Maurice Drake - The Mystery of the Mud Flats

I hung in the wind a minute, uncertain what to ask. ‘I spent thirty fitting out,’ I said, ‘and the freight’s thirty. Would another twenty be too much?’

‘Say thirty, to be on the safe side,’ said he. ‘The Oost-Nederland Bank in Terneuzen’ll cash my cheque for you,’ and he drew me a cheque on the spot. This after his harping on economy and grumbling about Voogdt being idle! I concluded finally that he was an unbusinesslike fool.

As I was leaving the office he called after me. ‘We’re paying two bob ballast allowance,’ said he.

‘Two bob?’ I was ashamed to confess my ignorance of what he meant by ballast allowance.

‘Two bob a ton. So it’s worth your while to ballast pretty deep. Two quid in your pockets if you take away twenty tons, and only four and twenty bob if you go as you are. So you’ll see it pays you to wait a tide.’

‘It would pay me to fill her full, then,’ I said, surprised.

‘A sure thing it would. But of course that’s nonsense. Twenty tons is ample, as you say. Take twenty-five if you’ve got time; but you must get away next tide. I’m expecting the Olive Leaf tomorrow from Grangemouth, and there’s no room at the wharf for the two of you.’

When I got aboard after cashing the cheque Voogdt was standing by the hatch looking at the heaps of slimy muck in the hold. I jingled the canvas bag in his face.

‘Did you touch him?’ he asked.

‘For thirty. So we’re still a quid or two ahead of ’em.’

‘What d’ye make of the man?’ he asked, jerking his head towards the office.

‘A bumptious, silly fool. That’s what I make of him.’

‘What was the man Ward like? Another fool?’

‘Not he,’ I said. ‘Unbusinesslike he may be, but a fool he is not, if I’m any judge. I hope this chap isn’t going to let him down.’

‘So he isn’t going to let you down, that don’t matter much,’ Voogdt grunted. ‘When are we going to get hatches on?’

‘Next tide. There’s some more ballast to come aboard first.’

‘What on earth d’you want more ballast for?’

‘I don’t want it,’ I said. ‘At least the boat doesn’t. But there’s two bob a ton allowance on all we take away it seems.’

‘That’s a rum notion, paying on ballast, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’ve only been in steam since I served my apprenticeship. Come to think of it, I’ve never carried ballast before. Even when I was serving my apprenticeship in sail we always had freights both ways. I suppose ballast allowance is a custom in this coasting trade.’

‘A rum custom,’ said Voogdt. ‘Tempting skippers to strain their vessels with useless stuff. And seems to me I’ve heard of paying for ballast before now.’

‘Well, that’s possible,’ I said. ‘P’raps the ship that left just before had a good ballast allowance and swept the quay clean. Besides, they want this stuff cleared away.’

‘Ah! That explains it,’ said he. ‘Why didn’t you say so before? How d’ye expect to make a sailorman of me if you don’t instruct me as we go along?’

We worked that night by the light of hand-lanterns, but all hands were tired out, and though I promised ’Kiah and Voogdt to share the new allowance equally, we couldn’t get more than about ten tons aboard. Cheyne said that would do. ‘It’ll have to. The Olive Leaf ’ll be here next thing. You can charge for twenty-three tons, Capt’n. That do you? Here’s your papers. You’re for Dartmouth, to load deals. Now get your hatch cover on, and slip it with the morning tide.’

It came on to blow a little when we got outside. Nothing to hurt; a northerly breeze, too, which was all in our favour, but we had a bit of bucketing in the Straits of Dover. The Luck and Charity I knew I could rely on; with her extra ballast she was as stiff as a church, and I felt a bit more amiable towards Cheyne when I saw how well she behaved. We got wet jackets, of course, but nothing worse. ’Kiah I’d tried before and could trust, too, but Voogdt and the running-gear were new, and I watched them both. The man shaped as well as the hemp and manilla: both were inclined to give a bit under the strain at first, but a brace now and then to the tackle and a helping hand and a joke with the man did wonders. Both, were working sweetly before we reached the Race of Portland, and Voogdt took us through it, only laughing whenever some nasty cross-sea slopped aboard and slatted down over him. It was pretty to see him, the veins standing out like twisted wire on his wet, lean hands as he strained to steady the kicking wheel, and to think how scared he’d looked when he came on deck two days before and found me driving through it with the lee rail under water and the hatch cover awash. Working like a Trojan, laughing at the smashing of our bows and the cataracts the Race was sending over him, he didn’t look much like an indoor man with his death warrant signed, sealed and delivered by the doctors.

‘Gad! This is fine!’ he cried, when I went to give him a hand. ‘No, let me go, skipper. I can take her through it myself. I like it.’

He was able to bear a hand in Dartmouth now, when it came to loading the deals. In fact I think he handled more of them than did the quay-lumpers, who were half asleep, like all Devonshire men. Good food and a regular life were telling on him; he was putting on flesh, and the sea air was beginning to colour his sallow sunburnt cheeks a bit.

We got our ballast out on the quay, and the deals aboard in four days, but then had to wait a day or two, the wind having shifted round to the east. Voogdt spent his time idling about the old town, and ’Kiah had a half-day’s holiday and went to Topsham. I was sitting on deck smoking and thinking about the spree I’d had at last Dartmouth regatta when somebody hailed from close alongside.

‘ Luck and Charity ahoy!’

‘Ahoy!’ I answered, and jumped up to see who it was. I don’t think I was ever more staggered in my life, for there in a waterman’s boat just under our stern was the Pamily girl!

I threw a rope ladder overside and she scrambled aboard, and I stood staring at her, with my mouth open, I expect.

‘Good afternoon,’ she said shortly. ‘You’re loaded, I see.’

‘Y-yes,’ I stammered. ‘We got away from the wharf yesterday afternoon.’

‘I’ll see your papers,’ she said, most businesslike, and turned to the man in the boat. ‘You’ll wait for me, please,’ and she led the way to the cabin.

Dumb with surprise, I got the papers out and laid them on the table before her. She went through them all, her brows knitted, for all the world like a young housewife trying to check the butcher’s bill. I couldn’t believe she knew anything about the business, but she made no remarks, only folding each paper as she read it and handing back the lot when she’d done.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You brought ballast, didn’t you? How much?’ Twenty-three tons, Mr Cheyne made it,’ I told her.

‘Where is it?’

‘On the ballast quay.’

‘Thank you. That’s all I want.’ She got up, and looked me up and down. ‘You’re looking very well,’ she said.

‘I’m very fit, thanks. Regular employment and—and all that sort of thing, you know.’

She nodded and went on deck, and I followed her. Just as she was going down into her boat I asked her if I could offer her a cup of tea.

For one minute I thought there was going to be more face-smacking, but she suddenly turned dangerously pleasant.

‘I should love it,’ she gushed. ‘But I mustn’t stay long, Captain West. Miss Lavington’s waiting for me ashore.’

‘It won’t take any time,’ I assured her. ‘I’ve got one of those oil blast-lamps that boil a kettle in about five minutes.’