Stranger in Dixie

by James Fearn

  ‘Just a moment’, said the clerk and disappeared into a door marked Library. Within a few minutes, the young man emerged carrying books and papers. ‘Here we are’ he said encouragingly. ‘These are the latest reports’.

  The clerk motioned John to follow him into his office and gave him the material to examine. John was particularly interested in the articles about the Van Diemen’s Land Company that appeared in The Times. There were articles about the assets of the company at a place called Circular Head, the company’s chief settlement, which was just a day’s sailing from the colony of Victoria. There were also notices of land sales at Emu Bay and colourful descriptions of the countryside and the weather of the region.

  At the end of the table, the clerk had been perusing a recent edition of The Times. Looking up, he said, ‘Sounds like an interesting place, doesn’t it? Listen to this!’ He proceeded to read a description of the township of Stanley with its stone church, its schools, and its health and police facilities. ‘To be perfectly honest’, he continued, ‘our company’s development hasn’t been as fast as we had hoped. It was expected that our pastoral interests with Merino, Leicester, and Southdown sheep would have been strong by now, but we’ve had to prop these up with crops like flax and tobacco. I believe that the management has been contemplating setting up stud farms for Yorkshire thoroughbreds. But I don’t know if anything has come of it yet.’

  ‘The latest news is that the company is planning to sell off some of its land quite cheaply to encourage development and to reduce its rentals for tenant farmers,’ he continued.

  By now, John was thoroughly entranced by the prospects of the place and had to remind himself that he was there on Harry’s behalf not his own. But for his business and marriage commitments, he would have been on the next boat.

  Perhaps Harry could work as a farmhand for the company. Who knows he might one day even buy a little farm of his own. John’s entrepreneurial mind was running well ahead of present reality. The clerk gave a sigh and said, ‘Ah! What I’d give for a bit of adventure. But I suppose, they don’t want too many clerks out there in Van Diemen’s Land.’

  Arriving back in Sheffield late that same afternoon, John made his way excitedly to visit Harry and Colleen. He was greeted at the door by Anna. She looked stunning in her simple cotton dress and her shoulder-length hair. John was completely disarmed by her simple beauty. Impulsively, he stepped forward and kissed her gently on the cheek.

  ‘Well, what did you find out?’ she asked eagerly. ‘Can we go to Van Diemen’s Land? How much is the passage? Do they have kangaroos and snakes in the colony?’ The questions cascaded from her nimble mind before John could put in a word.

  John was still gazing at Anna when the lilt of Harry’s voice broke a momentary pause in Anna’s excited outpouring. ‘John’, he said, ‘glard to see you, m’ boy.’

  ‘You’ll be even happier when you hear my news,’ responded John as they all sat down around the family table. Looking excitedly at each of them in turn, John began, ‘I’ve just come back from London this afternoon. I tell you it’s a long journey even by train. But it was worth it. Listen to this!’

  John proceeded to tell his new friends all that he had learnt from the books and papers he had read in the company’s head office. He was always good with words and given to rather flamboyant speech. His audience sat enthralled as he painted a picture of a rich and fertile land that would have made the children of Israel envious.

  ‘The papers I read described the weather as idyllic. The summers are warm and sunny, and you never see any snow except on the highest mountains. There are magnificent sandy beaches, and the ocean is teaming with fish of a great variety,’ said John. Quite naturally, Harry wanted to know about the possibility of earning a living in this distant paradise. ‘Do they grow crops or graze cattle?’ he asked.

  ‘I believe that it is quite a densely forested country, but the Van Diemen’s Land Company is opening it for agriculture. They have already cleared thousands of acres of good land and are grazing fine-wool sheep,’ continued John. ‘I’d say the prospects of employment on the land are extremely good especially if you are prepared to work hard. You’d have no trouble, Harry.’

  ‘But are there any tutors for the children away out there?’ asked Colleen.

  ‘Better than that, Colleen,’ replied John. ‘The Van Diemen’s Land Company has its own school in Stanley for the children of its workers.’ Colleen’s eyes lit up in surprise while Anna frowned apprehensively.

  Harry was ready to pack his family and his few possessions there and then but was brought back to earth by the sobering words of John’s next comment, ‘Of course, you’ll need about £50 to get your family to Van Diemen’s Land, Harry.’

  The euphoria immediately gave way to the harsh reality of his predicament. The £50 may only have been the steerage fare, but it was a king’s ransom to the Bog Irish. There was no possible way that Harry could raise that amount. His hopes of a new life were receding rapidly.

  They were still discussing the matter thirty minutes later when there was a knock on the door. Anna moved quickly to open it. ‘Oh, it’s Eliza! Come in, your brother’s here.’

  Eliza listened carefully as John restated the salient facts of their recent conversation. ‘And is there no way you can raise the money for your family’s passage?’ asked Eliza.

  ‘Where would people loike us get £50? We’d harve t’ rob a bank or somethin’ to get that amount o’ money,’ replied Harry.

  When John and his sister finally left their friends’ place, they returned home as quickly as possible. It was Charlotte’s birthday, and a celebration dinner had been arranged at the Hedley home for that evening.

  John and Charlotte had known each other since childhood. Their fathers each headed firms that were highly regarded in the cutlery industry and their families met socially on frequent occasions. The young couple had been linked officially in their friends’ minds since their mid-teens, and it was widely accepted that they would soon marry in keeping with the tradition of the families of business leaders in Yorkshire. Their engagement twelve months earlier had been part of a natural and expected progression.

  But it had been clear for some time to more astute observers that the couple were ill-suited. It was well known that Charlotte was grossly indulged by her doting father. After her education at an exclusive private school for girls in Scotland, she had been sent to a fashionable finishing school for the daughters of the European aristocracy in Lausanne, Switzerland. In the halls of affluence where horse-riding, music, and the cosmetic arts dominated the curriculum, there was little opportunity or motive for reflection upon the ills of the social order. With an indulgent father to underwrite the expenses of living amid the salons of Lausanne, what need was there to trouble oneself with anything other than preparation for marriage? Being a girl of modest intellect, Charlotte’s chief interests lay in the rather lavish activities of her exclusive social set. She displayed little interest in things that mattered to John, and was certainly no match for him in intellect.

  Subconsciously, John was beginning to realise the futility of the association, but tradition and loyalty had restrained him from contemplating any other course. It had not been until the incident at Harry’s door that John had felt the beginnings of genuine feelings of affection towards a young woman outside his own family despite her youth.

  Some hours later, John and Eliza were dining in the colourfully decorated dining room of Hedley Manor. Sir Robert, Charlotte’s rather handsome father who sported a neatly trimmed greying moustache, presided at the head of the table that seated some twenty guests. It was laden with bowls of fruits and sweetmeats and featured an exquisite centrepiece of many different roses from the manor garden. The scent of the roses and the light of the candle at each setting, created a romantic ambience. Two waiters, perfectly groomed and manicured, moved about unobtrusively behind the guests’, keepin
g the wine glasses charged.

  The gentlemen guests were dressed formally in black and white and their partners in elegant off-the-shoulder pastel gowns. Charlotte attired in a beautifully styled gown from the House of L’Oriel de Paris and with a spray of blue orchids on her left breast, revelled in the attention that was being lavished upon her as she celebrated her twentieth birthday. Unusually quiet, John sat beside her awkwardly trying desperately to look as if he was enjoying himself.

  ‘My dear, your gown is absolutely divine,’ remarked Marguerite, one of Charlotte’s closest friends from her boarding school days. ‘They say that off-the-shoulder is in this season.’

  ‘It certainly is for all of us at least,’ said Charlotte with a girlish giggle, glancing around the table at the ladies.

  ‘Now there’s a piece of news of national significance,’ muttered John sarcastically into his serviette. ‘What a damned shame!’ exclaimed Anthony, a promising young lawyer who was always the life of the party. ‘I was hoping to see a little more ankle this year.’

  ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ quipped John. The men chuckled chauvinistically much to the embarrassment of Anthony’s partner, Gladys.

  Anthony sprang to his feet. ‘Withdraw that remark, you pusillanimous poltroon!’ he objected in mock indignation, and with dramatic flair threw his serviette across the table towards John, issuing his challenge. ‘A duel at dawn tomorrow on the common. I demand satisfaction. Choose you weapons.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ responded John beginning to enjoy the good humour. ‘Pea shooters and peppercorn seeds.’ The company broke into raucous laughter as the wine began to make its influence felt.

  Sir Robert, who had witnessed the good-natured repartee from the head of the table attempted to inject some decorum into the occasion. ‘John’, he said, ‘tell us something about your recent involvement in local politics.’

  Sir Robert had heard that his intended son-in-law was becoming something of a firebrand in his support of the anti-Corn Law lobby and wanted to hear from the young man himself.

  ‘You mean, you want to hear about his run-in with the police, don’t you, sir?’ interrupted Percival from the other side of the table. Percival had always been jealous of John’s abilities and charm, especially with women. His relationship with John had soured markedly when Charlotte, whom he had once courted himself, had announced her engagement to John Oxley. His bitterness was exacerbated whenever he saw the two of them together. Such an occasion to embarrass John before his friends was too good an opportunity to let pass.

  Ignoring Percival’s remark John narrated the incident in graphic detail. In considerably embellished terms, he described how he had come to blows with old Marcus Shrewsbury, the portly landlord.

  ‘But, John, people of our class should surely show a united front. Give some of these ruffians an inch and they take a mile,’ remarked Sir Robert. He was referring to the rising political power of the British working classes, which was seen by many of the gentry as a threat to the security of the Establishment.

  ‘Now that, with the greatest respect, sir, is the kind of attitude that annoys me,’ John spoke out courageously in response to Sir Robert. Marshalling his considerable rhetorical skills, he stood to his feet and launched into a stinging attack upon those who defend the Corn Laws lest their own security and self-indulgence should be jeopardised.

  Charlotte fiddled with her serviette and looked decidedly uncomfortable. She tugged at John’s coat sleeve, urging him to sit down and cease making a spectacle of himself. Lady Oxley smiled approvingly, however. ‘But if our cereal production drops,’ retorted Percival, determined not to let John get the better of the argument, ‘we’ll lose our capacity to feel ourselves in time of emergency.’

  A few glasses of champagne had been sufficient to loosen John’s erudite tongue. ‘Now that’s the crassest argument of them all. Are you telling me that that you are prepared to force poor tenants to grow more corn now so that Britain can feed herself during a war. Don’t you realise that that as soon as they do that the price of corn drops so they are worse off than before?’

  John found himself in increasingly bitter confrontation with Percival. It was obvious that there was no love lost between these two. The party split evenly in support of the two debaters while the bare-shouldered girls, enjoying the battle of minds and wills, urged their partners on. Charlotte was unusually quiet.

  ‘The trouble with you, John Oxley, is that you’ve been fraternising with the enemy,’ taunted Percival. Charlotte suddenly came to life. ‘What do you mean—the enemy? Whose enemy?’ she queried.

  How did Percival know of his Chartist sympathies? It was most unlikely that he was aware of his dealings with the O’Meara family. With a growing sense of agitation, and wishing to avoid a scene, John got to his feet, pushed back his chair, and without a word walked out of the room. A smug smile settled on Percival’s face.

  Aware of her brother’s exasperation, Eliza followed him out. ‘Wait, John, wait!’ she called as she ran to catch up with him. Slipping her arm through his, she walked with him for a while in silence in the garden. The scent of the magnolias wafted across the pathway like a balm to a troubled spirit. It was a good five minutes before she spoke softly. ‘What’s troubling you, John? You seem so on edge recently.’

  There was a pause before John responded. ‘Eliza’, he said, ‘I need some time to think. Would you leave me alone for a while, and give my apologies to Charlotte and her family? I’ve got things on my mind that I can’t share with you yet. I’m going for a walk.’

  ‘Is Charlotte part of your problem?’ she ventured. There was an unusual silence from John as he left his sister at the front door of Hedley Manor.

  The streets of Sheffield were deserted as John walked in the warm night air lost in a confusion of thoughts. ‘What had Percival found out that makes him so cocky? Why don’t I feel at home with my friends any more? Why does Charlotte irk me?’ The moon which lit the normally darkened streets seemed to calm his troubled mind.

  John had lost track of time when unexpectedly he came to a bench in Central Park. Sitting down, he looked pensively across the lake to the distant homes silhouetted in the moonlight. The gleaming yellow orb was reflected brilliantly in the still water. He began to ponder his upbringing as the son of an affluent businessman, a child of unquestioning acceptance of the deep-seated attitudes of the English Midlands. ‘Why should I be troubled that the poor exist within a mile or two of my own home? The poor are part of the social fabric after all and will always be so. Am I, my brother’s keeper? Surely, each man should make the best of his own life. Anyhow, many of them are riff-raff, and not worth worrying about. But is that really true?’ he wondered. But rationalise as he might, an uncomfortable feeling remained in the pit of his stomach.

  In his late teenage years and on into his twenties, John’s interest and involvement in politics had brought him into contact with socialist views, which had immediately challenged his complacency.

  At first, he had debated as devil’s advocate, but with greater experience of life he began to question in his inner self the validity of his own inherited beliefs and prejudices. ‘Is it a mere quirk of fate that I should have been born into a well-to-do family? What if I’d been born one of the Bog Irish?’ he mused. ‘But for chance, there go I! Without money and position, I would have to endure a life like Harry’s. What does it feel like to see those you brought into this world die slowly of starvation and disease? If there is a Christian God, how can he permit such inequality?’

  John’s train of thought was interrupted by the hoot of an owl—a fellow traveller struggling, no doubt, with the enigmas of his own peculiar existence.

  John stood to his feet and, head bowed, made his way aimlessly along the pathway beside the lake. His brow furrowed as he thought of the dinner party at Hedley Manor earlier that evening. ‘Should I have stormed out?’ he thought to himsel
f. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so hasty.’ Somehow, the whole scene had made him sick in spirit. Charlotte was a pretty girl; no one could deny that. A union with her was not only expected by their parents and peers, but would also be so proper in terms of the traditions of Yorkshire. The ultimate consolidation of the assets of two well-to-do families was a prospect that pleased both houses.

  ‘Should I put my personal feelings aside for the greater good? That is how Father would argue,’ he mused. ‘They will soon pass, and I shall have missed my opportunity of a very comfortable life,’ he calculated.

  John felt himself trapped in an emotional battle of values. His early training at home and school had stressed the virtues of duty and loyalty to God, country, and family. Such overwhelming conditioning could only be rejected with an intense anguish of spirit. But the thought of marriage with one to whom he could not relate in mind or spirit dogged his every attempt to convince himself that he should persist with what was expected of him.

  But would the scandal in rejecting Charlotte cause too much pain and shame? Would it be possible for her to be educated to appreciate his perspective on life? Or should he be content with a life of party games and other frivolities? The questions raced through his mind like scenes from the window of a speeding carriage. Wasn’t it Ovid who said that to marry wisely one should marry one’s equal? But what sort of equality? In some ways, Anna is more my equal for all her poverty and lack of education. There was a depth of character in that girl that had resonated with his own spirit. He couldn’t explain it. He just felt it.

  A park squirrel darted across John’s darkened path momentarily breaking his train of thought as it scampered up a nearby elm tree. He strolled on in silence around the edge of the tranquil water while the tangled mass of emotion and logic in his mind began slowly to unravel into possible courses of action.

  Chapter 2

  The warm sun shone over Sheffield as Colleen and Anna O’Meara were working together in the garden of their tiny cottage, pulling weeds and pruning the red and white roses that clung to the wooden latticework of the veranda.