A Ship's Tale Read Online Free PDF Page A

them, they had lived an odyssey that spanned many years and could probably fill a score of volumes if written down. Edward and Boris howled with laughter and volunteered little stories of their own as the evening wore on.
    The place was cheery now, and we were starting to get to know one another. I could see that Edward, except when giving forth his low choked laugh, was a taciturn and reserved man. When he began to speak, his lips took on a nervous quiver, as if the words were stirring within, waiting to fall out. Boris was more easygoing and casually accepted most of life’s tasks as not too much trouble. He’d been a rigger most of his life and was more at home aloft than on deck. That Russian accent of his was thicker than a London fog, but I suspected that he knew or understood more English than Bowman gave him credit for.
    About seven o’clock, Harris got up and looked out of the porthole. “Well, Flynn, let’s put that strong back of yours to some use. You help Boris unload. Bowman and I need to chat a moment. You too, Edward.”
    â€œRight,” I replied. Rising, I laid hold of my coat and followed Boris up to the main deck. The instant the hatch opened we were greeted by a blast of frigid night air.
    I hustled shivering into my coat, while Boris turned his face into the breeze as though it were a balmy summer’s evening.
    â€œGood night, not too cold,” observed Boris.
    â€œI expect it is, if you live in Siberia,” I said.
    He gave me an amused look. “No my friend, Siberia very, very cold.”
    I shuddered, “I’ll take your word for it, Boris.”
    As we reached the gangway, I could make out an old ex-Royal Navy lorry parked on the bank. With the grace of a cat, Boris shot down the creaking old planks of the gangway, not even bothering to use the rope handrails. As I started after him I felt the ship roll a bit with the tide, and grasped the ropes whilst my knees struggled to keep my two feet under them. Finally reaching the bank, I looked over at Boris. “You make it look so easy!”
    â€œIs only hard up top there,” he said, pointing aloft to the towering masts. “You slip here, you only splash. You slip there, you splat.”
    â€œRight, well I shall try not to splat,” but I wasn’t feeling at all reassured as I looked up into the darkness.
    Reaching into the back of the lorry, Boris threw back the tarpaulin. There were buckets of paint, great tins of petrol, and boxes of damned near everything one could wish for. It was staggering.
    â€œWhere did all this come from?” I asked in amazement.
    Boris looked through the mass of goods, and lifted out a hauling block marked HMS Princeton . “From this,” he said, indicating the letters on it.
    â€œGood Lord man, don’t tell me we’re reduced to theft,” I said in alarm.
    â€œHardly,” came a voice behind me. I turned to see Harris making his way towards us. “The Princeton is in the scrap-yard. Damned pig of a ship. She’ll be broken up soon and needing none of this.”
    Then it came to me. Harris was more than a mere deckhand, and might be the inside connection to the scrap-yards of the Royal Navy, whence he could easily smuggle things out bit by bit unnoticed. After a moment I worked up the courage to ask him about the possible connection. Even as I spoke, I thought I might have overstepped so I made my question short. He could always laugh it off, but I was rewarded with a ready reply.
    â€œAye that’s true, every word,” he said carefully. Then he looked me in the eyes and gave me that kindly smile again. “And a word to no one,” he added sweetly.
    I suppressed a shiver. “Well, I have to say it’s brilliant. Up to now I was thinking that the ship couldn’t ever be saved, but with that main cargo hold, you might carry it off.”
    Harris smiled, “Not a thing done slapdash.”
    â€œI had no