Young Dick

by John Jarvis

CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It turned out to be sea. Richard had crept out of the house at first light, humping his chest carefully so as not to awaken the snoring Mrs. Higgins. He had paid for a week in advance.

  A fishing boat loaded with deep-sea cod had put in to land an injured fisherman and crew members were glad of an extra hand for their run south to the markets of New York. The schooner was serviced by experienced hands and Richard made quick work of the local shoals and currents. It proved to be a fast, uneventful passage.

  The fishing schooner had docked near the fish market and Richard, taken for a local, was spared the harassment any newcomer received on arrival in the fast growing town. He hauled his gear around until he found what he was looking for: a shop that specialized in used clothes. He needed to look respectable when applying for upper class lodgings. It did not take long to select a dark blue naval coat of a type a merchant officer would wear matching trousers, white hose, and a near-new tricorn hat. Richard baulked at used underwear; he would purchase these items new. He haggled over the prices, pointing out the remains of a bloodstain on the coat and finally settled on a figure that did not deplete his modest capital. He dumped his worn out and ragged clothes in a bin as he departed, and they were immediately set upon by several skinny boys.

  ‘Superior Lodgings Available for Gentlemen,’ read the sign in the front window of a respectable house in a favorable neighborhood. Richard clacked the brass knocker and a tall-distinguished man of middle age opened the black painted door. He carried a cane.

  Richard Digby esquire, enquiring about your accommodations, Sir,” he announced himself.

  Colonel Kyle, retired thanks to a gammy leg at your service, Sir, please come in.” The Colonel led Richard into what could have once been a parlor but was now used as a study. Bookshelves heavy with leather bound tomes covered the walls and any spare space was occupied by hunting prints or antique weapons. Richard loved it.

  “Can I offer you a drink young Sir, what is your poison, eh?” The Colonel hovered around a drinks trolley that contained decanters of different colored liquor. Richard thought eleven o, clock in the morning was a little early, but answered,

  “Whatever you are having, Colonel.” He received a very large gin with a very small portion of water.

  “Now, Master Digby, tell me how you came to my door if you please,” the Colonel settled back in leather upholstered chair and took a large swallow of gin.

  Richard was mindful of the need to be recognized as a man of substance in New York’s society, so without actually lying intimated that the position he held on Subtile was of officer rank; there was after all little chance of him being corrected. The Colonel took it all in enthralled by the adventures and refilled his own glass several times.

  “Good God, what a story, they will love you at my club Mr. Digby, now let me show you your room; Mrs. Lovelock services all the rooms every second day.” It never occurred to the Colonel that Richard might decline his lodgings. The room on the second floor was perfect, overlooking a park and a bathroom at the end of the corridor. With a handshake, Richard handed over a large portion of his earnings and asked the Colonel a question: “Where, Sir, can I find a tailor of suitable quality; I need to replace these working clothes.”

  Gabriel Goldsmith was a bird-like creature who fluttered about Richard clucking and measuring his inside leg enough times to cause Richard some concern, but in the end he parted with the rest of his pounds and was promised delivery of a fine suit of clothes in the latest fashions but not ostentatious in a week. Richard spent the wait exploring the town.

  After the confines of three ships Richard enjoyed hiking around the island of Manhattan. He found the ancient Dutch names of Haarlem and Breukelen rather quaint and questioned whether the wall built to keep out Indians would have resisted an attack by the tribes. The town was full of constructions, including the foundations of a new Kings College in lower Manhattan courtesy of the King.

  His hiking was not only sightseeing but also a reconnaissance for future purchases and sales. On the second day he located a gun shop proudly proclaiming Wentworth Gunsmiths London and New York on its shingle. He entered announced by a doorbell and was immediately assailed by the smell of gun oil polished wood and leather. A middle-aged man looked up from assembling a fowling piece and wiped his hands.

  “How can I be of service to you Sir?” he asked with a somewhat surprising polished accent. Noticing Richard’s reaction, he added, “I am Wentworth the younger; my father prefers to run the London facilities alone, hence my banishment to the Colonies.”

  Richard smiled at the attempt to put him at ease and explained his requirements.

  “I am a merchant officer and have need of a pistol, not a large tower type – I can gain access to them aboard ship, nor an ornamental pocket toy – something in between perhaps?” Wentworth winced at having his prized gentlemen’s pocket pistols described as ‘toys’ but produced several larger types with matching prices.

  “This is a range Sir, that sporting gentlemen carry when not socially engaged that may suit your needs.”

  Richard examined several of the pieces: they were of the highest quality with fine silver engraving and carved wood stocks. The prices discreetly mentioned were far outside Richard’s modest budget.

  “I fear Sir that these fine pieces are of a quality that far exceeds my needs.”

  Seeing Richard’s disappointment Wentworth thought for a moment, then said, “A moment Sir, I may have something more to your requirements in the armory.” He opened the door of a strong room, entered, and reappeared with a pistol wrapped in oilcloth. “This was once one of a pair of Milanese dueling pistols, devoid of any ornamentation for such serious engagements, the lock is simple but made to a very high standard; it would not do to have a misfire in a life or death situation. The barrel is by Beretta, they have been making them since the first matchlocks.” He unwrapped the pistol and handed it to Richard, who gave it a close inspection.

  “The caliber is continental then?” Richard asked, mindful of the problem with his previous Dutch pistol. Wentworth looked at him with a new respect.

  “I am afraid so, Sir; once these existing balls are expended you will have to secure a correct mold, and that is reflected in the reduced price of two guineas.”

  “One guinea is all I have, Mr. Wentworth, if you include a flask of powder,” offered Richard.

  “One guinea it must be, Sir.” Wentworth sighed, aware that his profit was still substantial. Richard paid a five-shilling deposit and made arrangements to return next week.

  The following day Richard located a ladies’ millinery and purchased a plain traveling hatbox. He made the smirking and rather effeminate sales assistant wrap the box in a plain cloth.

  On the final day before delivery of his clothes Richard discovered a small but exclusive purveyor of arts d’ object and curios from the New World tucked in between a bookshop and saddler. The proprietor was a Jan Gaesink.

  The clothes arrived and they were everything Richard had hoped for: quality, style and subdued tones fitting for a military officer. Colonel Kyle was most impressed.

  “You must lunch with me at the London Club tomorrow, twelve thirty sharp young Digby; do not be late.” Richard agreed; today he would visit Herr Jan Gaesink. The man proved to be of German Dutch origin and was fluent in several languages. He reminded Richard of the stubborn merchants at Capetown but he listened to Richard’s tale with polite interest.

  “Staten Landt you say, but was that not discovered by Abel Tasman over a century ago?” Herr Gaesink’s bushy eyebrows rose up above a pair of piggy like eyes.

  “It was indeed Sir, but although Tasman had several of his crew murdered by the local natives he never landed nor claimed the land for the Netherlands,” answered Richard.

  “Harrumph, well what is this priceless artifact you purloined from these savage isles?” Richard opened the hatbox, and Gaesink unwrapped and gazed upon one the grizzly shrunken heads. He took a
deep breath and slipped on a pair of off white gloves; only then did he lift out the head and examine it from all angles. “Hmmm, interesting I grant you, but hardly priceless?”

  “It is priceless because it is the only one in the New World,” suggested Richard.

  “And what sum would you accept for this priceless artifact?” Gaesink asked with ill-concealed sarcasm.

  “I do not intend to haggle like some fish merchant, Herr Gaesink: my price is one hundred pounds,” stated Richard.

  “Ridiculous, Sir, that sum is a fortune only the most wealthy could afford,” spluttered Gaesink.

  “I agree entirely – someone greedy like the King of France, Herr Gaesink – and I have an appointment with the French Ambassador this evening,” lied Richard. “This has the advantage of cutting out the middleman, so to speak,” said Richard in passable schoolboy French.

  Gaesink waited for Richard to open the door before capitulating. “Very well, Sir, I will pay your exorbitant price, but I do not keep such a sum on the premises obviously; please wait whilst I fetch the money from my bank.”

  “Indeed not Sir; I will accompany you to your bank and there we will effect the transaction in a secure location,” said Richard. For the first time; Gaesink’s poker face gave way to redness and rage.

  No money changed hands at the Colonial Bank: Gaesink drew up a check, claimed the hatbox and strode out the heavy doors. Richard opened an account, drew out several pounds and left the bank a wealthy man.

  On the morning of the day Richard had been invited to lunch he took a detour to uplift his pistol. Wentworth the younger had been kind enough to add a box to house the pistol, and this caused Richard to change his plans. He paid the amount owed, thanked Wentworth and retraced his steps back to his lodgings. He could not secure the pistol and box in his pocket and was unsure whether he could lodge them somewhere at the club, so decided to avoid any embarrassment.

  He was in for a nasty surprise.

  When he reached the landing outside his door the first thing he noticed was the door had been jimmied open, splintering the frame. The second was the sound of a metallic strike followed by something being dragged over the floor. Richard quietly withdrew his pistol and laid the box on the floor; it was unloaded and he would have to rely on a bluff. Stepping into his room, he saw a large, dirty and unshaven man dragging his chest towards the shattered door; he obviously had been unable to break the lock. He saw Richard, heard the pistol lock click twice and made to grasp a knife from his pocket.

  “I think not: I can hardly miss from this distance and you have been paid to steal, not fight and die. Lay on the floor with your hands behind your back and be quick about it!” Richard ordered in a commanding voice. To his relief the man hesitated for an instant then, snarling obscenities, reluctantly lowered himself to the floor. Richard stripped away some curtain cords and quickly bound the man hand and foot using a variety of knots learned on board Subtile. He relieved the man of his knife and pressed the tip of it above his eye.

  “I will ask you one question, and you will answer by nodding or shaking your head, do you understand?” The man nodded vigorously. “Did Herr Gaesink send you?” The man nodded. Richard gagged the man, checked his bindings and loaded his pistol. Making an unexpected call on Herr Gaesink would make him late for his luncheon appointment, but the situation demanded an expedient settlement.

  The sign on Herr Gaesink’s door read ‘Closed for Lunch’, so Richard made his way to the rear of the premises and knocked on the back door.

  “Have you got ...” Gaesink could no longer speak with Richard’s pistol rammed in his mouth.

  “No, Herr Gaesink, I have not, but I will have payment for damages or you will be up before a magistrate this very afternoon.” Richard pushed the gagging man back into his back parlor. “Produce your cash box, you swine, or become yet another deceased victim of crime.” Richard turned him around and propelled him into his office with his pistol rammed into his back. Gaesink unlocked his desk and withdrew a small iron cash box. It contained a cash float. “Not your petty cash, Herr Gaesink – your monies for purchases, and quickly, or I may become clumsy in my impatience.” Richard knocked over a Chinese vase that fell to the floor and smashed into a hundred pieces.

  “All right, all right I get it, please no more smashing,” Gaesink unlocked a heavy chest that was chained to the floor and stood back breathing hard and perspiring heavily.

  “Ah, this is more like it, now let’s see: a new chest, damage to property, insurance protection for your future businesses; ten pounds should cover it.” Richard left the few remaining pounds and left via the front door. He turned over the sign to read ‘Open’.

  Richard was terribly late for lunch and, concealing his pistol under his coat, approached the Maitre Di’ at the London club.

  “My name is Digby and I have a luncheon appointment with Colonel Kyle, but I fear I am terribly late,” Richard said with a calm he did not feel.

  “Indeed you are Sir; Colonel Kyle and his friends have completed their lunch and are taking cognac in the smoking room. I will advise them of your arrival.” The man flounced off and Richard was kept waiting for fifteen minutes before the Colonel arrived red faced from cognac and anger.

  “I say Digby, what is the meaning of this? I explicitly asked you not to be late and here you are well after the hours of lunch. I hope you have a satisfactory explanation,” the Colonel spluttered.

  “I believe I have, Sir: your home has been broken into, a robber apprehended and lies bound in my room, and the perpetrator who organized it all made to pay damages and suffer several indignities,” replied Richard.

  “What? What! Good God young man, come up to meet my friends and avail them of this drama, I will send for some refreshments.” Richard followed the Colonel up a winding staircase to a first floor chamber stuffed with leather armchairs and several billiard tables. Three immaculately dressed gentlemen, well past middle age, rose to be introduced. All three were men of influence in the Colony.

  “Sir Thomas Hastings,” Under Secretary to the Minister of the North American Colonies.

  “Doctor John Waverly,” Surgeon General to the English Army in New York.

  “James Ponsonby,” President of the Colonial Merchants Guild.

  After the introductions Richard was served with a glass of white wine and some cold cuts. He related the incident that caused his tardiness in detail but omitted naming Herr Gaesink, pointing out he had no real evidence against him and that it would be a matter of his word against that of a thief. He also did not mention the sum levied against the man, only that it would cover material damages and a donation to Sailors in Distress. The Colonel and his associates were satisfied, a messenger was dispatched to have the felon arrested, and Richard was pressed to tell of his adventures after his departure from England.

  The four men listened without interruption until Richard came to the time he spent with the tribes after being captured. Sir Thomas then interrupted several times to seek clarification and more details: the reasons for this would become clear at a later meeting.

  “Gentlemen, it is becoming late and I have several appointments to keep; may I suggest we adjourn and meet again for lunch, say, this Friday? Excellent, and Mister Digby, please avoid further incidents if you can; the club does a rather good grilled fish you will enjoy.” All five men had to shift their weight forward before struggling out of the deep armchairs.

  At lunch the following Friday it was Richard doing the listening and his hosts venting forth on matters political. Their opinions were the complete opposite of Nantucket where the majority would be revolutionaries: the Colonel and his friends were ardent supporters of King and country.

  “That damn upstart Washington, giving rousing speeches when he was the cause of it all,” growled the Colonel between mouthfuls of fish.

  “How so, Sir?” enquired Richard, sounding intrigued.

  “A decade or so ago we colonists found ourselves somewhat boxed in by the
French. They had given up their claim to Hudson’s Bay but continued to trade and build forts. They also laid claim to the Mississippi basin, which denied us the opportunity to extend our boundaries east. Furthermore, we feared the French might ally themselves with the Spanish in Florida and attack Georgia.” The Colonel paused to take a large gulp of wine. “We had no desire to be governed by an absolute monarchy that taxed their subjects heavily and conscripted them into the military. Neither did the tens of thousands of Huguenots who fled Catholic persecutions. In May 1754 this Washington was a lieutenant in charge of a British force in an area called Great Meadows; his superior officer was indisposed. Washington held a colonial commission of course, not a royal one. He learned that a contingent of French soldiers was nearby and surrounded them with his forty men. The French had not posted sentries and had stacked their muskets. Washington panicked and a shot rang out, starting a fifteen-minute firefight, at the end of which ten Frenchmen were killed and twenty-one captured. One Frenchman escaped back to Fort Duquesne and Washington lost, one killed and three wounded.” The Colonel paused to take food and Sir Thomas took up the story.

  “The French were furious, claiming that Jumonville, their officer killed, was on a diplomatic mission, hence the lack of guards and stacked weapons, and this incident led to the Seven Years War at which, as you are aware, the French lost all of their North American territories.” Sir Thomas drained his glass. “Our Treasury is drained and must be replenished. The colonists are only taxed one fiftieth of that of English tax payers and have gained most from the war, yet they rant and rave about representation, using that as a pretext to avoid their debt.” Sir Thomas ceased his diatribe; he was starting to rant and rave himself.

  “Perhaps we should adjourn to the smoking room,” suggested Doctor Waverly.

  After the leather armchairs stopped squeaking, the cognac sniffed and sipped, Sir Thomas seemed to gather himself and then asked of Richard. “What are your plans for the future, Digby?”

  Richard appreciated the dropping of titles among equals. “I am not sure, Sir Thomas: my duty would be to return to England, ascertain the whereabouts of Subtile and inform the authorities of her last sighting, but I would like to spend more time here in the New World; I may not have another opportunity.”

  “Then let me offer you an opportunity, Digby: the French may have given up their claims in North America, but there are still a few die-hards who remain and are using disgruntled Indians to ferment trouble in order to extend their holdings and gather capital before leaving. The Army is fully committed to keeping a watchful eye on our white settlers and has no spare men to patrol and keep the King’s peace in the interior. With your experience in jungle fighting you would be ideal to root out these malcontents and keep the natives peaceful or at least fighting each other, what?”

  “I do feel, Sir Thomas, that my experience in jungle fighting has been somewhat limited,” pleaded Richard.

  “It is a damn sight more than most of the officers here have had, and I might add there will be a lieutenant’s commission in it for you,” replied Sir Thomas.

  “A colonial one I take it, Sir Thomas, not a royal commission,” asked Richard with a smile. Sir Thomas roared with laughter and slapped his thigh.

  “It must be a colonial one I fear, Digby, then if you muck anything up we can wash our hands of you, but if you are successful in these covert actions we will not be ungrateful,” answered Sir Thomas.

  “Then I accept.” Richard stood shook hands with his companions and then asked to be excused: he needed to send a letter to Nantucket.