A Place Called Freedom (1995)

It crossed Mack’s mind that he ought to cool things down. He tried to think of something conciliatory to say. Then he caught sight of Bridget Riley and her hungry children, and indignation got the better of him. He said to Lennox: “You’ll not leave that table until you’ve paid what you owe.”

Lennox’s eyes fell to his pistols.

With a swift movement Mack swept the guns to the floor. “You’ll not escape by shooting me either, you damn thief,” he said angrily.

Lennox looked like a cornered mastiff. Mack wondered if he had gone too far: perhaps he should have left room for a face-saving compromise. But it was too late now. Lennox had to back down. He had made the coal heavers drunk and they would kill him unless he paid them.

He sat back on his chair, narrowed his eyes, gave Mack a look of pure hatred and said: “You’ll suffer for this, McAsh, I swear by God you will.”

Mack said mildly: “Come on, Lennox, the men are only asking you to pay them what they’re due.”

Lennox was not mollified, but he gave in. Scowling darkly, he began to count out money. He paid Charlie Smith first, then Dermot Riley, then Mack, taking their word for the amount of liquor they had consumed.

Mack stepped away from the table full of elation. He had three pounds and nine shillings in his hand: if he put half of it aside for Esther he would still be flush.

Other coal heavers made guesses at how much they had drunk, but Lennox did not argue, except in the case of Sam Potter, a huge fat boy from Cork, who claimed he had drunk only thirty quarts, causing uproarious laughter from the others: he eventually settled for three times that.

An air of jubilation spread among the men and their women as they pocketed their earnings. Several came up to Mack and slapped him on the back, and Bridget Riley kissed him. He realized he had done something remarkable, but he feared that the drama was not yet ended. Lennox had given in too easily.

As the last man was being paid, Mack picked up Lennox’s guns from the floor. He blew the flintlocks clear of powder, so that they would not fire, then placed them on the table.

Lennox took his disarmed pistols and the nearly empty money bag and stood up. The room went quiet. He went to the door that led to his private rooms. Everyone watched him intently, as if they were afraid he might yet find a way to take the money back. He turned at the door. “Go home, all of you,” he said malevolently. “And don’t come back on Monday. There’ll be no work for you. You’re all dismissed.”

Mack lay awake most of the night, worrying. Some of the coal heavers said Lennox would have forgotten all about it by Monday morning, but Mack doubted that. Lennox did not seem the type of man to swallow defeat; and he could easily get another sixteen strong young men to form his gang.

It was Mack’s fault. The coal heavers were like oxen, strong and stupid and easily led: they would not have rebelled against Lennox if Mack had not encouraged them. Now, he felt, it was up to him to set matters right.

He got up early on Sunday morning and went into the other room. Dermot and his wife lay on a mattress and the five children slept together in the opposite corner. Mack shook Dermot awake. “We’ve got to find work for our gang before tomorrow,” Mack said.

Dermot got up. Bridget mumbled from the bed: “Wear something respectable, now, if you want to impress an undertaker.” Dermot put on an old red waistcoat, and he loaned Mack the blue silk neckcloth he had bought for his wedding. They called for Charlie Smith on the way. Charlie had been a coal heaver for five years and he knew everyone. He put on his best blue coat and they went together to Wapping.

The muddy streets of the waterfront neighborhood were almost deserted. The bells of London’s hundreds of churches called the devout to their prayers, but most of the sailors and stevedores and warehousemen were enjoying their day of rest, and they stayed at home. The brown river Thames lapped lazily at the deserted wharves, and rats sauntered boldly along the foreshore.

All the coal heaving undertakers were tavern keepers. The three men went first to the Frying Pan, a few yards from the Sun. They found the landlord boiling a ham in the yard. The smell made Mack’s mouth water. “What ho, Harry,” Charlie addressed him cheerfully.

He gave them a sour look. “What do you boys want, if it’s not beer?”

“Work,” Charlie replied. “Have you got a ship to uncoal tomorrow?”

“Yes, and a gang to do it, thanks all the same.”

They left. Dermot said: “What was the matter with him? He looked at us like lepers.”

“Too much gin last night,” Charlie speculated.

Mack feared it might have been something more sinister, but he kept his thoughts to himself for the moment. “Let’s go into the King’s Head,” he said.

Several coal heavers were drinking beer at the bar and greeted Charlie by name. “Are you busy, my lads?” Charlie said. “We’re looking for a ship.”

The landlord overheard. “You men been working for Sidney Lennox at the Sun?”