English passengers by Matthew Kneale Read Free Book Online

felt a need to deflate the moment. ‘‘Please do thank your cousin. It will be a great reassurance to have such fine weapons with us, I’m sure, though I trust we will have no cause to put them to use.’’
    ‘‘I hope you’re right,’’ answered Childs, his mood suddenly sombre. ‘‘Although I must say I’m not so sure. After the news today I was more than pleased you’d have these fellows with you.’’
    I was mystified, as were Renshaw and the doctor. ‘‘What news?’’
    Childs seemed taken aback. ‘‘I assumed you’d heard. There’s been a terrible rebellion by the Bengal army. Delhi has fallen and hundreds of poor women and children are feared brutally murdered.’’
    There is news and news. Most of it catches our sympathies only modestly, and though it may cause in us brief joy or sorrow, its distant protagonists soon fade from thought. This, however, was different. Here, surely, was catastrophe on a monstrous scale. I recalled those angry, anxious faces outside Horse Guards Parade—well did I understand them now—and for a moment it was almost as if I could hear the terrified cries of innocents, carried magically across the miles, from those cruel and dusty plains.
    ‘‘The news takes a month to arrive,’’ added Childs, ‘‘so there’s no knowing what may have occurred by now.’’
    Dr. Potter carefully replaced his gun upon the floor and for a momentwe all stood in thoughtful silence. It was Renshaw who broke our solemn reverie, showing—as ever—his talent for misjudgment. ‘‘That could make trouble for your plans.’’
Captain Illiam Quillian Kewley
J UNE 1857

    T HREE LONG DAYS we had those London customs boys groping their way about the
Sincerity
, all stiff and snurly and hardly speaking a word. They weren’t my favourites, those three days. They had put us in one of those new sealed docks, and there was nothing to do but wait, listening to the terrible mad din of London spilling over that high wall like a threat. All the while my poor vessel was poked and scrutinized in a way that was terrible to behold, and I was thinking it only takes one find, or one fool of a body getting himself into a scare…
    Truly, there’s no thoroughness like customs’ thoroughness. First they had us move all the barrels onto the quayside and tip out the herring. Next they checked all our stores, down to every cask of hardtack in the pantry, as well as the chicken coop, the sheep pen and the boat where Quayle’s pig had been. They went through everyone’s sea chests, and took the prints of Victoria and her brood out of their frames. They even had a try at my uniform, scrinching up the cap, I suppose in case I had a few ounces of tobacco hidden inside. Then, when they’d done with all that, they started right over again, now tapping and banging their way round the vessel, now pulling up a floorboard, now making little fires to see where the smoke went. Worse was the interviews. One by one each of us was taken off alone to the dining cabin for his little chat. Stories were checked, particularly my foolish blurt about the boat Quayle was supposed to have bought his cheese off. All the while they were threatening and coaxing and hoping someone would bust and go off like a rocket.
    ‘‘We ’re going to find the stuff soon enough anyway,’’ was their sneer. ‘‘You may as well make it easier on yourself by telling us now.’’
    Three whole days. And what did they find after all this fuss?
    Not a thing.
    I could hardly believe it myself I mean, I knew we had a wonder made of wood, and that the crew were every one of Manxmen from Peel City, but still I never thought the
Sincerity
would keep herself so tight and virginal as she did. This was the very cream of Her Majesty’s Royal English Spying and Conniving Customs Service, after all, and in their own dread nest of London too. And us just a shipload of poor, ignorant souls from Man Island, smallest country in all the wide world. Not that