THE DEPRIVED... Part 13.

A continuation of my story.

Early the next morning, long before the c**k crowed, Michael had said his goodbyes to Amos and his family with a firm handclasp. The wives and children made a round of hugging each other and then Michael placed the blankets and food on the handcart before lifting Beth and Sam on board then grasping both handles and with the rope taut to his chest he began pulling the barrow away from the farm and setting out on the road which Amos had pointed out, which would skirt the town of Stoke-on-Trent. The town was fully established with tall towers which climbed to the sky and bellowed smoke and from the hills above the town. Michael could see the people like ants, running about their working lives. He decided to skirt the town, heading in the direction of Birmingham.
Moving out across the countryside, the going became rougher with fields and woods which caused their journey to twist and turn, to stop and re-track for an easier route. The country beyond the towns was dangerous, as Amos had warned earlier so that Michael kept a sharp eye out for the bands of men who roamed the countryside, armed with clubs and knives, bent on mischief and easy pickings. With orders to move ahead of the handcart, Michael had told Beth to be smart and keep herself well hidden as she scouted the road ahead. Sam began to cry when he was told to stay on the cart because it would be too dangerous for him to join Beth on the scouting trip. Beth saw this very much as part of an adventure, laying herself flat in the grass if she heard any noises other than that of a startled deer or runt of a wild hog. But one set of noises brought her quickly running back to the cart.
“Quick, Da!” she gasped breathlessly. “I saw some men with sticks. There were four of them and they were headed this way!”
Michael began to run with Sam clasping the side of the cart as it humped and bumped over the rough track. Mary and Beth hurried to keep up with him as he pulled the cart along at a fast rate until he came to a copse of trees.
“Gather some leafy branches!” Michael ordered, leaving the cart and breaking off some of the branches which hung low enough to grasp.
Mary and Beth helped him, breaking off the branches which Michael used to camouflage the cart by placing the leafy branches around it so that it melted into the bushes and trees.
“Now Mary, take the children and hide beneath the cart. Beth and Sam, you must keep very quiet.” he ordered.
While Mary and the children hid beneath the cart, Michael stripped the leaves from a stout branch, making himself a rough club and then crawled beneath the cart with the others and pulling the branches back into position as he did so. It was some time after that they heard the voices of the men laughing as they moved towards the cart. There were four men, one large while the other three were of lesser stature. They all carried clubs of wood and the family held their breath as the group of men passed barely yards from the hidden cart. They stayed hidden till the voices of the men distanced themselves and even then Michael kept the family beneath the cart.
“Stay there.” he whispered urgently as he crawled out from beneath the cart, the club in his hand and running swiftly he set off to scout the path the men had taken and returned soon after, having seen the four men leading way off, continuing to watch as they vanished into the horizon beyond.
“It’s alright. They’ve gone!” he called, coming back to the cart and the rest of the family rose, pushing the branches away from the cart.
“Let’s go!” urged Michael and having put Sam on the cart once more he set off at a steady pace while Beth and Mary scouted ahead.
“Why can’t I go with them, Da?” asked Sam, his brow furrowed in sullen anger. “I’m grown up.” he purposed.
Michael stopped pulling the cart and took Sam down from the cart.
“I need you here with me, Sam.” he answered. “If anything happened to me then you will be here to continue the journey and not miles away with the women. You do understand, don’t you, Sam?”
Sam nodded, accepting the explanation though not happy with it.
“Here, Sam. Slip in beneath the rope to be with me. That way you can help pull the cart.”
Sam did as he was asked and added his strength to his father’s as the cart began to move forward again.

It took three more weeks of hard travelling, through rugged hills and deep valleys, straining at the rope and pulling till he felt his arms would be pulled from their sockets that Michael at last set his eyes on the towering chimney stacks and the billowing smoke of London. Much time had been lost in skirting the towns and hamlets along the way and especially hiding from the bands of cutthroats and robbers who roamed about, those who held up the carriages and the masked travellers who took to the highroad.

From a height overlooking London, Michael and his family stared down at the sprawling rows of houses which washed themselves out to a thin suburb and through it ran the wide sweep of the River Thames, a waterway alive with barges and ships, some of steam and paddle and others that seemed to skip through the water with full sail, all like tiny toys as they made their way up and downstream. The sky above the town seemed grey and morbid, smothering down from the blue above, the lower sky brooding with darkened smoke.
The family sat and ate as they took in a sight which filled them with both dread and awe.
“It’s time to go.” said Michael at last and once more he gripped the handles of the cart, his chest tight to the rope so that he lifted the handles and pulled before using his body as a brake, holding the barrow in check as he took the down run to lower planes. Passing the outlying boundaries of the town they came upon the new buildings, large imposing houses which were built for the new rising rich, the owners of manufacturing companies and those who dealt with financial and industrial ventures which rewarded with big profits. The houses were for those who not only wanted to show off their financial positions but wanted to stay as far away as they could from the smoke and the smell of the cesspits and the dying flesh of the inner-city, where poverty reeked its smell of decay.