English passengers by Matthew Kneale Read Free Book Online Page A

I’m one to go talking miracles, but it did seem out of the ordinary. Why, I almost wondered if giving that Bishop Chalmers his ride had earned us a favour after all.
    Well, there was a thing to celebrate. Not that I’m much of a one for foolishness, but there was no stopping the rest of them after those three long days. Down the hold we went that evening where nobody could spy, with everyone speaking Manx just in case. Drinking? Well, there might have been a little. Singing? I dare say. Toasts? That there’s no denying.
‘‘Boiys da dooine as baase da eease,’’
we called out, which means in English
‘‘Life to men and death to fish,’’
and is about herring, as are all Manx toasts. Then it was
‘‘Death to the head that never wore hair’’
and
‘‘Here’s death to our best friend.’’
Meaning herring, of course.
    I dare say there’s always a price to be paid for that sort of night. In this case, though, the price did seem higher than was fair. Stumbling out of my cabin the next morning with a sore head, made sorer by that din of London roaring out like some great fight with wheel carts, what did I find waiting on the deck but a stranger, perched nice and comfortable on a coil of rope, smoking his pipe. ‘‘Captain Kewley?’’ He got up in a gradual sort of way, as if I wasn’t worth any hurry. ‘‘My name’s Parish.’’ With that he reached into his pocket and handed me a letter. I guessed from its mean, interfering scribble that this was customs poison. Nor was I wrong.
    ‘‘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 decidedthat 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