The Log of the Sardis

"Robbins — James Robbins."

"Oh! James! James! What you think o' that for a name, Bert? None o' your low-down common Jims!" The two men roared with laughter, and Dukey seized Jim by the arm: "Well, me Lord James, I'd reckon it a honner if you'd just git below and stay there. You won't be no good today."

"That's right, Jim," said Bert more kindly. "You had a rough old do up that mast there. You might just as well have a rest for a bit longer. As he and Dukey stood on the deck of the Sardis a few moments later, he said quietly to Dukey, "Lay off the old boy, now, Dookey. You keep on like that, no bounds what he might do. Let him settle down a bit."

A boring day followed for Jim. Sleep proved impossible, for every fifteen minutes or so a great untidy sling of assorted salvage landed with a rumbling crash on the deck, to be noisily stowed below by Shiner. Sick of the tedium of the stinking darkness below, Jim stood for hours staring idly out of the forepeak hatchway at the toiling giant. He guessed the real reason for his stay below; the salvagers all knew each other pretty well, and Dukey did not want to encourage questions about him from the Essex men.

Standing there, hour after hour, Jim noticed gradually that the smack was bumping more and more heavily against the ship's side, and that the wind was beginning its old familiar whine through what was left of Sardis's rigging.

Up on the wreck, however, there was great jubilation, for one of the Essex men, exploring further into the vast dark lower holds, had found, beyond the useless rails, three whole large bays stacked high with every sort of farming implement, and bundle upon bundle of hand tools. Tackles were hastily rigged, torches taken down, and soon dozens of ploughs, cultivators, horse-rakes and mowers, all gaudy with their brilliant new paint, were being lashed into place on the decks of the smacks, where they seemed ridiculously out of place. Sheaves of pitchforks, whose spotless handles had been awaiting the hard hands of the New South Wales pioneers, were grabbed instead by the tarry hands of sailors and stowed in the fishy holds of their smacks.

Dukey and Bert saw to it that they had their share, and rubbed their hands as they looked down on Shiner lashing the last of the four ploughs into place. "There you are, Bert," said Dukey, "I knew there must be some decent cargo in her somewheres. Some o' this stuff'll sell a treat down Canterbury market, if we can git it there. How we going on down there. Shiner ? Pretty near full ?"

"Yeah. Pretty near."

'There we are, then, Bert. And look at them bits of cloud coming up from the north-east. Time we wasn't here. We'll just finish off the paint-locker, have a bit of grub, then sling our hooks and run for home.' He looked round the bustling deck and smiled. "Best old wreck I ever seen, Bert. All the same, I wisht we could have found room for that planner them Rowhedge fellers got up. My old gel's always going on about having one in the front room. Silly beggars, women. She can't play a blessed note!"

Jim slipped out of sight as the Skipper and the Mate came back aboard, and all three worked to complete the safe stowage. Soon they all went aft, but it was not long before Shiner's clumsy tread sounded outside, and his pale face peered down: "Skipper says come aft, sharpish," he said.

Dinner was exactly the same as breakfast, for no one had been able to do any cooking. The three men ate a giant, leisurely meal, for they had worked five hours in the winter air; there was little talk until their stomachs were full. Then the Skipper sprawled back at full length on his bunk and talked over future plans with Bert; Jim noted bitterly that they were now so sure of him that they no longer concealed anything from him. He noted, too, that though Bert had more or less taken charge of the blackmail, Dukey was now indisputably the Captain. "Well, Bert," he said, "we've got a good old mixed bag aboard here. These old ploughs, f'rinstance, they're too big to lug about. We'll just have to take 'em into the harbour and collect the salvage on 'em, all proper an' above-board. But all that rope and timber, and them small tools and tins of paint — that's a mortal pity to waste all that. I reckon we'll land 'em up at Perce's place. He'll stow it in one of his haystacks for us if we see him all right afterwards. What time's high-water over Seasalter Flats? Just after midnight, ain't it?"

"About that, Dookey."

"And that's a run of — what — about thirty mile from here, ain't it? Should do that in about five hours with this blow behind her."

"We might as well stop here a bit, then, Skipper. 'Tis only two o'clock."

"Ah yes, but I ain't taking no chances with the money and the jools. The Customs chaps'll guess we've been at this wreck; we don't want one of them finding that lot when we tie up at Whitstable. What we'll do is play the old Essex dodge on them: we'll go straight down to Reculver an' jill about off there. We'll stop one o' the Whitstable sprat boats — there's sure to be some of 'em going out on the ebb. Now then, Bert, I want you to go aboard her, and take the money and jools with you. Then you can either stay with them till they come back to Whitstable or, if you can, get them to land you at Margate, and come back home on the railway. No one won't search a poor sick chap comin' off of a fishing boat. We should be back in harbour on the noon tide tomorrow."