“I understand, sir,” I said, suddenly excited at the prospect. College: no doubt just as Rowland had done. My father really did have my best interests in mind.
“From Mr. Lincoln’s reports, your education was acceptable, if not exemplary.”
“He is quite a unique teacher.”
“Lincoln’s boys do particularly fine at university, I have learned. You are no doubt wondering why I also sent you to Mr. Wilson.”
“Yes, sir, I have wondered that.”
“You needed some experience of life in your background before going up to university. To my way of thinking there are three kinds of young men at university. The first are the eldest sons, who will inherit money and position and will never have to worry about earning a pound and who only need finishing off, and who can, as well, benefit from becoming acquainted with other young men of their same class, and forming lifelong relationships. The second are the second or third or fourth sons, who will not inherit—boys like you—who need the education so that they will not make wastrels of themselves, or, worse, popinjays who live off wealthy widows.” He stared at me for a moment to make sure I was understanding him. “The third are smart boys of poor families, in whom some wealthy person has taken an interest, and who come in hopes of bettering their chances in life. In your case, you will not have to entirely make your own fortune; I have paved the way for you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Keep in mind: Jamaica will not be, perhaps, as you expect it.”
*
We started immediately after breakfast, walking down to the docks, inspecting his ships, of which he owned three, and two happened to be in port. Then it was on to an inn where he conferred with a couple of gentlemen, and to an importer’s office, and to dinner with another group of men. When it suited him, he introduced me—always as “my son, Edward Fairfax”—and I would nod and tip my hat and they would nod. I listened, though much of the time it seemed a continuation of a discussion that had occurred previously. My father, of course, never explained anything. If I hadn’t had five years at Maysbeck Mill behind me, I would have been completely lost; as it was, I was only half in ignorance.
After dinner, my father sent me off to Mr. Gayle, a short, dumpy man who did not rise when his maid brought me into his room and who gazed at me from behind thick eyeglasses before pointing to a chair. Even after I was seated he continued staring for a time until he said, “Mr. Lincoln, was it? Mr. Hiram Lincoln?” He spat the name out as if it had come from the back of his gullet.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “It was Mr. Hiram Lincoln, of Black Hill. I was with him for five years.” At least Mr. Gayle would not condemn Mr. Lincoln for not teaching the proper way to answer a query.
“And now it has been as many years since you left him.”
“Yes, sir, it has been.”
He thrust a book at me. “Let us see if you remember anything.”
The text was Ovid, whom I had never particularly liked. I was rusty with the Latin, but after a few too many stumbles, I righted myself and was able to make a respectable showing. After a time, he shoved another book at me: Herodotus, whom I had always loved, and I slipped seamlessly into the Greek, despite the fact that my Greek was far worse than my Latin. But again I surprised myself—and Mr. Gayle as well—leading me to silently wonder if he knew Mr. Lincoln’s proclivities.
Mr. Gayle let me read for quite some time before stopping me and asking if I had my mathematics as well in hand. I said I did but allowed that my natural philosophy was poorer. “Yes, then,” he said, leaning back in his chair—or doing the best impression of leaning back that he could manage, given that his spine was evidently permanently bowed. “And geography?” he asked.
“Fairly good.”
“Music?”
“I can play the piano tolerably. And I can sing a bit.”
He waved his hand, as if the singing were of no consideration. “Shakespeare?” he asked.
I nodded vigorously. “The histories especially I know.”
Instead of being pleased, he shook his head. “Lincoln,” he said. “Of course the histories. The Bible?”
“Yes, sir, I am quite at home in the Bible.”
“Law? Argumentation?”
“About those I know very little.”
He sighed. “We have only a short time; we will leave that to the dons at Cambridge. They must have something to do to earn their keep.”
And so we began with natural philosophy.
This became the pattern of my days that summer. I did indeed learn more from following my father around than I would ever have believed possible, although I often wondered what he did in the afternoons and evenings to which I was never privy. He kept his own counsel, and even to the end, I was never made a party to half of his machinations.
Mr. Horace Gayle, by contrast, loved to hear himself talk, and his interests and opinions ranged further than I could have imagined. He was as different from my father as he could have been, except for one thing: both men were intensely serious about their business.
There was no playing out of battles on map-covered tables at Mr. Gayle’s establishment. Instead, I read Thales, strengthening my Greek in the process, and Galileo and Newton, and I made computations and diagrams and wrote papers on the philosophy of natural events. For the first week, as Mr. Gayle questioned me on the slightest details, I feared that I would not measure up, but I came to realize that I was a better student than I had held myself to be, and I almost enjoyed the pressure of his gaze, the back-and-forth of our arguments, and the serious manner in which he approached all of life, whether it was the newest theories of magnetic force or simply whether or not to finish his tea with a glass of claret.
My experience with Mr. Gayle led me to wonder once again why my father had sent me to Black Hill. Had he expected me to learn the ways of war? He had made clear that he did not want me in the military. But as I witnessed him in deep discussion with a colleague regarding another whom they both despised, I understood: business, for my father, was a kind of battle, a locking of horns, a demonstration of power. It was not the battles themselves he had wanted to expose me to, but the tactics.