Authors: Benita Brown
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Sagas, #Fisheries & Aquaculture, #Fiction
A Safe Harbour (50 page)
‘I never had the stomach for it, Da,’ William said. ‘It’s nothing to do with Jane. I would have refused to go even if I wasn’t going to marry the lass.’
‘William.’ Nan turned to her son in her frustration. ‘If you know what this is about then tell me. Is Thomas going to cause some sort of trouble for Mr Adamson?’
Henry laughed and the wheezy laughter turned into a prolonged bout of chesty coughing. William and his mother could do nothing but wait until the coughing subsided.
‘There’ll be no trouble,’ Henry said. He spat in the fire and the flames sizzled. ‘No trouble. Thomas will manage fine – even if he’s only got a Linton to help him.’
‘Help him do what?’ Nan was almost despairing.
Henry got unsteadily to his feet and stared blearily at the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘they’ll be on their way now. They had to wait until all the pubs were closed and the streets were quiet before they set off. Not daft, our Thomas. Didn’t want anyone to see them.’ He collapsed back into the chair and stared foolishly at the fire.
‘Will somebody answer me for God’s sake!’ Nan cried.
William took hold of his mother’s shoulders and drew her away from the fire and her husband before he answered her. ‘Listen, Ma. Thomas and Matthew intend to sink the
Tyne Star
, and I’ve got to stop them.’
Tyne Star
, and I’ve got to stop them.’
Chapter Twenty-two
‘Keep to the shadows. For God’s sake keep to the shadows!’The words were snatched from Thomas’s lips by the ferocity of the gusting wind. He cursed. It had been a clear moonlit night when he and Jos’s young brother had left the village. The sea had been calm, deceptively so, for now a squall had blown up, bringing icy rain up river and causing the boats to rock in their moorings.
They inched their way along the quayside, hugging the warehouse walls, seeking the security of darkness. The masts of the sailing ships moored alongside the quay swung wildly, creaking and groaning, the tangle of rigging slapping loudly against the spars.
The gas lamps set in brackets on the walls highlighted the slanting rain that swept the glistening cobblestones. In between each lamp there was a pool of welcoming darkness. Thomas used the back of one hand to wipe away the water that dripped from his hair and into his eyes and took a tighter grip on the bag of tools he carried. He was ready for this. No more talking, no more planning. He would not turn back now.
Having cursed the weather, Thomas now blessed the cover its ferocity afforded. There was not a sign of activity. The crews of the brigs and schooners were secure in the warmth of homes and lodgings ashore, the local lads with their wives and many of the others in the arms of the obliging ladies of Clive Street.
‘There she is,’ Thomas breathed. The trawler’s bravely painted name was plain to see in the lamp’s yellowish light. Thomas stopped and turned to Matthew. ‘We’ll wait a bit to be sure the watchman’s not about. I warrant he’s taking shelter in the quaymaster’s office.’
Matthew leaned close. Thomas could see the fear in his eyes. ‘What if there’s a watchman on board?’
‘There won’t be. I checked with a lad that works on the quay. Adamson pays the quay watch well to keep an eye on things. And look around you – there’s not one of those brave fellows in sight, is there?’
But even as he reassured Matthew, Thomas became aware of another problem. Something he hadn’t thought of and, as a fisherman used to the ways of the sea, should have taken into account. Jos would have taken it into account. Thomas brushed away that irritating thought. The problem was that the tide was on the turn. The decks of the trawlers were some six feet lower than the quayside. This meant that they would have to jump out into the darkness and land on a slippery wet deck.
An added hazard to boarding in this way was the erratic movement of the boats in the strengthening wind which was blowing directly up the river from the east. Thomas knew that if they didn’t time their jumps precisely they could break a leg – or end up in the river. If that happened Adamson would have the last laugh. But, perversely, it only made him all the more determined to continue.
He took one more look up and down the quayside. It was still deserted. ‘Stay close to me,’ he said to Matthew without turning his head. ‘We’ll board the boat at the for’ard where it’s higher in the water. All right?’
There was no answer and Thomas looked round. One glance told him that Matthew was petrified. He hoped Jos’s young brother wasn’t losing the stomach to carry out what lay ahead.
‘Are you all right?’ He spoke as calmly as he could.
‘Aye, but I’m bloody wet through,’ Matthew replied. Then he gave a watery grin. ‘Let’s get it over with.’
Thomas told Matthew that to break cover and run would make them more conspicuous. So he walked the twenty yards to the quay’s edge with Matthew close behind him. ‘Now!’ he hissed.
And they both jumped out into the darkness.
William saw the two figures clearly as they crossed the pool of light cast by a gas lamp and he knew who they must be. He’d run most of the three miles from the village and had reached the high embankment that overlooked the Shields Quay and the river. The flight of steps that led down to the quay seemed endless, and it was impossible to run down them in the dark without risking a headlong fall. The buffeting wind and the incessant rain helped to make the descent precarious.
Once at the bottom William made straight for the place near the edge of the quay where he’d seen the two figures. When he saw where he was standing, next to Richard Adamson’s
Tyne Star
, he knew that the two men he had seen were Thomas and Matthew. Without a second’s delay William jumped down on to the deck of the trawler. The jump plunged him into darkness, the deck of the boat being in deep shadow below the quay wall.
Tyne Star
, he knew that the two men he had seen were Thomas and Matthew. Without a second’s delay William jumped down on to the deck of the trawler. The jump plunged him into darkness, the deck of the boat being in deep shadow below the quay wall.
‘Damn!’ He cursed under his breath as his left leg hit an obstacle when he landed. It sent him over on to his side and he lay sprawled on the wet deck, stunned and with the wind knocked out of him. He lay there for a few seconds until it became less painful to draw breath. While he gathered his wits he allowed his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Clouds covered the moon and the light from the gas lamps on the quayside didn’t reach deck level.
Gradually objects became visible and he saw it was a coil of rope that had caused him to fall. But where were Thomas and Matthew? They could only be down below. Then he saw that the hatch cover, just behind the wheelhouse, had been left open. That’s the way they must have gone down, he thought. To the engine room.
He stood up and immediately pain shot up his left leg from his ankle. Gingerly he put his weight on it. Although the pain intensified nothing gave way. Thank God it wasn’t broken. Perhaps the pain had provided a jolt of doubt, though, because now William hesitated and looked at the open hatch. Was it any use going on? Thomas and Matthew could have the seacock open by now.
His spirits sank. Was his attempt to stop them futile? With the seacock open the
Tyne Star
would start to take on water and slowly sink to the river bed. But damn it, he thought, I’ve come this far. They may not be finding the task as easy as they thought it would be. There may still be time.
Tyne Star
would start to take on water and slowly sink to the river bed. But damn it, he thought, I’ve come this far. They may not be finding the task as easy as they thought it would be. There may still be time.
He limped over to the open hatch and sat on the edge with his legs dangling inside. Then he eased himself down on to the metal grid through which he could see down into the engine room. A dim light flickered up from below. They must have provided themselves with candles.
William swung his legs on to the ladder that gave access to the engine room some six feet below. He could smell oil and grease and the dank odour of stagnant water. He was halfway down when he heard a dull knocking and the noise of metal on metal.
‘Thomas. Matthew,’ he called into the dimness through cupped hands. The noises stopped and William could almost sense the feeling of panic. ‘Thomas,’ he called again, ‘it’s William.’
He heard a gasp and then Thomas answered, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to try to make you see sense. What you’re doing is madness.’ He gave his hushed voice as much authority as possible. ‘For Christ’s sake stop before it’s too late.’
He reached the bottom of the ladder and groped his way along the trawler’s bulkhead, past highly polished brass tubes, pipes and gauges that reflected the candlelight. Thomas and Matthew were crouched in the corner. They had one of the floor plates lifted. It wasn’t too late to stop them!
‘Come on, lads,’ he pleaded. ‘Get out while you can.’
‘No, you get out,’ Thomas snarled. ‘I told the others you’d gone soft and I was right.’
William ignored his brother’s angry response. ‘Thomas, there’s no sense in what you’re doing. Adamson will hire divers and he’ll have the boat raised within the week. And, besides, he’s got other boats. And he’s not the only trawler owner to convert to steam. Tonight’s work won’t make a ha’p’orth of difference to the fishing.’
Before his brother could reply Matthew said, ‘We’re going to do it. It’s what Jos wanted.’ He looked fired up with nervous energy.
‘Are you sure?’ William asked. ‘Did your brother tell you that before he died?’
‘No . . . but he told your brother. Didn’t he, Thomas?’
‘Aye.’
‘Listen, Thomas,’ William said. ‘Adamson didn’t even have the
Tyne Star
before Jos died.’
Tyne Star
before Jos died.’
‘Don’t you think his other steam trawlers have done damage enough? Jos knew this one was on its way and he knew she would be the pride of the fleet. The
Tyne Star
would be able to stay out longer, in all weathers, and catch more fish, he said. He was so worked up about it, he said he’d like to sink it.’
Tyne Star
would be able to stay out longer, in all weathers, and catch more fish, he said. He was so worked up about it, he said he’d like to sink it.’
‘He’d like to sink it or he planned to sink it?’
‘Stop trying to confuse me with your clever way of putting things. You’re nearly as bad as Kate. Now, hawway, Matthew,’ he said. ‘Don’t listen to him. We’ve got to get on with it.’
William looked at them in despair. Matthew was holding the candle. Thomas had a hammer and he’d wrapped a piece of cloth around the head to deaden the noise. They had the floor plate open and William could see the brass seacock glinting in the candlelight.
Ignoring William, Thomas put the hammer aside and, reaching down, grasped the seacock with both hands. His neck muscles bulged as he strained to turn it open. Suddenly it moved and the valve opened. There was the sound of water rushing into the boiler.
‘That’s got it.’ Thomas was panting with the effort. ‘Now to stop the bastards from closing the valve,’ he said. And he swung the hammer again and again.
William knew it would be hopeless to try to stop his brother now. Thomas looked almost demented in the flickering candlelight as he rained blow after blow on the brass seacock. Then, as he began to tire and his movements became slower, the valve broke and water gushed into the engine room.
‘Get out!’ Thomas yelled.
Matthew, still holding the candle, ran to the ladder, followed by Thomas.
‘William, you first,’ his brother said. But William knew his injured ankle would only hold them back.
‘No, you two go on.’
They didn’t argue. They brushed past him and climbed the ladder. William followed and had reached the metal grille when he heard a commotion ahead of him. Just outside the hatch by the sound of it.
‘Who the hell are you?’ A voice he didn’t recognize was shouting and cursing. The voice was thick, the words were slurred; either with sleep or drink, William decided.
Then there was a scuffling. He poked his head out of the hatch into the open air in time to see two men on the deck swinging punches at each other. A third man stood watching. He recognized the third man by his slighter figure as Matthew. Which meant that it was his brother, Thomas, who was in the thick of the fight. He also realized that the rain had stopped and a pale moon was emerging from the clouds.
So who could Thomas’s assailant be? One of the watchmen, or perhaps a member of the crew who had been sleeping in the wheelhouse or the fo’c’s’le quarters and had been disturbed by the hammering?
William was still half in and half out of the hatch when the fighting men reached the side of the boat further away from the quay. The other man, even though he seemed to be staggering a little, was getting the better of his brother. He had his arms up behind his back as he manoeuvred him towards the gunwale. In a heart-stopping moment, William realized that he intended to throw Thomas over the side.
‘No!’ William shouted and heaved himself up. But Matthew got there before him. The other man already had Thomas dangling over the water when Matthew leapt on him and pulled him back with all his might. Surprised, the man let go of Thomas, who fell on to the deck, and turned on Matthew. The fight should have been uneven, but Matthew was fired by anger and fright and he fought back fiercely.
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