A Ship's Tale Read Online Free PDF

idea that you were so well organised,” I added lamely. “So much in fact, you must be the one who organises the endless supply of whisky in green unmarked bottles.”
    â€œNo, that was sent up by Betty, a long time friend of Bowman’s wife, Meg. She runs a distillery on the Isle of Islay and gave a gift of a keg sometime ago.”
    Harris once more bent his disquieting smile upon me, but mercifully at this point took his smile and clambered up into the back of the lorry with Boris. Each threw out a sack to me. I caught one while the other well-nigh caught me. I gathered them both awkwardly into my arms and began to trudge back towards the gangway. The fog that I had earlier seen gathering was now rolling in thicker by the minute.
    â€œI feel like a grave robber in a Sherlock Holmes mystery,” I called back to Harris.
    â€œSherlock Holmes robs graves?” asked Boris.
    Harris looked up with an amused glint in his eye. “Yes indeed, simply doted on it,” he remarked blandly. “Everyone knows that grave-robbing and the violin were the great Sherlock’s favourite pastimes, mate.”
    Boris turned and gazed at him narrowly. Harris rolled his eyes skyward, “Oh never mind,” he said absently, “let’s have at it now.”
    It took a long hour to unload that bloody lorry. It seemed as though a bit of every ship scrapped must have been in there. Bowman, Edward, and Harris sorted things for storage locked together in a constant fray over what was or wasn’t useful. Boris stood by silently, perhaps unable to determine what exactly they were on about. I envied him his poor English; then again he seemed to have an unflappable nature.
    When the last bit of gear was safely stowed on board, we all filed back below deck. Between the pot-bellied stove and the heat of our labours, the cabin seemed positively tropical, a welcome change from the crisp night and the thickening fog.
    â€œI must be getting soft,” I groaned as I pulled off my coat, and fell into a chair. I was ready for a nice cup of tea, but Bowman was busily pouring another round of whisky, so I held out my hand for a mug of the restorative.
    â€œIt’s a shame the sail locker doesn’t shape up to the cargo hold,” Bowman said.
    â€œWhy?” I asked, “How much sail is there?”
    â€œNot much that’s useful. Too much mildew and rot. Ha! I know what ye’re thinking. All that rigging won’t move a wind ship with nothing to catch the wind. Aye, but we’re hoping to get lucky.”
    â€œLucky?” I asked. I turned to Harris, who sat back with his eyes closed smoking a pipe comfortably held in the corner of his mouth.
    â€œGood canvas is hard to come by, and what we do find is too small,” Harris sighed. “Why, you’d have to stitch so much together, it’d probably split in a dozen places in the first hard blow. It’s simply not for the doing.”
    â€œHow would you sew it if you had it?” I asked. “Doing it by hand would take forever.”
    Harris settled back even further and blew out a smoke ring. “No need for that. We’ve friends in the garment trade, Jewish folk I helped get out of Europe when things got bad. Really nice people and they have quite a fleet of sewing machines, including some heavy-duty industrial ones. They’re watching out for a volume of canvas. We already contacted some retired sail-makers to help with the sewing on the bolt ropes, making the cringles, and all those other finishes, without which the sails would be useless. I think I’ll pop by there tomorrow and see if there’s anything in the wind, so to speak. Care to come along Flynn?”
    My aching muscles reproached me. “Well, I work all day, you know. I’m not sure that I could tackle another load so soon.”
    Harris laughed, “Small chance we’ll fetch a cargo tomorrow.”
    I thought for a moment,