Chapter 4: Slavery and slaver

“There, on the horizon – India.” Captain Hands pointed to our left, larboard as sailors call it. I could barely make out the dark smudge but took his word for it.

“Are we near Madras?” I asked, still peering at the supposed ‘land’.

“No, we have another three days of sailing, and I will be spending most of the time on deck. It’s a tricky passage up the east coast of India. We have to navigate the Palk Strait, a narrow passage of water between India and Ceylon. The water is shallow with shifting sandbanks and shoals. The river Vaigai empties into the Strait, and depending on its flow the position of the sandbanks can move. We will have a leadsman in the bows throughout the passage. Hard work for all the crew and I must be seen to be sharing their hardship, what with Ceylon on the starboard quarter and promontories sticking out all over the place.”

He spoke to the helmsman. “Steer two points to larboard, Carlton. We shall get in nearer so the ladies of the fishing fleet can have a closer view. I will call them on deck in an hour.”

Captain Hands was as good as his word and an hour later the ladies lined the rail gazing out over the azure sea at the now clearly visible land. The yellow sand of a seemingly continuous beach contrasted with the luxuriant green foliage of the fringing jungle. Occasional habitations were glimpsed in small clearings, and a range of purple-headed mountains could be discerned on the far horizon.

“Seeing the land where they will spend the rest of their lives will bring home to them the momentous choices they have made,” Hands said. “At least a third of their number will not be alive this time next year. The Indian climate is deadly for Europeans, especially females.”

“Surely not?” I was shocked by his comment.

“Boredom, alcohol, disease, and sometimes all three, carries them off. White females do no form of work in India. They have servants to cook, clean, wash, iron, dress and undress them, and even wipe their backside if required. Their husbands are at work all day and spend most evenings at their clubs. These women are getting married solely to enable their husbands’ future promotion, and after the wedding night their husband will probably not plug them again during the marriage. The men have been plugging native girls on a daily basis, and being married ain’t going to change their habits. The wives will fill their time meeting other bored wives for tiffin, arranging flowers, and drinking – lime cordial to start with – then adding a tot of gin to give it, and them, some sparkle. It is not unknown for bored, neglected, drunken, white women to go native, and have affairs with young Indian or Eurasian men...”

“Eurasian?”

“Someone of mixed race. Usually, in fact always, a European father and an Indian mother. As some wag once put it, ‘Necessity is the mother of invention and father of the Eurasian’.”

“It seems such an empty life for the girls,” I said, gazing at the chattering and excited females at the rail that included Mimi and Caitlin.

“It is, which is why I do not regret advising girls to leave the vessel at Cape Town. Many fishing fleet females have worked most of their adult life, and being sat doing nothing for months on end will drive them insane, or become drink-sodden sluts. Those who jump ship in Cape Town can make a tidy sum of money, and then have a choice of what to do with the rest of their lives. Most of the females I have steered to Madam Joyeux stay two or three years, and after accumulating enough money go on to other things, including marriage. Some return to England and start businesses with the money accrued; some opt for a new life in the Americas.”

“It seems I misjudged you, Robin. I took you for some sort of white slaver, selling young unworldly girls into sexual bondage. Instead, you are enabling them to make a better choice than the sham marriages awaiting them.” I held out my hand. “I hope you will forgive my uncharitable thoughts.”

Robin Hands grinned and shook my hand with vigour. “Apologies accepted, Jack.”

“Did you fail to persuade Caitlin to leave the ship at Cape Town?”

He chuckled. “Cai and I plan to marry in Cape Town on the return journey. We knew we were destined to spend our lives together even before we reached Lisbon. We will get spliced in Cape Town cathedral, with Annette and Abigail as Cai’s bridesmaids, and Jack Holmes as my Groomsman. After two or three days honeymoon we will continue on to England with my two errant top men back on board Hermes.”

“And then you will give up the sea and buy a house ashore?”

“I don’t reckon to swallow the anchor for another year or two, and meantime Cai will accompany me on voyages. I estimate another three trips to India will net me enough, added to what I will get for my share in Hermes, to retire and open a chandler’s store.”

“You are part owner of Hermes, Robin?”

He grinned. “Aye, but only one-sixth of the ship. It took every guinea I had to buy into the consortium that owned the vessel.”

“And why a chandler’s shop? Have you experience in that activity?”

“I’ve never run one but know enough of ships and sailors, and the commodities and equipment required to keep the former seaworthy and the latter fed and happy.”

He pointed at Caitlin Parker, who was standing by the rail with the other females.

“I will be supported and assisted by Cai, an intelligent woman who knows her way around a commercial business. Cai’s husband owned a chandler’s establishment in Norwich.” He paused. “Well, it was Cai’s father-in-law who started the enterprise and built it into a success. However, his son had no idea how to run a business and was too pig-headed to take advice, especially from his wife. He got into debt, mortgaged the property, and then gambled on the Stock Market with the money. Naturally, he lost the lot. He blew out what little brains he possessed days before the bailiffs arrived to foreclose the business.”