The Journey by Harcourt Tendhall

5 September 2021  { Historical Fiction }


Most people head for London. Not me, I’m going North. One last visit to the Cathedral and I’m off. There’s nothing for me in Salisbury.

We moved here when I was naught but a nipper. Pa needed work and the Moodie’s job at the Cathedral was perfect for him. Ma had no problem getting work in the cloth industry. I’ll miss my brothers and sister, and Ma, of course, but not him. Never got on with Pa. He wanted me to become a mason, like him. I became an apprentice, but never did like the job. We kids were educated at the Cathedral school because he works there. I reckon you can’t get a better education without going to Oxford. I can read and write, even got some understanding of Latin. I’m good at mathematics and learnt to navigate as well. I’ve set my sights higher, but Pa can’t see the possibilities.

‘Not for the likes of us,’ he says about anything I suggest.

I want a better life, but he can’t see past the end of his nose, convinced you can’t rise above your station. Maybe for him, but not me; I’m out to prove him wrong. There’s a better life for me out there. Not in London, though. Everybody heads there to make their fortune, but few do, so I’ve heard, either crawling back home penniless or scratching a living on the streets, thieving food and picking pockets.

At the Cathedral, I pause at the front and look up. You have to stand a long way back to see the tower and steeple. I’ve paced it out and know the height of the steeple, so worked out the angle you are looking up: 60°. It catches my breath every time; tallest in the whole of Europe, they say. I can believe it. Hundreds of men built it, but that was over six hundred years ago. It never fails to amaze me that people back then had the vision to design it, let alone build it. I avoid the Mason’s yard and make for the cloisters and the refectory. I want to bid farewell to Simon, my favourite master. I spot him inside.

I ask at the door and I’m told to wait, so step back into the courtyard. A couple of years ago, someone planted two fir trees, just little saplings, but they’re growing well now. Must be fifteen feet high now. I’m told they’ll grow to a grand height of one hundred feet or more. They’ll probably still be here long after I’m dead and buried.

‘George, you wanted a word?’

I turned round at the familiar voice of Master Simon. He stands smiling serenely.

‘I’m off this fine morning, Master Simon. I just wanted to bid farewell to you and thank you for imparting so much of your knowledge to me.’

‘My boy, you were my brightest pupil. It was a pleasure to teach you and a joy you continued to learn from me after becoming an apprentice. Where are you heading?’

‘North, Master. I shall take the coach to Bristol shortly.’

‘Then you must take this to help you on your journey.’ He reaches inside his tunic and produces a familiar object I have seen many times before: his compass.

As he proffers it, I say, ‘No, Master, I know you take pride in owning this and I can navigate by the sun and stars.’

‘Not in the rain, you can’t, and it rains a lot in the North. Now put it away safely and tell me, how far north do you intend to go?’

‘I thought I’d try my luck in Bristol, but if not, Manchester, or I might head for Liverpool or even as far as Glasgow, although I hear it can be a hard place.’

‘So they say. Manchester is gaining a reputation for cotton production. I can understand the attraction, but Bristol, Liverpool and Glasgow? Have you a yearning to become a seafarer?’

‘Maybe Master, we shall see. Thanks to you, I have the skills of navigation and mathematics to aid me should an opportunity arise. Thank you for the compass. It will be my constant companion and remind me of the many other gifts you have bestowed on me with your teachings.’

‘Have you resolved anything with your father?’

‘I tried, Master, but we are so far apart, I cannot see us ever meeting. He knows I’m leaving and only says I’ll come crawling back a beaten man.’

‘I doubt that will happen, George. Go with my best wishes. May you find everything you seek.’

Leaving the Cathedral, I make for the coaching house. The Bristol coach is due in shortly. There was only one place available, so I wait alone, having said my farewells to Ma and my siblings earlier this morning. My heart feels heavy, thinking of them, but the excitement of the unknown that awaits buoys me, and I get a thrill as the coach rounds the corner and comes to a halt.

The Coach Driver tells me they will depart in twenty minutes as he hauls my bag onto the roof, before jumping down to assist the stable boy in changing the horses.

They say steam engines on rails will replace horse-drawn coaches before long, drawing many coaches at once. It seems almost far-fetched, but we already see steam engines replacing water wheels in many of the mills. Manchester is at the centre, with the cotton industry booming. Steam engines are much more powerful than the water wheels, and don’t suffer from droughts or floods. Fuelled by coal, steam is the future, but putting an engine on rails? Apparently, a man called Stephenson did so some years ago and has now completed a railway from Manchester to Liverpool.

Thoughts such as these occupy my mind until the coach is ready to leave. My fellow passengers, all male, join me as we climb aboard. The cab is quite small, with only just enough room for us. I soon discover it is not exactly comfortable either. Leaving Salisbury, we take the main road to Bristol and a well-dressed man addresses me.

‘Young man, why do you travel to Bristol today?’

‘Sir, I am travelling north in search of employment, but Bristol is my first stop. With skills of mathematics and navigation, I may venture to sea, or continue to Manchester, to seek a future in the cotton industry.’

‘Have you ever been to sea?’ asks another passenger, a bearded man of around thirty, with a weathered appearance.

‘No sir, but I know it is no easy life, although many see it simply as an adventure.’

‘I’m taking the position of captain of a ship in Bristol. It’s called Fortune. Seek me out there tomorrow and we’ll see if there’s a position aboard for you as an apprentice.’

Looking into his eyes, I see only sincerity, so reply, ‘Thank you, sir. Who shall I ask for?’

‘Captain Summers. I’ll be aboard shortly after we arrive in Bristol, but do not call until tomorrow. I need to appraise the ship and the crew first.’

‘My word,’ said the first man, ‘It seems this may be your lucky day, young man. Not only might you have found employment, but on a vessel called Fortune. It is surely an omen. What do they call you?’

‘Indeed, sir, it may be. My name is George Moodie. To whom do I speak?’

‘Charles Postlethwaite, I am a banker from London, visiting our Bristol branch. In fact, our bank is funding the owner of Fortune’s first voyage. Captain Summers and I were discussing this coincidence earlier in the journey. It is a fact that many elements must come together to cause even the simplest of ventures to occur, isn’t that so, Captain.’

‘Aye, ‘tis so, Mister Postlethwaite. If you had not spoken to young George here, we would not be aware of his search for employment and the possibility of his involvement in the same venture.’

‘Indeed, so, but what of our other passengers?’ asked Charles. ‘Mr Johnson, we spoke earlier of your business as a clockmaker. Have you any connection with the sea?’

The thin-lipped small man, wearing a suit that looked too large for him, looked up from his book. ‘I have many links with the sea, sir. I have made many clocks for ships during my time. We also make barometers, another essential for any vessel. I do not know whether they supplied any of mine to the Fortune. If so, not only will they bear the name of Smith on the dial, but my name engraved on the case.’

The rest of the journey passed in conversation regarding sea voyages, cargoes and ship paraphernalia. When we arrived in Bristol, I wasted no time in securing accommodation for the night before taking a walk down to the port. It was alive with the hustle and bustle of loading and unloading of vessels, the prevailing smell of rotting fish, and the noise of a thousand people coming and going. It was a struggle to acclimatise to this level of activity and took me some time to find Fortune, but she looked a grand three-masted vessel. There was little activity around her, so I left the port and retired for the evening.

As I lay in my room, I thought of my day, the goodbyes in Salisbury, the coach journey, my good luck in meeting such fellow passengers and my walk around the port. My last thoughts were of Ma and my brothers and sister before I drifted off to sleep.

Next morning, I arrived at Fortune at around 8.00am. As I walked up the gangway, a swarthy-looking man challenged me at the top.

‘Who goes there and what’s your business aboard Fortune?’

‘I am George Moodie. Come to meet Captain Summers as agreed.’

‘Very well, come aboard and wait on deck. I’ll ask if the captain will see you.’

I cast my eyes around the deck. There were other sailors already working, coiling ropes, swabbing the deck, and two were up the rigging. It looked like they were replacing some ropes. As I watched them working, a familiar voice rang out behind me.

‘There’s two sheets on the for’ard mast to replace when you’ve finished there, lads.’

I turned to see Captain Summers, now in uniform, approaching me.

‘George, my lad, welcome aboard. Follow me, we’ll talk in my cabin.’

I followed him towards the stern and through a door into a short corridor, with a door on either side and one at the end, which he opened and strode into the room. There was a window at the rear, in front of which was an ornate oak desk, which he walked behind and sat down in a grand leather chair. He beckoned me to sit on the stool, front right of the desk. I did as my eyes wandered around the room, with its varnished oak-panelled walls, polished wood floor and ceiling and on the left side, a large curtain, which I later discovered separated his sleeping quarters from the rest of the room.

‘I’m pleased to tell you I can use you as an indentured apprentice on the Fortune. Our first voyage, a convoy to Australia, is leaving in two days. You’ll have to sign papers in the port offices today. By the time we return, you’ll have gained a good grounding of most aspects of manning a ship like this. The wages are only sixpence a week, but you’ll be fed and watered. There’s nought to spend money on in Australia, so you’ll feel like a rich man by the time we return. So, how say you? Are you with us?’

‘What’s our cargo?’

‘Convicts. Sentenced to a life in the New World.’

I considered this for a few moments; convicts were not something I had bargained for.

Captain Summers noticed my consternation and added, ‘You’ll not come into contact with them. They’ll remain below decks.’

‘Very well, Captain Summers, you have yourself a new apprentice.’

* * *

That was all thirty years ago. I survived that voyage, and many more since. I completed my indentures four years later, then took the examinations for my Mate’s and Master’s certificates, completing the latter in 1861. I have been fortunate and perhaps that first ship, the Fortune, was indeed an omen.

This very year of Our Lord, 1870, I have taken charge of a new vessel it has been my good fortune to oversee the building of. Her name is Cutty Sark. We shall leave London on 16th February, bound for Shanghai, carrying large amounts of wine, spirits and beer. We hope to return with our hold full of tea and challenge the fastest time for that journey.


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