Note: In Chapter 10 James is finding his life with his brother and his work in the bakery more difficult as he mourns the loss of his wife. In Chapter 11, a trip to the local pub, the Noisy Rooster, will change James's life forever.
Chapter 10
Ely, England
April 1773
JAMES WOKE BEFORE the rooster announced morning. He wrapped the rough wool blanket tighter around himself, although it made his skin itch.
This was the hard time each day; it was when he and Bess had held each other and talked. Talked about the bakery, his brother, Alice, the baby to come, customers and their quirks, her family, the rooster and rabbits. Sometimes they made up silly word games.
Some mornings, before she got too pregnant, they made love as quietly as possible to not disturb his brother and sister-in-law.
Once Henry the rooster crowed, there would be little time to talk until they fell back in bed, sometimes too tired but do anything but sleep, with the promise of “in the morning we’ll make love.”
James spent hours thinking about his life before comparing it to now without Bess. He thought about his boyhood chums. His pal Isaac worked with his butcher father; Thomas was an apprentice blacksmith to his father. When James stopped by the blacksmith shop with their bread order, he could hear Thomas’s father screaming at him.
At least William didn’t scream as loudly as the two fathers. It might be better if he had. His constant insults were more wearing. As small boys, William had been able to convince their parents that whatever he had done wrong was really James’s fault.
Their parents had stressed that their family, because of the bakery, would never go hungry. The world always needs bread and how lucky the family would be that they would be able to produce it. They made sure both boys and the three surviving girls knew each step of the process, saying to them, “If your husbands die, you can come back and work, feed your children.”
Until his parents died, all the family, including cousins, would get together during festivals: St. George’s Day, Christmas, Easter and Lammas. After their deaths, each family stayed in their own homes.
His brother-in-law, the baker in Little Thetford, had failed. William refused to let him work for him, with which James had agreed, much to William’s surprise. “Our reputation is important,” James had explained.
William had tried to take over the failed bakery customers, but the distance made it difficult to deliver daily. He wanted James and Bess to move the three miles to Little Thetford, to work that oven. It had tempted James, who had many recipes he wanted to try. William wouldn’t even consider changing anything that was successful. James couldn’t convince him that his ideas weren’t change but additions.
During the last three months of Bess’s pregnancy, she vomited two or three times a day. “Most women are sick in the beginning,” William had chided her.
Between her growing weakness from the nausea and her subsequent death the takeover was delayed. When James was ready, after Bess died, another baker had moved in. William had been furious that his business expansion plans had become impossible.
As James lay on his back, his hands behind his head, he wondered whether, if had taken over that bakery, would Bess and the baby have lived? What would his life be like then?
Probably just a variation of here: doing the same thing every day, every week, every month, every year of his life forever and forever. Only the monotony would have been better with her beside him and William too far away to be an annoyance.
James wasn’t overly religious. No matter what the vicar said, he doubted if God really cared so much about his daily small transgressions. If he were a good and generous God, he’d never have taken Bess or the babe, but let them live a full life. Nor would a good God regularly flood the area destroying homes and crops.
He remembered Bess’s sense of humor and teasing, especially of William. More than once, William had slammed out of the room, the door banging back open from his force rather than staying shut. James loved Bess all the more for that.
He wished he could remember good things about William, but his older brother would steal the covers of the bed they shared as boys, trip him when he was carrying loaves, always when their father wasn’t looking. James would be accused of being clumsy.
James had given up trying to convince his brother of a variation in their product. Once when William had been sick in bed, James had changed the balance of flours and customers had liked the change.
William had been furious. For months he made James do the hardest chores.
“Why don’t you fight back?” Bess would ask him.
James didn’t have an answer. William was the oldest. Their father had said that was the way it had to be. But why, James wondered.
The cock crowed.
It was time to start another day.
Chapter 11
Ely, England
April 1773
JAMES SOLD ALL his bread. A good day all around. The sun shone as it had for the three previous days although the paths were still muddy.
As he walked by the Ouse, he noticed that the water had not receded, but it had not advanced either: another good sign of spring. The change in the weather meant that his clothes were dry. That had not happened in many weeks. The day had been the warmest since September, but then again James knew what seemed cool in September after summer heat was warm in April after the winter’s cold and damp.
He heard faint singing, almost as if he were imagining it, as he passed the Cathedral. It wasn’t coming from the church.
Maybe it was from the Noisy Rooster just to the left of the cathedral.
The half-timbered building had been a spot for the locals to get a meal and a drink. It had been there longer than anyone in Ely knew. His father told him about going there with his grandfather and grandmother who had gone there with their grandparents. They drank mugs of beer and sometimes they ate. James had happy memories of his whole family eating beets roasted over the fire when he was little.
When James approached the door of the pub, he heard the words to a song he knew.
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the
pleasures prove
Two black horses were tied to the post in front of the pub: he knew almost every horse in the area. They were mostly work horses that pulled plows or carts. These horses with their polished leather saddles were definitely not farm animals, but of a quality he seldom saw.
He had to bend to enter the pub although he was not that tall: five foot eight, but the door opening was just over five feet.
Inside, when his eyes adjusted to the diminished light, he saw two men singing. A third played the flute before the small fire. A fourth person sat next to a drum. All wore red army uniform coats and white pants with shiny boots.
Wonderful smells came from a pig suspended over the low flame on a spit in a fireplace large enough for a grown man, his wife and two children standing together. Slices had been cut off to feed Owner Jack’s earlier customers.
The music, combined with the smell of beer and roasting meat, made the decision to stay and eat an easy one. He chose one of the four long tables. Between limited fireplace light and decades, if not centuries of use, it was impossible to identify the wood used.
James threw his legs over the bench and put his elbows on the table. He and his friends, Isaac and Thomas, had spent many an evening there after work. When Bess was alive, she often went with him after dinner, especially during summer when they sat outside to drink a mug of beer before walking home hand in hand. Even grumpy William would cross the threshold on the occasions when Alice cajoled him to take time off.
A roast beet with a slice of pig would taste wonderful, but it was too early in the season for beets. Last year’s crop had been eaten a month ago.
Not only did the Noisy Rooster serve beer and rum, it offered travelers a place to sleep in one of its four rooms over the main hall. These were often people with things to sell from places that James had heard about but thought he’d never see. It made him sad that some people could have adventures while others, like himself, had invisible bars that kept him locked up as if in a jail—a big jail with grass, trees, streets, even friends and more—but a jail because it was impossible to break out.
The singers, drummer and flute player headed to the bar with their mugs for a refill.
“Hey friend.” James looked up to see Isaac standing there.
“Thought I’d come to see that Owner Jack did justice to the pig we sold him.” He held two mugs and sat them on the dark table before he straddled the bench opposite James. “We need some meat!” he called to Owner Jack.
“Get it yourself,” Owner Jack called back.
“So, who are the soldiers? Why the musicians?” Isaac nodded to a corner in the back.
Only then did James notice two men in the same bright red uniforms as the musicians. “I’ve no idea.”
The singers returned to the area by the fire. The group started a song about the thrill of being at sea and discovering new places. James tapped his foot to the music’s beat.
“Hey lads, can we buy you another beer?” One of the soldiers in the corner called to Isaac and James.
“Please do,” they said together.
One of the soldiers brought their two mugs to the table: the other went to the bar to buy beer for James and Isaac. James motioned with his hand for the man to sit. As the soldier swung his legs over the bench, James noticed his boots shone in the firelight.
Even in the reduced lighting their perfect look stood out compared to the three other men in the Noisy Rooster, all locals. Their clothes were dirt smeared. They were probably preparing the soil for the first planting. Even Isaac’s shirt was blood-spattered from whatever animal he’d butchered earlier.
“Corporal John Carver at your service,” the younger man said. He looked to be about James’s and Isaac’s age, early twenties. His hair was dirty blond and slightly matted from his big fur hat which he’d left on the other table. And that’s Serjeant Francis Longworth.”
Serjeant Longworth appeared behind them. When he sat the two mugs down, a few drops spilled on the wooden table. “At your service.” He went to where the two soldiers had been sitting to retrieve their hats.
James resisted stroking the black fur of the hats. He noticed there was a crest with the number 43 on its enamel. Soldiers were rare in Ely. So rare, these were the first he’d ever seen, although he had heard about them. The uniforms were as he had imagined.
William often complained that James wasted too much time talking to people, customers, neighbors or anyone passing through.
James ignored his brother’s complaints. He enjoyed learning about what others did, be it about the difficult birth of a lamb or a good eel catch. Even better was when a visiting merchant talked of life on the road and of cities like London, Birmingham, Edinburgh.
“What do you boys do?” Serjeant Longworth asked. He looked a bit older than Carver with tiny lines around his eyes.
“Butcher,” Isaac said.
“Do you like it?” Corporal Carver asked.
“Never thought about it,” Isaac said. “I always knew that I’d do what my family did. I’ll always have enough to eat and a roof over my head.” He turned toward the bar. “Hey Owner Jack, we need four samples of that meat. Take it off what we charged you.”
“Do you have any of the bread I sold you earlier?” James asked Owner Jack.
“A bit.”
“Bring that too,” James said.
“Will you take it off tomorrow’s bread cost?” Owner Jack asked.
“Why not?” James knew William would be unhappy, but he didn’t need to know. Alice would keep his secret, or so he hoped.
The four men ate in silence.
James finished the last bite and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Why are you here?”
“Giving men like yourself an opportunity,” Serjeant Longworth said.
James was curious, but it was Isaac who spoke. “An opportunity?”
James listened and watched the soldiers as they talked about different places that they had been with the 43rd Regiment of Foot. Corporal Carver let Serjeant Longworth talk. When he did say something, he side-glanced at his serjeant. More than once Longworth put a hand on his arm when Carver spoke, Carver would stop mid-sentence.
“You men ever travel?” Longworth asked.
Isaac and James shook their heads.
“So, you’ve never been to London?”
Again, the men shook their heads.
“Never been much further than five miles from here,” Isaac said, “if that.”
“Ten for me,” James said. He wasn’t sure about the distance, but he thought when he had needed to buy a cart in another village after their old one caught fire it was probably ten.
Corporal Carver took a swig of his beer.
The flute player trilled in the background.
“Remember the parade we marched in with the King?” Corporal Carver asked.
Serjeant Longworth put his mug down. “How could I forget? The carriage was golden. People cheered on both sides of the road. My horse rode right next to the King. It was like a personal introduction to His Majesty.”
“Were you always in London?” James asked. The idea of seeing the King George III, never mind a golden carriage, was something that never entered his mind as possible.
“Have you been to the colonies, the new world?” Isaac asked before either soldier could answer.
“I was too young for the war in Canada, but the stories the old guard, the ones who were there, tells us about it.” Serjeant Longworth rolled his eyes. “A couple of men they said were mustered out in the American colonies by choice.”
“And made a bloody fortune,” Corporal Carver said. “Remember Henry Smith? Ended up with a huge farm. Lots of opportunities. Even staying in the army, well, there’s money to be made when off duty. Ow! You kicked me.”
“That should be a secret.” Serjeant Longworth looked at Isaac then at James. “Pretend you hadn’t heard it.” He brushed an imaginary crumb off his sleeve. “Feel this wool. This jacket, it’s made from some of the finest cloth in England.”
James and Isaac did as told. James thought of the roughness of the blanket on his bed.
Longworth looked at each of the young men directly. His eyes seemed to go through to the back of their heads. “You two wouldn’t be interested in joining up? We always need strong men with a sense of adventure.”
Isaac shook his head. “Not me. I’m happy here. About to marry. Beautiful girl.”
“Wouldn’t want to change that.” Carver earned another glare from his serjeant.
“What about Thomas? He’s a blacksmith and hates it,” James said.
“Let me go get him.” Isaac left without waiting for an answer.
“We can wait. We’re spending the night upstairs. Serjeant Longworth speared a final piece of meat using his knife to put it in his mouth. “No use in saying the same thing twice. Good meat.” Turning to the musicians, he said. “Play. Let’s hear some drum with the flute.”
Isaac returned accompanied by a man the same age as James and himself. The newcomer was muscular. His face had a few days’ beard and his lower arms were ash covered. When he stuck his grimy hand out, Serjeant Longworth hesitated only a second before taking it. “Nice to meet you, Thomas. Your last name?”
“Miller.”
Corporal Carver brought meat and a mug for Thomas without anyone asking him to.
“I’ll admit it,” Serjeant Longworth said. “I’m looking for good men, strong men, men looking for adventure and a better life to join the 43rd Regiment. And there’s guaranteed pay.” He pointed to the enamel medallion on his furred hat. Then he wrote a number in the condensation on the mug.
Isaac, James and Thomas all stared at it. A pound a month. This was more than James made in several months. Most of the money brought in by the family businesses was plowed back into those businesses.
“Free lodging,” Longworth said.
“You pay for the uniform,” Corporal Carver said.
“Which means our men take good care of it,” Serjeant Longworth said, “but I suspect they would anyway. There’s a reason to be proud to serve King George the Third.”
“Food?” Isaac asked.
“It depends,” Longworth said. “If we’re marching in the woods what we catch is ours. Fish too. Fresh from whatever river or lake we might be nearby. In the barracks, camps, there is a slight cost, much lower than at a place like this.”
Thomas had touched neither his meat nor his mug. “What do we have to do, supposing we were to join?”
“Tomorrow morning come to the town hall with me. Sign up in front of a magistrate. The time varies. We’ll go to Winchester for training along with the other recruits right after. So far, we’ve signed up eight people. My goal was ten.”
Thomas peppered the two soldiers with questions.
What if he decided to marry?
Where would he get a uniform?
He was good with horses: would he be able to work with horses?
Did he need to supply his own gun?
Longworth fired back answers.
“Forgers are always of use, but other jobs available. People who were shoemakers as civilians tend to be shoemakers. Tailors can be tailors. It’s silly to waste a skill. But there’s no rule if you were a shoemaker before the army you have to be one in the army.”
“Many soldiers have wives. Sometimes they go to assignments with their husbands, sometimes stay home. Sometimes the husbands don’t want them but want freedom.”
They laughed. Not James. If Bess were alive, he would want her nearby.
“Uniforms will be made to order after men arrive in Winchester. That’s where we’ll train this crop of recruits.”
“A good horseman is always needed, but privates usually don’t ride. Horses are for officers. Still, it helped to be able to ride and care for the beasts.”
“You two have horses?”
“Because of what we do, travel far and wide to find the very best men for our regiment,” Serjeant Longworth said.
“Makes sense,” Thomas said.” They are beautiful animals you have.”
This made James wonder if this was for him. He wasn’t great with horses, more because he never needed to be. Their one horse pulled their cart to pick up flour from the miller and plow their small vegetable patch. It produced enough to feed them, not enough to sell. She was a sweet old thing, a bit on the lazy side. Imagining her in battle was impossible.
“Mostly we are foot soldiers.” Serjeant Longworth continued sharing information between bites of food and sips of his beer.
“The army will supply weapons, most likely a Brown Bess. You’ll need to learn to load and shoot.”
Bess, the name of his late wife. James wondered if this was a sign that he should sign up. Maybe Bess was telling him to grab the chance at adventure, to do things he never thought possible.
At this point Carver said, “We spend more time learning to load fast. Bullets are too expensive to waste on practice. And the bayonet …”
Serjeant Longworth grabbed Carver’s arm. “Most guns have bayonets. You’ll learn to use them. But I suspect you hunt.”
James had brought home more than one rabbit, many pheasants and usually one deer a season. He was a better shot than William, which wasn’t saying much. “I do. I’m not a terrible shot.”
Isaac broke in, “How much time will we fight in a war?”
Serjeant Longworth laughed. “Much of our work is peacekeeping, like in the colonies. But you might see action if King George needs us. We would fight for the glory of England and His Majesty.”
“I’ve never seen action and I’ve been in five years,” Corporal Carver said, earning a smile from his superior.
They had another round of beer, before James excused himself saying, “If I decide to join up, what time should we be at the magistrate?”
“Ten. Be ready to leave for Winchester right after we pick up the other recruits I’ve signed up. Mostly we’ll travel by carriage.”
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