‘‘The Board of Customs,’’ it announced, ‘‘has decided that, on the evidence of the foreign goods discovered aboard the Sincerity’’—this being Quayle’s cheese—‘‘that the merchant ship Sincerity broke her journey from Peel City to Maldon at a foreign port, for which she had no entitlement, and which her master repeatedly denied to an officer of Her Majesty’s coast guard. In consequence of these actions it has been decided that her master’’—this being me—‘‘is to pay a statutory fine of two hundred pounds.’’
Two hundred pounds. That was as much as many men would hope to earn themselves in ten years. Two hundred pounds that we didn’t have. There were also port fees, which were high, being London—where we hadn’t wanted to go—and were rising with each day we stayed. Lastly there was ninepence duty for the cheese. This wasn’t real law, mind. This was just raw revenge for their being beaten. Forget all their talk, there’s no bad losers like Englishmen, especially Englishmen in uniforms. No wonder all those Indian Hindoos had mutinied against them with the likes of this going on. I wished them good luck.
‘‘I’m to stay here till it’s paid,’’ explained Parish in a leaning sort of way. ‘‘Just to see how you’re doing, you know.’’
I knew all right. He was there to spy. Having failed to find a thing through all their searching, the customs were now hoping to smoke us out with fines and watching.
I did what I could. I wrote a letter that same day to Dan Gawne, the Castletown brewer. I had hopes of that letter. Seeing as Gawne had already lent us jink, I supposed he might be scared into giving out more, just to get it back, while it seemed to me we were a fair enough risk, as if we could just get free of this gaol dock and away to Maldon we’d have money enough for anyone. In the meantime we did all the selling we could, to agents in the dock and other vessels too. First went the salted herring, though they didn’t catch very much, as they’d been out of their barrels twice now and it showed. Next went any spare ship’s stores, even down to the chickens that were left. Why, I’d even have peddled the prints of Victoria, Albert and the eight babes if there’d been a buyer. It was never enough, though. When all was done and I counted out the jink, we were still eighty-three pounds short. Then Gawne’s answer arrived, being short as could be.
Sell the ship and pay me what you owe.
That was no reply. That was just a low rottenness flung over oceans. As if I’d sell the Sincerity. As if I even could, considering what her new owners would find inside her. We called Gawne some names that morning, I can tell you. Scrissag. Scrawl. Sleetchy old scraper. Hibernator.
Castletown snot. Fat muck of a fritlag. Big slug, all sitting on his shillings with his little crab of a wife, snurly and high as if they thought they were somebody.
Not that it made any difference. Within the hour we were in worse trouble than ever, when two of the starboard watch, Tom Hudson and Rob Kneale, jumped ship, doing so clean in front of the whole crew, springing over the side with their sea chests as if they never cared. ‘‘No, thanks,’’ they jeered, when I ordered them back. ‘‘We’d rather find a boat that can pay.’’ With other vessels this wouldn’t have mattered, and would even have had its uses as their wages could be kept, but the Sincerity wasn’t other vessels and all her crew had to be Manxmen from Peel City. All of a sudden I knew it was time to be taking a chance, and a big one too. As the wise man says, it’s no good betting pennies when the dice have snatched your horse and your house.
Now if a body goes knocking around ships he will hear things, including chatter about places he’s never seen and never expects to, and I’d heard talk about London, including the name of a particular inn that was near the docks, where certain people might be found and certain arrangements made, as it was said. Perhaps, I reasoned, I could get us a loan out of someone as part of an arrangement. It would be a good enough deal after all. Once we were free, those certain somebodies could have our cargo at a most reasonable price. There were dangers in such a venture of course. Most of all we didn’t know who to trust among all these Englishmen foreigners, and there was the fear we’d been getting help from a gang of customs officers in disguise, as they were known to play such tricks. For all this, it had to be tried.
First I needed to get some samples. I sent Kinvig up to distract the spy Parish with a bit of talk, just as a precaution, and had Brew set the boys working at something noisy too, while I made my way down to those certain secret places that the Sincerity had kept so pure from customs’ eyes. First I went to her pantry and reached above the rim of the doorframe, to that certain piece of cord that Captain Clarke had so narrowly missed, which I gave a gentle tug. The answering click didn’t come from nearby but from the storeroom next door. Not that you’d have known what it was that had clicked there unless you happened to go looking behind a particular coil of rope at the panel just behind, which was suddenly a touch loose. Which I did. And d’you know, out it swung, to reveal a couple of pieces of cable just asking to be pulled. Which I did too. Now what did we have now but two more clicks, from the dining cabin. Sure enough, the two busts, of Albert and Victoria, seemed somehow a touch less anchored. Have a close look and you’d notice the hollow blocks they were fastened onto were a little loose, and give one a push and you’d get a smartest surprise, as the hinged trap door in the floorboards swung open so tidy and smooth.
Now I’ll tell you why all those serious-faced customs men never found a thing. It was because the Sincerity wasn’t just some piece of cheap faked-up carpentry, no. From the dining-cabin floor down, the Sincerity was two entire vessels, one inside the other. The inner hull was those timbers I’d bought from the boat that was being broken up, and though I’d had it thinned out little, still it didn’t sound hollow if you gave it a thump. It even looked weathered and damp, just like it should. As for the gap between these two hulls, this was no more than eighteen inches— more and the hold would have looked too curious—but eighteen inches right round the body of a ship holds a mighty store of bales of tobacco and flasks of brandy. Not to mention those certain pieces of French painted glass that I had taken at the same time. A pleasure it was to look down upon it all, stretching into the dark, all tidy and valuable, with that rich smell of wood and leaf and spirit to sweeten your nostrils.
I only needed enough to show, of course: a few ounces of tobacco in a tin, a small flask of brandy, and one of the bits of painted glass, which were small enough. I slipped these into my coat pocket, then restored the Sincerity to decency, and made my way back up to the deck where Parish was still talking with Kinvig, seeming none too interested in what I was up to. I gave a nod to chief mate Brew to follow, Brew being a clever fellow, for all his pale dozy eyes looking slow as cheese. All those Brews were proper brains, and certain ones said they were too sharp altogether, and that you should never trust a Brew at the fair. Not that I was one to take notice of the likes of them, for sure. The other one I took along was China Clucas, who was always handy to have about, being the ship’s giant, and strong as seven oxen.
Luck we were needing and luck we were getting. The three of us strolled across to the gate, gentle as babes, flapping our arms to show we weren’t carrying anything, and were waved through by the guards with hardly a glance. All at once we were in that London which I’d hardly put a sight on till now. Not that I was one to be scared by a bit of dirt and noise. I decided we should walk, just in case the cabs were spying for the customs, and we set off at a jaunty step.
‘‘Want someone to show you the way, mister?’’ This came from a lad, if you could call him that, as he was more a ball of grubby rags with little hungry eyes peeping out. ‘‘I’ll show you the way for a penny.’’
How he guessed we were strangers I couldn’t have said, as we’d been making our faces miserable and ordinary as any Londoners’. The thought came to me, though, that he might be handy enough. ‘‘A penny, eh? Very well then. It’s the Waterman’s Arms we’re seeking.’’
‘‘I know it,’’ he fairly sang. ‘‘Just
follow me.’’
‘‘I hope he’s not working for the customs,’’ murmured Brew.
I had to laugh at that, as it wasn’t often Brew came up with such a bit of raw foolishness. ‘‘Aw, man,’’ I told him, ‘‘next you’ll be seeing customs spies in the fishes themselves.’’
It was all we could do to keep up with our guide as he led us from one stinking street to another, and we walked further, and further again, till I began to wonder if he really knew the way or if he’d just told us so to try and earn his penny. Finally he took us along a narrow alley and into a dirty little court overlooked by wild, leaning houses, and here he just stopped. By now my patience was running thin.
‘‘You’re lost, aren’t you?’’ I told him. ‘‘We’ve not all day to waste, you know.’’
Rather than just answer, like you’d expect, he did a curious thing, giving out a loud shout. ‘‘Daa! Maa!’’
In a moment a little crazed body of an old man stepped out from one of the houses, leaning himself on a long grey stick, all mad hair and eyes that didn’t look at you but stared somewhere off to the side. He looked too ancient to be anyone’s father. I was thinking he’d help us find the Waterman’s Arms, but then all at once the lad turned at me and spat out a cry. ‘‘Oi! Where’s my two guineas?’’
I suppose it should’ve been funny, but it wasn’t quite. The only one to laugh was China Clucas, who always was the slow one. Next thing he was stooping down to be on a level with the creature. ‘‘Aw, man, you know it was just a penny you’re getting.’’
I could see the lad drawing in a power of breath. Next thing he was all noise, yelling out, ‘‘Thieves,’’ just as if he was one big whistle. Suddenly there was a whole throng of them creeping out at us, all shouting out their claim on the little fritlag. There was his ‘‘mother,’’ who looked younger than he did, and his ‘‘brother,’’ who looked older than the mother, as well as uncles and aunts, and some more that weren’t specified. A very close family they seemed, too. Their one wish, as they straggled out, was that we should give their relative back his four, no five guineas that we’d stolen off him. Well, it was clear as glass what this was about.
‘‘Let’s get out of here,’’ I called out.
Most of them were no bigger than the lad himself and for a moment I thought we might escape nice and stately. Slow, we started, and mostly backwards, back out of the court and down the alley, with China holding the line. We were all right till we reached the street, where there was more room for them. All at once the lad sank his teeth into China’s leg, and while the poor gorm was distracted the little old man scelped him one with his stick, and when I tried to help him, two others were ripping at my pockets. At that we just ran, a sort of howl rising up behind to hurry us on as we took the street at a full gallop, dodging past loiterers— especially the ones with outstretched arms—and on. All of a sudden I caught sight of a big plain building that could only be a chapel. The door was open and someone was going inside. ‘‘Over there,’’ I yelled.
A moment later I was inside, huffing and panting at the back of a sermon. A popular one it was, too, being full to standing with sober people in poor clothes, some giving me dirty looks for being so clattering and out of breath when their preacher was droning. China was just behind, squeezing into the congregation as best he could, but of chief mate Brew there was no sign.
‘‘Did you see what happened to him?’’ I whispered, catching myself a ‘‘shhhh.’’
China shrugged, then rubbed his leg where he had been bit. I suppose we should really have gone back out and had a search, but there was the worry they might all still be there. Besides, I reckoned he should be able to take care of himself, with all that cleverness of his. ‘‘We ’ll look a bit later,’’ I said, and China looked happy enough with that.
‘‘These terrible events in India,’’ expounded the preacher, who was a tidy little fellow in spectacles, ‘‘are nothing other than the first step upon the road to that battle that shall end all battles.’’
So he was an Armageddon man. Well, I don’t mind a bit of fire and brimstone, though it’s hardly my favourite. Manxmen, I should explain, aren’t always so pure as to their Scriptures, and there’s many will go to two or three different churches all on the same Sunday, especially if there’s not much else to do. It seems a shame, after all, to keep just to one when your Anglicans have the best singing, Romans come top for smoke and smells and for theatre you couldn’t beat a hellfire body like this one. There it came, sure enough, ‘‘Armageddon,’’ and just a few years down the road too, so he promised. The man had a clever trick of bringing things nicely up to the moment. According to him, Gog, ruler of Rosh, Mezhek and Thuval was none other than the Tsar himself, of Russia, Muscovy and Siberia. As to the final battle, which would be followed by pestilences and apocalypses and such, this was to be fought between Russians and Englishmen, like the little squabble they’d just had in that Crimea, but a hundredfold nastier.
‘‘Who shall be swept away by this great judgment, this mighty tide of destruction?’’ Ah, we all knew the answer to that one. Sinners. He had a whole list, giving a little pause between each so we’d not miss any by mistake. Fornicators and drunkards. Breakers of the Holy Sabbath. Papists and followers of Dr. Pusey. The Turk and all worshippers of the infidel Mohammed. The black savage who had never acknowledged the glory of Christ. The Jew, who murdered Christ our Saviour. And any others who’d been remiss confessing their sins and begging for pardon. The congregation were rapt as babes, having themselves a fine time as he danced them this way and that with his words. First there was a mighty tingle of fear as they wondered if they’d confessed enough, or if it might be themselves who’d be burning forever. Next there was the sweet relief of hearing that they’d probably not be on the bad list after all, so long as they went careful. Finally, and best of all, they’d have a smug little ponder of all those rich Lords and Ladies, and Kings and Emperors who, for all their fine clothes and carriages, were beyond saving, and would soon be knocked off their high perches clean into hell. It was strong stuff. Though I’m no end-of-the-world man myself, just hearing it told with such certainty did pull at me a scran, throwing up little doubts and wonderings.
‘‘Let’s be off now,’’ I whispered.
It was as if China never heard. I saw he was staring at the preacher wide-eyed with fear, hooked like a fish to his words. Then again, that one always was a fool for being persuaded, soft gorm of a body that he was. When I gave him a nudge he actually turned his back on me. Well, discipline aboard Manx boats may be thin as milk compared to your English or American vessels, Man Island being too small for the formal, but there are limits. I gave him a jab in the ribs. ‘‘Crewman Clucas, I’m ordering you to come along.’’
I suppose it did come out a little loud. All at once one of the other listeners was giving a sharp tug at my jacket. ‘‘That’s enough. If you can’t stay quiet then you should go.’’
The trouble was that the cloth lining had already been ripped half to pieces by those low dirts of robbers reaching into my pockets. All at once I felt something give and fall. Now, if there’s one sound that will carry nicely, it’s breaking glass, and even our friend in the spectacles went quiet for a moment. Likewise there’s no smell like brandy to catch the nostrils, and everyone nearby was peering round to see what was doing. A fine little sight there was for them, too. Next to a smashed flask of brandy was the tin of spilled tobacco, and next to that was the glass plate. This last was broken but it still wasn’t hard to make out what was pictured on it, as it was nicely done and there are certain particular shapes that a man will notice. It was of a young miss, brave as could be, sat in a comfortable chair, smiling and holding a little kitten. As for clothes, well, she had a neat little bonnet and a fine pair of ankle boots with laces up to the top. And of course the kitten. But that was about as far as it went. The detail was very fine.
‘‘Drunkard,’’ hissed a voice.
‘�
�Fornicator,’’ spat another.
Altogether it seemed like I’d not be doing too well on hellfire day after all. At least it got Clucas moving, though, and you couldn’t have got him out of there quick enough. The other good thing was that as we stepped outside there was no sign of our friend in the rags or his many relations. The street was quiet, while just a few yards down, sunning himself on a wall, was that sly one chief mate Juan Brew. It was typical of the man. If all the world went stepping in dog muck he’d be the one to spy himself a guinea instead. Sometimes it was tempting just to give him a good kicking.
‘‘D’you think it’s true, though?’’ That big gorm Clucas had got himself in a proper blather. ‘‘Is Armageddon coming?’’
‘‘For you, certainly.’’ My thoughts were on those samples the big walloper had gone and made me break. The fact was it was no small disaster. There was no point even trying to find the right Waterman’s Arms now we had nothing to show.
To my surprise Brew seemed hardly bothered by the news of what had happened. ‘‘Ah, don’t worry yourself Captain. I’ve had an idea.’’ He smiled. ‘‘Why don’t we offer up the Sincerity for charter? Say we’ll take a few passengers away off to some faraway spot of nowhere, wherever they’d like to go. That’d get us the jink to pay the fine.’’
‘‘Charter?’’ I knew we were desperate, but still. There’s ships that are for taking passengers and ships that aren’t, and I knew which particular kind was the Sincerity.
‘‘We wouldn’t actually need to take them anywhere,’’ Brew continued, sticking to his thought. ‘‘Once we’re free from here and have some money for the cargo we can make up some story why we can’t go after all, and give them back their pennies from our jink.’’
English passengers Page 5
