Free Morgan’s Run by Colleen McCullough

black slaves lay in the fact that, theoretically at least, their bondage eventually came to an end. Often, however, it did not, particularly if the slaves were female. Moll Flanders had it good.
    Transportation of white indentured labor was largely confined to some of the thirteen colonies because the plantation owners in the West Indies preferred negro labor. They believed that black people were used to the heat, worked better in it—and did not, when looked over, closely resemble the Master and Mistress. Now the transportation system had ground to a halt, but the English courts of quarter session and assizes did not in consequence cease to crack down hard on those accused of even the pettiest crime. English penal law was not designed to protect the rights of a few aristocrats; it was aimed at protecting the rights of all persons who had managed to acquire a modicum of wealth, no matter how small. Thus the prison populations swelled at an alarming rate, castles and old buildings were pressed into service as auxiliary places of detention, and the stream of convicted felons continued to pass in chains through gates both old and new.
    At which point one Duncan Campbell, a London contractor and speculator of Scotch origins, conceived the idea of using old naval men o’ war put into ordinary—that is, retired from service—as prisons. He bought one such ship, Censor, moored her in the Thames at the Royal Arsenal, and filled her with 200 male convicts. A new law permitted convicted felons to be put to work on governmental business, and Censor’s felons were required to dredge the river’s reaches along this critical sea road as well as construct new docks—work no free man could be prevailed upon to do unless very well paid. Convict labor cost no more than food and lodging, both of which Mr. Duncan Campbell provided on Censor hulk. There were a few early mistakes; hammocks, Campbell discovered, were not beds suitable for felons, whose chains became badly tangled in their supports. So he switched to shelving for beds, and was able to increase Censor’s complement to 300 prisoners. His Britannic Majesty’s Government was mightily pleased, and happy to pay Campbell for his pains. Surplus felons could be stored on naval hulks until the war was over and wholesale transportation could begin again. What a relief!
    To a tavern-keeper the explanation for petty crime was obvious; most of it occurred while its perpetrators were drunk. With the scarcity of jobs, rum or gin became increasingly precious to those who could perceive no ray of hope illuminating their lot. Silk garments, handkerchiefs and fripperies were the hallmark of more affluent folk. Men and women—even children—reduced to begging from the parish took out their rage and frustration in drinking as soon as a coin came their way, and then, drunk, pilfered silk garments, handkerchiefs, fripperies. Things they did not own, could not own. Things the better off prized. Things that—in London and Bristol, at least—might be sold to those who dealt in stolen goods for the price of another drink, another few hours of inebriated well-being. And when they were caught, off to the courts they shuffled to be sentenced to death—or to fourteen years—or, most frequently, to seven years. With the word “transportation” tacked on. Transportation to where? An unanswerable, therefore never asked, question.

    As far as Richard was concerned, 1777 ought simply to have been another year of muskets and money, but early in the New Year, while Washington and what troops he had left endured the ordeal of a frightful winter outside Morristown, the Morgans of the Cooper’s Arms received a shock. Mr. James Thistlethwaite abruptly announced his departure from Bristol.
    Dick flopped onto a chair, something he did so rarely that his elbows were horny from leaning on the counter. “Leaving?” he asked feebly.
“Leaving?”
    “Aye,” said Mr. Thistlethwaite aggressively, “leaving,