Bumping Uglies

The Deepest Cut II

November 2nd  1796

Conn found the lowing of the cattle soothing. It reminded him of home in many ways.

The animals were approaching, funnelled into the freshly-dug stretch of the canal so that the heavy tread of their hooves would tamp down and level the thick layer of clay, or puddle as it was known among the navvies, that would keep the bottom of the canal watertight.

Farmers along the route would often be slipped a few pennies to allow their herds to be used in this way. It was far cheaper than paying men to do work that was tedious and arduous in equal measure. Conn and the other navvies were pleased about this piece of typical miserly economising on the part of the foremen and the engineers who oversaw the works. The navvies' jobs were hard enough as it was.

He had even heard campfire tales of an engineer who kept his own herd of beef cattle to use in this way. The stories told that if the men worked hard enough to meet plans and deadlines, one of the oldest bullocks of the herd would be slaughtered and all would eat steaks that ran pink with blood. The engineer would lead the men in songs and toasts around a blazing camp fire as their chins glistened with grease.

Conn knew this to be no more than fanciful thinking; a beguiling tale to encourage ever-more strength and endurance from the workers. No chief engineer of Conn's acquaintance would share such a valuable resource with the likes of the men they employed to dig.

On that morning, the sun was still several hours from rising and the works were lit by lantern as the men shovelled the thick puddle into the base of the canal and waited for the cows to appear. The navvies would need to clamber up the ladders quickly. Of the many and various ways that a navvy could die on the job, being trampled or crushed to death by cattle was considered to be the most ignominious.

Conn slapped down his last load of clay and climbed a rickety ladder until he could stand on the raised bank that had been formed from the earth removed as the cut had been dug. From that elevated position he could see the extent of the works in both directions, including the imposing shape of the Lapal hill in the distance.

He had heard that tunnelling works at Lapal were not going well. Clowes, one of the two engineers overseeing Lord Dudley's second great excavation, had died earlier that year. There was talk of it being a combination of nerves and guilt that had done him in. The Lapal Tunnel had claimed more than the usual number of navvie lives so far, and it was only a matter of time before Conn's foreman was asked to bring his team up to help finish the job.

Shouts of alarm broke Conn out of his rare moment of rest and day-dreaming. There was a commotion in the direction of the cattle and Conn wandered along the bank to take a look at the cause.

As Conn watched, the drivers finally managed to beat the herd back down the cut with a combination of course language and the brandishing of sticks and switches.

As the cows retreated, they revealed the bent and broken form of a young woman who lay pressed facedown into the puddle at the base of the canal.

Conn whistled with surprise. Another one.

From time-to-time the workers had heard of women that had gone missing as the navvies had passed through an area. The works always attracted something of a gaggle of followers. Many of the men were married to women back home in Ireland, or at another end of England, but they were flush with coin and often became frustrated without the attention of a woman.

Local Jennies could make a pretty penny from the navvie crews and many even took up temporary residence in the shacks and hovels that followed the works. From time to time, a young girl would leave her home and village and join this crew. They were often attracted by a misguided love for one of the men, or a better-placed love of the money they could earn.

The Foremen typically turned a blind eye, believing that the men needed an outlet for their baser needs, lest tempers run hot and fists and picks start to fly.

Conn had heard that, more than once, women had gone missing from a village but not been seen in camp. He didn't really know, as unlike his huge friend Enda, he never sought the company of Jennies and had no interest in such things.

Conn had also heard that more than one woman had been found dead, though whether at the hands of a tempestuous lover or as a victim of disease or trauma that were both rife in the camp, he did not know.

That morning, Conn watched as the men gathered around the body of the girl and began to dig her out of the sticky puddle.

She had long and tangled hair, once flaxen, now clotted and matted with the brown-orange clay. She didn't look to be older than her mid-teens. She wore a plain dress that had been torn in many places, most notably to expose her small breasts, and Conn did not think that the hooves of beasts had done that.

The girl's limp body lay at a series of un-natural angles. Her arm and neck seemingly broken.

Conn supposed that she could have wandered from the camp, or to it, in the dark and tumbled into the cut, falling on her head in the process. Accidents of the kind that were known to happen., particularly to those who might have been deep in their ale.

He climbed down into the cut to lend a hand and pressed among the other navvies who were there already. He found Enda, towering above the men around him, lifting the girl's body from the clay. She looked like a rag doll in his enormous arms. Enda was looking at the girl's dead body in a very unusual way; almost appraising her.

Perhaps Enda knew her, Conn thought. Though he did not seem to be particularly upset.

It was then that Conn noted that the girl's underskirt was ripped and torn and that a deep red had stained the once-white material in a patch that seemed darkest between the girl's legs.

Conn was shocked and looked to his friend for some sign of human emotion.

Enda's face was entirely blank as he carried the dead girl through the sucking puddle and up one of the ladders to the bank.

William Underhill, the chief engineer for the Dudley Canal No. 2 watched the men climbing from the canal bed with the body of the girl in their arms.

"If the girl is local, find her parents and compensate them," he said to a whiskered clerk who stood at his right hand.

"Yes, sir," the clerk replied.

"Those two men are the ones who were reprimanded over that business with the Watchmen, are they not?" Underhill continued. The clerk nodded silently.

"Lord Dudley will not be pleased at this further delay, or the damage to his good name. We must impress on all employees the need to treat guests to our works with the utmost care."

"Of course, sir," the clerk nodded his vehement agreement.

"Have their foreman bring those two to me..." Underhill turned on his heel and walked away.