s I fear; how’d you know that she was at The Ram that night, and persuade that old sailor to give evidence for her?’

  ‘There you are, William.’ Henry Vizzard had been beaming all evening. ‘I told you the boy was a natural advocate.’ Pride was imprinted on his face as he grinned at his younger son. ‘Sharp as a pin and I don’t care who knows it!’

  Mister Justice Marshall was helping himself to a large portion of well-roasted lamb, as he looked hard into Jack’s eyes, ignoring Henry’s pride.

  ‘Because my Lord, I knew the date she was alleged to have committed the crime, the 21st of December last year, was an evening that she could not have been at Mister Day’s house, stealing some of his silver. The missing items had not been discovered at her cottage or elsewhere, and someone had to speak for the girl and confirm that she spent the evening, and indeed the night, in the company of a young gentleman, who was staying at the inn.’ Jack paused and sipped at his wine.

  ‘Mister Day discovered the loss shortly before retiring for the night at about mid-night, did he not? Brice could honestly say that at that time she wa
s in his sight, eager to bestow her ample charms on a travelling young gentleman; a young man somewhat overindulgent with wine and with money in his purse. I could not ask him to name the gentleman, he would of course been, ah, unwilling, reluctant to do so and am delighted that our opponent did not pursue that matter.’ Again he paused, hesitating to add, ‘For that person, I am sorry to say, was myself!’

  His father spluttered into his glass. ‘By God, it was you! Well I will be damned. Yes, yes - now I recall. You arrived the following morning and your sister was much put out at the time, because she had expected you home for your birthday. I assumed that you had stayed over-night in Oxford. Didn’t you say something of the sort?’

  Marshall thought it politic to interrupt. ‘Your father tells me that you intend to leave London and join his practice. I believe that you will make a success here young man.’ He raised a forkful of pink meat into his open mouth, his clear eyes shining in amusement.

  Jack took a large swallow of Hock but just smiled. ‘So he proposes, my Lord.’ He answered in as non-committal a manner as he could manage.

  ‘Excellent, just excellent. Fine lawyer your father. Should do very well to have another Vizzard on this circuit. Might just see a few more innocents escape the gaols, what?’

  Marshall was liberal, a Whig, and had been known to shed a tear or two himself when sending a man to the gallows for no more than stealing a lamb or a piglet, to feed a hungry family. All too often the evidence of guilt was only compelling because no one was able, or willing, to challenge it. Of course, he happily ordered the hanging of hardened murderers or highwaymen, without second thought if need be.

  ‘A toast then to Mister Vizzard. Gloucester’s newest advocate. May all his cases have such a happy outcome, but perhaps without his personal and close interest!’