‘I agree,’ said Edward Rushton.
‘William, you know we are all involved in the effort to try and put an end to the wicked African trade. We have found the ship and we have the money to finance the project. We have issued shares in the project to sympathisers, and all we now require is the man to be our captain, and to run the company, the ship, and to advise us in the future. What do you think so far, Lieutenant?’
William steepled his fingers and rested his chin on the peak. He stared into the fire as his imagination saw the sails of many ships moving across the burning logs. He contemplated all he had heard and reasoned that if he said the right thing, he might be considered for the position of captain, and not just one of the officers. He was confident of his ability to make the project work. The right words now would change his life forever.
He responded carefully, ‘I would sincerely recommend that you find a captain who has not been on the African trade. I believe that this will be critical. Nothing can compromise the reputation of the project.’
‘I agree!’ called out Edward Rushton, with emotion that startled the others.
With a glint in his eye, Thomas asked, ‘Do you have any suggestion, William, as to the right man to command?’
William looked up, and allowed his hands to fall into his lap. He had a golden opportunity to prove himself to his father. He must be involved. The venture was an answer to his prayers. Taking a deep breath, he said, ‘I beg you not to think me too presumptuous, but the best man I can think of to lead the seagoing side of the project is myself.’
‘Hear, hear! My boy,’ shouted Thomas Clarkson. ‘I am very pleased with your answer. I have been singing your praises to these fellows since we parted company last. Owen confirmed my feelings with his own comments about you, and your reaction at your father’s house to the toast against the abolitionists.
‘May I be the first to congratulate you and to shake your hand? Welcome aboard!’
William felt his hand grasped and pumped up and down with enthusiasm. He couldn’t stop smiling as each in the group shook his hand and made happy and welcoming comments. Owen poured brandy into five glasses and passed one to each person. Then he raised his glass and said, ‘Perhaps I may be allowed the honour of offering a toast? To Captain William King, our newest member. To the success of our project and to the abolition of the African trade!’
Each raised his glass to William, his face fixed with a grin as they responded together. ‘To Captain King, our success, and the abolition of the African trade.’
William’s greatest wish had come true. They called him Captain and it had a ring to it he would always remember.
He thought for a further moment and interrupted the general happy banter. ‘One moment, Thomas, gentlemen, if we dispose of our cargo in America, will there not be a problem of a return cargo? Will we permit any slave-produced cargo at all? Many vessels trade to Boston or New York, and then move down to the West Indies for a return cargo, which may be sugar or tobacco. This cargo will negate our efforts to prove an operation can be profitable without the use of slaves.’
The others quickly discussed William’s question. When agreement was reached, Edward responded for the group.
‘William, we will not trade in slaves. We’re aware we may initially be forced to carry goods produced by slaves, but we would expect you to obtain these goods from plantations that do not mistreat their labour. I do believe there are plantations, owned by Christians, who do not ill-treat their slaves. If possible, we would prefer not to carry any goods produced by a transplanted black man. If you feel you have to obtain such goods, and you are in no doubt that the slaves who produced the goods are well treated, then you may carry slave goods. I don’t know if you are aware, but it takes ten times as many slaves to produce the same amount of sugar, as tobacco or cotton. If you must carry produce, please avoid sugar. The least use of slaves is in the production of leather and dried beef. I believe there is a ready market in Liverpool for both products.
‘A concern we do have is that if our efforts are too successful, the plantation owners may decide to do away with their slaves because they cannot sell their produce. This will cause great misery to the slaves. While we are adamant that we want the trade in slaves stopped, and outlawed, we also want to show plantations owners in the interim that if their slaves are properly treated a profit can still be made. Certainly this may cause an increase in the cost of certain goods, because plantation owners would have to pay a wage to the people who are now their slaves. If this happens, so be it, but our goal is the abolition of slavery within the British Empire, and to be a beacon of righteousness to the rest of the civilised world. They will follow us, I know they will.’
William watched Owen and William Roscoe nod their heads in agreement. After Edward had finished, silence hung in the room as each member of the group digested the words.
William broke the silence. ‘Thank you, Edward. I am now clear as to what I can and cannot do on our joint behalf. I will minimise the use of slave-produced cargo, and you may all rest assured that no ship in which I am captain will ever carry slaves for sale.’
Thomas drained his glass, sat down, and tapped the bottom of his glass on the table. ‘I bring this meeting to order gentlemen, we have much business to discuss.’
Chapter Twelve
The Albatross
Captain William King walked the deck of his new command, the two-masted brig Albatross. He tilted his head back to check the sails furled to the crosstrees. They looked old and in need of replacing. Still, their sad condition could not dampen his enjoyment.
The day after the meeting he had paid an old man in a dory to row him across the river to the Albatross. She was anchored off Birkenhead, which was far enough away from any prying eyes in Liverpool. Boarding her had been awkward as the rope ladder, or ‘Jacobs Ladder’, which normally hung over the side could not be found. He eventually boarded by climbing her anchor cable. The old man was ordered to wait until William was ready to return to Liverpool.
Thick snow on the deck of the Albatross muffled his footsteps as he made his way to the captain’s quarters. There he found a half drunk watchman nursing a bottle. The smell in the cabin assaulted William. The drunk had not washed for at least a month. His clothes were filthy and stained. His eyes were unable to focus on the intruder.
William pushed open one of the windows that stretched across the stern of the vessel and let in a blast of cold air and a flurry of snowflakes.
‘’Ere, what you doin’?’ yelled the watchman as the cold woke him from his stupor. ‘I’ll catch me death from all the cold.’
‘Get your gear and get off this ship!’ growled William.
‘You can’t talk to me like that. I’m the watchman, and the owner will have something to say if he knows you’re aboard.’ He clutched his bottle closer to his chest. His eyes rolled in his head as he tried to appear aggressive.
‘You have five minutes to get what gear you have and get off this ship. You are a disgrace. I am the new owner, and if you are still here when I get back in ten minutes, over the side you go. There is a dory waiting for me that you may use, he will take you to the Cheshire shore.’
William made his way on deck. He found a lamp and shook it to make sure it held oil, then lit the wick. The lamp threw a yellow light across the white of the snow. He leaned over the gunwale to speak to the dory boatman.
‘Boatman, I want you to take the watchman ashore to the Cheshire side and return to wait for me.’
‘Aye, aye, Captain,’ replied the boatman as he knuckled his forehead.
Now William could begin a detailed inspection of his new command. He withdrew a strong knife from a scabbard clipped to his belt and poked and prodded the ship from stem to stern. He wanted to know all he could about her and if she needed to be hauled out of the water.
He crawled through the hold and held the light high as he scraped and prodded the beams and ribs of the vessel. She appeared to be sound. He kn
ew from her paperwork that she was French-built and had been captured in 1803. One hundred and sixty-two tons, seventy-nine feet in length, twenty-six feet in breadth, and she drew two fathoms of water.
He checked her bilges and found only a small amount of water, not enough to worry him. Her holds were dirty but a good crew would put her right within a few days. He returned to the main deck. With his head right back, he confirmed his previous opinion that some of the rigging would have to be replaced, along with all of the sails. Perhaps he could use the current set for patchwork but he’d leave that decision until they were lowered and inspected.
That afternoon William transferred his personal baggage to the Albatross. Within three days he had hired a small crew of six local men to clean the ship and to help him examine the few stores in the forecastle lockers. He had the pick of the shore men, as it was close to Christmas and work was scarce due to the weather.
Ashore he interviewed potential crewmembers and looked for a good first mate. He attended a number of meetings with new partners to discuss outbound cargo and sailing dates. As was the custom, the value of the cargo and ship was split in thirty-two shares. Each of the partners bought a number of shares in the venture, according to their means. William used some of his remaining cash to buy three shares and the balance to buy trade goods on his own account, which was a captain’s privilege. He persuaded his partners to agree that when he saved enough from his profits, he would be allowed to purchase the Albatross for what they had paid for her, plus the cost of rigging her out.
The days passed in a whirlwind of action. The Albatross was scrubbed clean below decks and painted with a whitewash solution to purify the hold and sweeten the air. During one of his visits ashore a Chinaman, one of the many who seemed to be washed up on the Liverpool quayside, accosted him.
‘Captain, Captain, you go deep sea?’
William stopped and eyed the fellow up and down. The Chinaman had something about him. His clothes were threadbare, but they were clean and mended. The fine stitching used to mend the clothes showed a certain pride in appearance. His long cue was whipped, sailor fashion, to keep it under control. His face was clean-shaven, without even the trace of a moustache, like many of his race.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘Captain, you go deep sea?’
‘We are.’
‘I werry good steward, Captain, you take me, your steward?’
‘We are not going to China.’
‘No matter, Captain, I sail wherever you sail, no matter heya.’ At the end of his little speech, the last word was emphasised to make the point that he didn’t care where he sailed. William saw a man, not much older than himself, who was tall for a Chinese. Although his feet were bare, the cold didn’t appear to be of any consequence. The man’s stature convinced William to give him a chance. His eyes, slanted in the normal way of the Chinese, looked honest.
The Chinaman was a slave to misfortune and the Albatross was to be the first step of ridding Liverpool of slavery.
‘Have you any dunnage?’
‘Aye, Captain,’ the Chinaman answered, and produced a tightly wrapped bundle.
‘Can you read?’ The Chinaman nodded, and smiled to show a set of perfect white teeth. ‘What name do you go by?’
‘Teng Sang, Captain.’
‘Well, Teng Sang, meet me in an hour at the entrance of the Pen and Wig. I think we may have a berth for you.’
‘Thank you, Sorr, thank you, I see you longa time, one hour.’
William could not help but smile as he turned to resume his walk to the inn for another meeting.
The captain of the Albatross and his new steward soon came to an amicable working arrangement. In the three days since Teng Sang joined the Albatross, he had organised the captain’s life to such an extent that William wondered how he had ever managed on his own. William no longer worried about clean clothes, hot food, or even shaving.
The first morning after Teng Sang joined the Albatross, William awoke to the smell of hot tea and the gentle tap-tap of the Chinaman’s knuckle on the side of the bunk. ‘Captain, Sorr, breakfast and shaving water.’
William rolled out of the bunk, and splashed water over his face in preparation for shaving. He soaped his face and stropped his razor. As he brought the razor to his face, he heard Sang mutter to himself.
‘What’s the problem, Sang?’
‘Captain, Sorr, it is my duty to shave you. I can dooa.’
William stared at the razor, then at Sang, and debated whether he would do the job properly or just cut his throat and rob him.
Only one way to find out.
‘OK, Sang, let’s see you shave me.’
Sang’s face, lit by a smile, indicated the chair in which his captain should sit. ‘Prease,’ he said.
William sat in the chair and rested his head on the back. The razor slid slowly but surely over his face. The gentle touch of the Chinaman relaxed him, allowing him to think over the duties for the day.
Crewing had been completed. He was pleased with his bosun, a man named Charles Wilson who had served under him, years earlier, on one of his father’s ships. He was a family man from Liverpool, which gave William confidence. The bosun, as the senior warrant officer, would be the link between crew and officers. He was a hard man, yet fair, and would keep the crew in line. On signing him on articles, Wilson also signed for part of his wages to be paid via an allotment to his wife. A man with a family was a steady man and would not cause trouble.
William did his best to hire a crew who were not in the hands of the crimps, no more than sea-pimps. Crimping, or shanghaiing, was a despicable practice, not dissimilar to the press gangs of the Navy. He refused to deal with any lodging house that offered to supply sailors in exchange for cash to repay the debt of the sailor. In most cases the lodging house had drugged or cheated the sailor in the first place.
The first mate, James Austin, was older than William, and prematurely grey-haired. He had been passed over for command, a situation with which William sympathised. Austin knew William was part of the King family, but he also knew the ship was not part of the family fleet. William’s enthusiasm for the future, and that all officers and crew would share in any profit of the voyages, persuaded him to sign. He couldn’t afford to stay ashore any longer. The Albatross was better than no ship at all.
The second mate, David Fuller, was an eighteen-year-old, who had completed seven years as ship’s boy, and sailed as a midshipman in the Navy. Tragically, his family had recently died from smallpox while he was at sea. He found he couldn’t settle ashore now that he was on his own, so decided to return to the sea to escape the pain of his loss.
An apprentice, Dylan Howell, a Welsh thirteen-year-old with a singsong voice, also signed articles. His voice was yet to break. At times when he raised his voice, it would begin as a high squeak and then suddenly crack in to a deep bellow. William had to make an effort not to laugh.
The boy’s mother had requested a meeting to ask for the apprenticeship for her son.
‘An apprenticeship, Mrs Howell, will cost a thirty-pound bond.’ Mrs Howell hesitated at such a large sum and then made up her mind.
‘I want him trained officer like, not just to be another deck-hand. When he comes back I want him to know his figurin’ and his readin’. He has some of it now but I want him trained.’
‘He’ll be trained, Missus, no fear of that.’
‘Thirty pound, you said?’
‘Aye, thirty pound, he is not much good to me now. He doesn’t know anything, so I have to feed him and train him.’
‘All right, Captain, you look like a man of your word. Here’s the money.’ She slowly counted out the exact amount in a mixture of old paper notes and coins. ‘It’s all that was left by his grandfather, my father, and I want it to be used to help Dylan better himself.’
She turned to her son and with a tear welling in her eyes, said, ‘Dylan, you’re a man now. Captain King is giving you the chance to be a ma
n of means one day. You mind everything he tells you, and make me proud.’
They planned to warp closer to the Liverpool shore and enter the docks to load for America. The weather, cold and snowing, made life difficult on deck, as well as ashore. The snow had blocked roads and disrupted the transport of goods. Fortunately, Owen foresaw this, and arranged for the manufactured goods to be sent to Liverpool by barge. The barge had sailed slowly down the Mersey and now waited on the Liverpool shore for the Albatross.
A knock on the cabin door brought William out of his thoughtful relaxation. ‘Come in.’ Having finished shaving his captain, Sang placed a hot wet towel in William’s hand as the first mate entered the cabin. ‘Good morning, Mr Austin, are we ready to shift to the dock?’
‘Aye, Sir, we are. Whenever you’re ready. It’ll be slack water in about an hour, and the pilot is alongside. The sails are ready and we have the boats in the water to help guide the Albatross to the Liverpool side.’
‘Thank you, I will be on deck directly.’ William wiped his face of the traces of soap and dropped the cloth on the table. ‘Thank you, Sang,’ he said, as the steward helped him into his uniform coat.
‘Char, Captain,’ said Sang, and pointed to the hot tea.
‘Is that a Chinese name for tea?’
‘No. Sorr, it is a name from India.’
‘How did you come to be in India?’ asked William as he closed the final button.
‘Long story, Sorr. Please drink your char, or it cold.’
William raised the drink to his mouth and noticed it was not the normal brown colour, but had a greenish tinge.
‘Something wrong with the water already?’ commented William, looking into the cup. Sang appeared confused. ‘The water, Sang, it is greenish. Has it been in the barrel too long?’
‘Ayee-yah, no, no, Sorr, it is China green tea,’ replied Sang with a smile.
‘I didn’t order any green tea.’
‘No, Sorr, I order small stock when supplies come aboard. I thought you may like to try china tea-ah.’
William sipped the hot brew and found, to his surprise, it tasted very good. ‘What about milk?’
Triangle Trade Page 12
