Lazarus Rising
"So McFadden, tell me the news from Virginia."
The man who had asked the question was huge. He stood 6 feet and 4 inches and built like a bull. His black hair had started to grey at the temples but it was still lush and thick. At 36, George Foxworth was a self-made man. The son of a ship's captain, he had gone to sea when he was only 13 years old and had worked his way up the ranks through a combination of hard work and a ruthless streak that even his father found unappealing and possibly dangerous.
When he was 16, Georges father had taken him on what he called an 'educational journey'. His father was taking a consignment of rifles and other cargo to the Ivory Coast in Africa. This was going to be a long voyage for the young man who was still learning his place onboard ship and in the world. The journey was uneventful and when they reached their destination, young George was intrigued by the climate, the scenary and the people he saw.
Rich merchants milled around the docks in their finest attire, bidding for and buying cargo and even the ships. Tired, bedraggled sailors lurched from tavern to tavern.
But what really interested George were the slaves. Hundeds of men, women and children; most in chains, dressed in rags, the women with their breasts bare. The men were silent as they sat in cages in little groups but even aged 16, George could recognise the fear and anger in their eyes. This did not frighten the young man; it inspired him.
He could see the merchants who had become rich from buying and selling humanity. He saw his father earning a salary but not really sharing in the fortunes that could be made. George decided there and then that he would be the richest man he could.
Over the next 10 years, young George grew and prospered. He bought his own ship, filled the hold with slaves that his men had kidnapped and sailed it himself to Jamaica where he sold them for a massive profit. From there he travelled north to Virginia where he refilled his hold with cotton and tobacco to take back to Britain. Finally he sent cargo back to Africa and the Triangle of Trade was complete.
As the years passed, George , after making his fortune, decided to build, or buy some roots of his own. He found a well respected, but poor family, wooed and wed the eldest daughter and when her father mysteriously died in a hunting accident, he inherited the family manor house on the edge of the village of Stelling Minnis in Kent.
In just 15 years, George had gone from cabin boy to Lord of the Manor through his own hard work, ruthlessness and strength of well. Now 5 years on he was set to become the owner of a complete fleet of merchant ships and that would cement his name into the history of the British Empire.
The fact that his wife was upstairs making a hell of a racket was not helping his tension.
The man, McFadden, an earnest lookinh Glaswegian who acted as George's deputy answered, "Very Good Sir. The new American government is still willing to to do business with us." He smiled at this and he was relieved to see his employer smile too. George had a reputation of being difficult to please.
"So, profits are up, I can get my new ships and the future looks bright. Tonight, hopefully, my son and heir is being born."
"Yes sir, congratulations sir, a true blessing"
"Shut up you snivelling little worm", George snapped. "Your job is to make me money. Do that and I will be happy. Keep your sicophantic opinions to yourself."
A tortured scream broke the flow of the conversation and George looked genuinely furious.
"Bloody woman! Cam't she just do it quietly?"
McFadden looked genuinely shocked at his employers outburst.
"Sir, this is your wife; she is obviously in a lot of pain."
"How dare you speak to me like that sir. I will not allow a jumped up little pen pusher like you to tell me how to treat a bloody woman. Breeding sir, all they are good for; just like the nigger bitches we sell in Kingston and Virginia. No bloody brood mare is more important than money. Remember that McFadden; a man without money is nothing."
McFadden, was very disturbed by his employes tirade but managed to retain his composure, he took a deep breath and managed to answer "Yes Sir" to his red-faced employer.
A knock at the door was followed by Mrs Stokes who stepped respectfully into the room.
"What do you want now Stokes?" George demanded, "Can't you see I'm busy?"
The housekeeper seemed to shrink in her masters presence. In front of the maids and the other staff she came across as a strict authoritarian who ran the day to day running of the house with a strong hand, When George was around she was just another employee and his presence in the house always caused tension.
"I'm sorry sir, but Doctor Metcalf has asked me to tell you that Mrs Foxworth is in great pain."
"I didn't need you to disturb my business with that you stupid woman. Half of Kent can hear that bloody woman's screams. Maybe some sort of gag for her to bite down on will solve the problem."
" Sorry sir, no." the housekeeper said. "Mrs Foxworth has lost a lot of blood and the doctor is unsure that the outcome will be successful."
George seemed to visibly crumple and he grabbed the arm of a red leather chair and sat down. He reached to the table beside it and picked up a half full glass of brandy. He stared into the glass thoughtfully as if he was trying to see the future in the swirling brown liquid. He took a deep sip and sat back in the chair.
"McFadden, please leave" he said quietly but firmly.
"Of course sir" the young Scot said and he headed for the door.
"Mrs Stokes, see him out ans then return please."
"Of course, sir."
She ushered the gentleman out of the roomand then closed the door behind her.
George took another large gulp from the glass, finishing his drink. He was pouring himself another when the housekeeper returned.
"What about the child?" he asked quietly.
"Dr Metcalf is not sure, sir" she replied.
George rose up to his full height and looked at the housekeeper.
"Tell the doctor that if it means saving my son; he must...whatever the cost. Do you understand, Mrs Stokes?"
"Whatever the cost, sir?" she asked with the tear in her eye.
"Yes, whatever the cost."
He turned his back to her and leaned with both arms on the mantlepiece over the fireplace and stared into the flames. He heard the housekeeper leave the room and he lifted his head to look into the ornately carved mirror that was hung over the fireplace. He gazed at his reflection and was suprised how old he looked. A tear gently rolled his cheek and he felt ashamed at his own weakness. He wiped the tear away, looked squarely at his own reflection and said to himself again, "Whatever the cost."
But what really interested George were the slaves. Hundeds of men, women and children; most in chains, dressed in rags, the women with their breasts bare. The men were silent as they sat in cages in little groups but even aged 16, George could recognise the fear and anger in their eyes. This did not frighten the young man; it inspired him.
He could see the merchants who had become rich from buying and selling humanity. He saw his father earning a salary but not really sharing in the fortunes that could be made. George decided there and then that he would be the richest man he could.
Over the next 10 years, young George grew and prospered. He bought his own ship, filled the hold with slaves that his men had kidnapped and sailed it himself to Jamaica where he sold them for a massive profit. From there he travelled north to Virginia where he refilled his hold with cotton and tobacco to take back to Britain. Finally he sent cargo back to Africa and the Triangle of Trade was complete.
As the years passed, George , after making his fortune, decided to build, or buy some roots of his own. He found a well respected, but poor family, wooed and wed the eldest daughter and when her father mysteriously died in a hunting accident, he inherited the family manor house on the edge of the village of Stelling Minnis in Kent.
In just 15 years, George had gone from cabin boy to Lord of the Manor through his own hard work, ruthlessness and strength of well. Now 5 years on he was set to become the owner of a complete fleet of merchant ships and that would cement his name into the history of the British Empire.
The fact that his wife was upstairs making a hell of a racket was not helping his tension.
The man, McFadden, an earnest lookinh Glaswegian who acted as George's deputy answered, "Very Good Sir. The new American government is still willing to to do business with us." He smiled at this and he was relieved to see his employer smile too. George had a reputation of being difficult to please.
"So, profits are up, I can get my new ships and the future looks bright. Tonight, hopefully, my son and heir is being born."
"Yes sir, congratulations sir, a true blessing"
"Shut up you snivelling little worm", George snapped. "Your job is to make me money. Do that and I will be happy. Keep your sicophantic opinions to yourself."
A tortured scream broke the flow of the conversation and George looked genuinely furious.
"Bloody woman! Cam't she just do it quietly?"
McFadden looked genuinely shocked at his employers outburst.
"Sir, this is your wife; she is obviously in a lot of pain."
"How dare you speak to me like that sir. I will not allow a jumped up little pen pusher like you to tell me how to treat a bloody woman. Breeding sir, all they are good for; just like the nigger bitches we sell in Kingston and Virginia. No bloody brood mare is more important than money. Remember that McFadden; a man without money is nothing."
McFadden, was very disturbed by his employes tirade but managed to retain his composure, he took a deep breath and managed to answer "Yes Sir" to his red-faced employer.
A knock at the door was followed by Mrs Stokes who stepped respectfully into the room.
"What do you want now Stokes?" George demanded, "Can't you see I'm busy?"
The housekeeper seemed to shrink in her masters presence. In front of the maids and the other staff she came across as a strict authoritarian who ran the day to day running of the house with a strong hand, When George was around she was just another employee and his presence in the house always caused tension.
"I'm sorry sir, but Doctor Metcalf has asked me to tell you that Mrs Foxworth is in great pain."
"I didn't need you to disturb my business with that you stupid woman. Half of Kent can hear that bloody woman's screams. Maybe some sort of gag for her to bite down on will solve the problem."
" Sorry sir, no." the housekeeper said. "Mrs Foxworth has lost a lot of blood and the doctor is unsure that the outcome will be successful."
George seemed to visibly crumple and he grabbed the arm of a red leather chair and sat down. He reached to the table beside it and picked up a half full glass of brandy. He stared into the glass thoughtfully as if he was trying to see the future in the swirling brown liquid. He took a deep sip and sat back in the chair.
"McFadden, please leave" he said quietly but firmly.
"Of course sir" the young Scot said and he headed for the door.
"Mrs Stokes, see him out ans then return please."
"Of course, sir."
She ushered the gentleman out of the roomand then closed the door behind her.
George took another large gulp from the glass, finishing his drink. He was pouring himself another when the housekeeper returned.
"What about the child?" he asked quietly.
"Dr Metcalf is not sure, sir" she replied.
George rose up to his full height and looked at the housekeeper.
"Tell the doctor that if it means saving my son; he must...whatever the cost. Do you understand, Mrs Stokes?"
"Whatever the cost, sir?" she asked with the tear in her eye.
"Yes, whatever the cost."
He turned his back to her and leaned with both arms on the mantlepiece over the fireplace and stared into the flames. He heard the housekeeper leave the room and he lifted his head to look into the ornately carved mirror that was hung over the fireplace. He gazed at his reflection and was suprised how old he looked. A tear gently rolled his cheek and he felt ashamed at his own weakness. He wiped the tear away, looked squarely at his own reflection and said to himself again, "Whatever the cost."
No comments:
Post a Comment