Free English passengers by Matthew Kneale Page A

got back to the island I wouldn’t have her in the cabin but fixed her with a chain outside, and even then she’d bite and scratch when I worked her. Ned wanted his turn but I told him no, as he’d not earned it.
    Then I got a surprise. Just a few weeks later I found three barrels of the new flour were spoiled right through. That was trouble. We’d not last just on the rest, I knew, so I had to go back to George Town in the whaleboat to get my redress. Ned said he was feeling crook and stayed behind.
    Bill Haskins moaned, which I knew he would, and said I must’ve let the flour get damp and that was why it had spoiled, which was never true. He did give me two barrels in the end, though, which was only part but was better than nothing and would be about enough to last us, I reckoned. What with other things that needed doing, and a night with that Lill at the inn besides—which was taking a risk, but I did it anyway— it was a ten days before I got back to the island.
    I guessed something was wrong when I saw there was no smoke coming from the chimney. Sure enough, when I walked up to the cabin carrying one of the barrels of flour, what did I find lying just outside the door but Ned, with his trousers round his ankles and his head stove in like a bust pumpkin, the stone that had done it sat just nearby, all stained. He must have been there a time, as the birds had had themselves a good feed, especially his belly and face. The gin was gone of course and so was the small rowboat.
    Well, it was no mystery to me what had happened. She’d tempted him. She’d learned a few words to speak, while I’d seen him watching her, and that silly sod Ned tempted easy as butter. Once she’d got him thirsting for her strong she must’ve witched him into opening up her lock and letting her free, and then, while he was busy getting his rewards, she’d have given him a tap with that stone. When I was putting him in the ground I saw his tackle had been got at nasty, which I reckoned was her rather than the birds.
    D’you know I never could find that small rowboat. Three days I spent searching along the coast where she must have landed but there was never so much as a splinter. I reckoned she must’ve stove her in. Well, that did strike me as an unnecessary sort of act, and mean too.
    This last seal season since has been a good one, mind, being as fine almost as I’ve known, so I’m hoping I might have enough skins to trade myself a new rowboat down at George Town. If there’s one to be had, that is. I never do feel safe with just the one boat, you see, in case of accident. Who knows, if the wind’s right I might even get myself another gin afterwards. She’d have to be less of the warrior this time, though.
Peevay
1824–28

    O NCE WHEN I was small and always running hither and thither, and all the world was puzzles to confound, I got myself that little surprise. Even now that bugger does stir tenderest feelings deep inside my breast. Other fellows might lose their way after that ruination, never to find it after, but not me. I did endure. Then again, enduring always was my special skill.
    That was in long-ago times, many summers past, before everything got changed, so it is hard to perceive that was just the same me as now. Why, I never even knew these words to speak then. But still I can recollect. Day I got my surprise was hot, blowflies were biting and everyone was stopped by a wide pool, shallow as your foot. Bigger children were splashing to be cool and stop the flies, and suddenly all I wanted was to get some of that splashing too. Into the pool I ran, fast like the wind. But below the water it was slippery, so my feet were skidding and down I fell, hard, with a grievous blow. Then, when I pulled myself up, feeling a sore knee, that hateful thing did occur.
    Just there in the water, you see, all at once there was a stranger, and this stranger was like a monster. His face was almost ordinary but that just made him worse