A Ship's Tale (24 page)

We piled the debris in the centre of the pit. There were pieces of the old lifeboats, cracked oars, rotten belaying pins, every piece of rotten wood and all the other things we'd used to make the ship look bad—whatever you'd care to name, it was most probably in there. If we couldn't use it, it went onto the pile. Harris brought some paraffin and poured it over the lot. Soon we had a splendid bonfire going, only a couple of weeks early for Guy Fawkes Day.

The last thing onto the fire was the old gangway. We cut the ropes and broke it loose from its supports. Then we dragged it over the sand and unceremoniously flung it onto the pile. The fire now leaped high into the air and kept the chilly fog off as we sat poking at the wood to keep it blazing.

“Aren't you afraid someone's going to notice us?” I asked.

“I don't care,” said Harris, “We're supposed to be watching for them to come and take the ship away. Any informed onlooker might think it very strange if no one's in attendance. Disposing of the scrap by burning makes a declaration that we're putting an end to anything connected with the
Bonnie
. Soon we'll have officials here poking about as well as the tug captain, and no doubt a reporter or two. But there'll be no more than a pile of ashes on-shore for them to gawk at or loot, and no gangway for them to use to get aboard. Any inbound waterway traffic that might be passing and needs a beacon in the fog would surely find it a welcome sight.” He stretched out his hands to the blaze. “Besides, it's nice and warm.”

Exhausted, we sat gazing into the flames as the pre-dawn twilight paled about us.

Chapter 14

AN ACT OF PIRACY

It seemed that I'd closed my eyes a scant few seconds when they were rudely snapped open again at the sound of Harris's voice.

“Now then, men,” he barked in his best officer manner. All that remained was the lurid smoke looming over us making Harris look like some sinister lord of the underworld.

I blinked and looked about. The fire had burnt down, and the fog had taken on the glow of growing daylight.

Robert sat up. “Oh my head! What time is it?” he groaned.

“It's
Now
,” boomed Harris, “and NOW HEAR THIS! Up with you! Time to be on the move!”

I looked at Robert. We were thinking of breakfast and made a quick scamper back to the ship with him in the lead. He seized one of the lines we'd rigged to the shore and went up hand-over-hand to the rail where Boris helped him over. I followed a little less nimbly and turned to see Harris regarding me from the bank below.

“
Now
what?” Harris demanded.

“Just getting some food and checking on Katherine,” I called back.

“Don't you be long,” he admonished, wagging a finger.

I gave him a crisp salute and pulled myself up the rope. Katherine had a cabin aft on the 'tween deck, where the officers usually stayed. Mine was across from hers, and then came those of Robert and Harris. Bowman kept the old captain's cabin above, below the bridge deck. I thought of knocking at Katherine's door, but instead went directly to the galley.

There, all was light and bustle as Katherine loaded trays held by two of the boys with plates of food and teapots and mugs to be borne back to the fo'c's'le. It made sense to have both meals and bunks in the same place. When a seaman isn't working, he's generally sleeping or eating. Today the food would have to be snacks, but that meant plenty of Katherine's famous pies. We wanted our crewmen where they could be found when the whistle sounded, so they were treated to breakfast in bed. Quite the pleasure cruise, thus far. Robert stood by absorbing tea from one hand and egg pie from the other. By his manner, it was apparent he'd just been snatched back from the brink of starvation.

The boys took their load and moved off. Katherine looked at me, hot-faced, through tired but glowing eyes. “Why, can it be morning already?” she yawned. “I must have overslept. I think I've been making breakfast while sleep-walking.” And she gave a smile. Now we were alone but for Robert, who soon noticed his position as odd man out.

“Oh, pardon me,” mumbled the still-masticating Robert, and considerately exited.

I lost no time gathering her into my arms, where she clung for a moment, then drew back and looked into my eyes. “My goodness, we're
really
doing this, aren't we?” she laughed.

I held her face in my hands and kissed her. “And there's nothing else in this world I'd rather be doing.”

She smiled and tapped my nose with a fingertip. “Back to work!” she cried. “And here's some chamomile tea to have along.” She noticed my surprise at this unconventional beverage and put her hands on her hips in exasperation. “It's good for you,” she said and handed me a thermos flask. I collected the pies and tea in the vacuum bottle and took my leave.

I paused as I passed the chart room where I could see Edward still poring over tide charts, with a series of maps laid out completely covering the table. I watched him at his calculations for a moment till Harris came up, carrying a tray of breakfast, and addressed him impatiently.

“Damn it, Ned, haven't you figured out that rubbish already? How many times do you need to go over it?”

Edward squinted at him, his lips quivering. “Don't you be bad-tempered with me, you great lump! I have to check these figures like a carpenter—measure twice and cut once. How would you like to wake up and find yourself fifty miles or more off-course? That wouldn't sit at all well with Bowman. Hah! One could scarcely picture it.”

“Oh,
I
could,” Harris confided. “Trust me. I could picture it
quite
vividly.” He looked thoughtful. “You know, it's about time I looked in on Uncle Billy. Come on, Flynn.”

We two proceeded to Bowman's cabin and knocked at the door. “What?” came a testy voice from within. “Well, come in if ye're coming.”

We entered, and Harris set tea and pies before the old man where he sat at his desk. He took little notice of this and seemed distracted.

Harris leaned down to look at him. “You will eat, won't you?”

“Aye, in good time. Don't fret over me. I'm just thinking of our crew. They're unseasoned. They haven't worked aboard any sort of ship before. We've taught them what we could with our classes at the orphanage and on board here, but it's no substitute for experience. Why, we've one boy here who's only thirteen years of age,” and he shook his head.

Harris grinned. “But Uncle Billy, you went to sea when you were thirteen years old. What makes that any different from now?”

“A good many things,” he said. “Now is not like then, just as then is not like now.”

“Well, one can hardly argue with logic like that!” Harris snorted. “Here, it's getting light, come get a breath of air on deck and see what we've done. All those old lifeboats and other scrap are gone now. All were burnt up in a bonfire from hell during the night—you should have a look.”

We proceeded out and looked over the port rail. Bowman nodded approvingly at the now-tidy shoreline, or what could be seen of it through the murky air.

“At least they'll not complain we've left any rubbish behind,” he grunted. He turned to Harris with a scowl. “Now,
that
was bloody stupid,” he growled.

“Here,
what's
stupid?” said Harris.

“Ye've burnt the gangway, ye ignorant blackguard! How in blazes d'ye think—”

Harris held up his hand. “Wait, wait! Before you go any further let me just say that first of all, we shan't need it for the voyage. Second of all, having it gone will prevent any outsiders coming on board. And last, should we reach our destination, I'm quite sure that
someone
can supply us another. At Dumbarton they're hardly strangers to the needs of ships, after all.”

“Well, ye could just as well have brought it along and then burned it for fuel later on,” fumed Bowman, “I don't fancy sliding down a rope to get ashore at my time o' life.”

I heard a chuckle and turned to see Boris looking on in amusement. Bowman also wheeled and glared at the Russian who casually drifted off out of view. Harris began to look uneasy. We all knew we needed to avoid upsetting the old man, but clearly that was no small task.

“I'm sorry,” Harris said quietly. “I never meant to cut you off that way, but we will be going out in a few hours' time.”

“Aye,” grumbled Bowman. “And it's just as well.”

Harris turned to me. “Well, let's be off,” he said. “It's time to go to Gravesend. I've asked Robert along because I have a little job for him to do later, perhaps one of the most critical jobs for this voyage!”

“Oh? And what would that be?” I asked. Harris was not forthcoming with any details, but hinted darkly that if any violence should erupt to “stay to your place and don't involve yourself. I'll take care of the rest. I'll tell you more later.” It was all very mysterious and none too reassuring.

After sliding down the ropes to shore, we got into Harris's car and were preparing to depart when we heard someone coming down the lane, whistling a tune, accompanied by a clinking noise that was oddly familiar.

“What's that?” hissed Harris, switching off the engine. We quickly jumped out of the car, and positioned ourselves behind bushes on either side of the lane. We waited quietly, listening while the sounds grew louder as the intruder approached. It could be anyone, but at this late stage we didn't want strangers snooping about. We tensed ourselves, prepared for anything, when round the bend came Martin from the pub, pushing the Beasley Inn's wheelbarrow. In fact, the Beasley Inn's one and only wheelbarrow, which I'd left at almost this spot some hours ago. I'd quite forgotten about it until this moment. In the barrow sat a case of whisky, two crates of stout, some brandy and several other bottles.

Harris stepped out and held up his hand in approved highwayman fashion, as if holding a pistol. “And where would you be going with all them bottles, my fine fellow?” he boomed. Martin jumped in surprise, then grinned and obligingly raised his hands.

Robert and I came out of the bushes. Scratching my head, I asked wonderingly, “Martin, what on earth—?”

Martin lowered his hands and laughed. “Well, I'd best stand and deliver, hadn't I?” He cleared his throat. “Flynn, I've been tending bar practically since I can remember, so I can make a sentence out of a few words. You gents used lots in my hearing. Be glad that it's me you're seeing here now and not someone less welcome. This is a bon voyage gift,” and he indicated the barrow.

Harris looked from him to me narrowly, doubtlessly wondering how much Martin knew. I shifted uneasily. “Martin, we're more than glad to have it, but isn't Mrs. B. going to be missing all this?” I asked.

“Actually no,” he said. “Most of this is what's called barman's perks in the trade. Retailing spirits by the tot, you actually sell using one measure, and record using another. The difference builds up over a time. It's legal, but only
just
, and the bar owner can do what he likes with the perks. So, here you are.”

Harris didn't say anything and was still trying to make out what Martin might know, so I thanked him.

“Now
this
bottle,” said Martin, removing one, “had been sitting back in the storeroom for longer than I can remember. I believe it was actually ordered by
Mr
. Beasley before the Great War.”

Harris and I exchanged astonished glances. “You mean this has been lying about for over thirty years?” cried Harris, reaching out to touch the old bottle reverently.

“Our Mrs. Beasley never was one for keeping a close inventory, so every time she wanted something I ordered it, whether we'd plenty or not. That has stood us in good stead during all the lean times. I'll leave you gentlemen with this. But I do need the wheelbarrow.”

“Here,” I said, taking the handles. “Let's unload it on the bank.”

Martin and Robert followed as I pushed the barrow next to the ship. We piled the crates and bottles on the ground while Boris looked on wide-eyed from the deck above. Martin had his first close-up look at the
Bonnie
rigged and ready.

“Get these on board and stowed, would you, Boris?—there's a good chap,” joked Robert. Martin lifted a bottle in each hand and squinted at the labels. “Here are two bottles of Vodka for your Russian friend. Who else would touch the stuff?”

“So you came all the way down here and took the barrow and we never even noticed?” I said in chagrin.

“You were fast asleep and I'd no reason to wake you. I just went to fetch the wheelbarrow and had to go a little farther than I expected,” he said with a shrug.

We walked back to the car where Harris asked Martin, “How long can we count on your silence?”

After all, the secret was a precious one. The people on board were determined to get away and didn't want any last minute hitches. We'd burnt our bridges and were pulling together for a common purpose.

Martin just laughed, “Harris, you have my silence for as long as it takes. I don't intend to do anything but go back and set up my bar for the day…even if my barmaid should disappear, and Mrs. Beasley goes raving to the police.” He seemed to know just about everything already, but it really didn't matter. I knew
he
could be trusted, and Harris seemed to have understood it as well, for he relaxed visibly.

Martin's only connection with the Inn was the pub, but all this made me wonder anew: what
would
the landlady do? And O'Connell—it would be only a matter of time before he returned to the orphanage to find it deserted. Time would tell.

Martin took one final look at the ship. “I do hope you know what you're doing,” he said, shaking his head.

“Time to go,” ordered Harris.

We shook hands all round.

“Well, then, I'll be on my way,” said Martin, and went off with the barrow.

“Thank you, Martin,” I called after him, and he turned to wave goodbye.

I looked at Harris as he pressed the starter, and was struck by an agreeable thought. “By God, this is the last time you'll be chauffeuring me about in this wreck, isn't it? I shan't be sunk in melancholy over it.”

“Oh, leave off,” he returned, and we started with a violent lurch. “I haven't killed you yet.”

We passed Martin, and then the Beasley Inn one last time. Robert made himself as comfortable as he could in the back and closed his eyes. We proceeded for some time in what passed for silence in the clattering old vehicle when I asked Harris, “By the way, what are you going to do with this car once we get to Gravesend?”

“I'm leaving it to Brian and his tribe. They haven't one, and it's surely better than nothing. Also leaving them the keys to the lorry, which they can pick up where I've parked it along the road.”

I shifted in my seat and tried to stretch, but there wasn't enough room. I was aching all over from my long night's toil.

Harris glanced at me in amusement. “Here, what's all this?” he asked.

“Drat! I feel as if someone crept up on me while I wasn't looking and broke every bone in my body.”

“Well,” he said, “working all night and napping on the ground will do that.”

“And riding in a broken-down relic driven by a madman doesn't help,” I added.