Read Online The Secret River by Kate Grenville - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Grenville
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that timber being uppermost, Thornhill , he called down. It is worth fifty pounds . Thornhill stood in the lighter looking up at him. Would you have us unload , he said, and lie it in the hold under the rest? Lucas looked at him for a moment. No , he said. But make sure no harm comes to it, man . Thornhill squinted up into the brightness, where Lucas looked down at him. Very good, Mr Lucas , he called obligingly. You can count on me .
By three o’clock in the afternoon the lighter was loaded, but the tide was running out strongly so it was a matter of waiting. Thornhill had some food and sat on the load watching darkness fall. Around eleven o’clock he heard the change in the river’s voice that meant slack water had arrived, the tide about to turn. He let go the lighter from the side of the ship and felt the flood tide carrying it upstream. He had only to guide with an oar.
He shot through the middle pier of London Bridge and tended over towards the Middlesex bank. He could see nothing except a faint texture that showed him where the river was. By his speed under the bridge he judged the moment when he would come to Three Cranes Wharf, and swung the vessel around to where the shore must be, working her up into the tide until he was alongside the dock. The tide was running against the wooden dockside, but it was still too low to unload.
He could hear his skiff jerking on its painter at the end of the wharf where he had tied it up the day before. It was waiting to receive the Brazil wood. But until he set his hand to the timber, he was still an innocent man.
The watchman was in his little outhouse at the end of thewharf. Thornhill could see the tiny gleam of yellow light from the doorway. He would be tucked up tight in there with a drop of something to keep him warm.
Thornhill called softly as the lighter came alongside the wharf, Rob, Rob are you there? No one answered. He decided he must do it all himself, and was getting ready to leave the oars and spring forward to cast a line around the bollard, when there was Rob’s voice in the darkness. Will, here I am , he whispered hoarsely. Give us a cast on shore, man, for God’s sake , Thornhill called. He hurled the line up and by a miracle Rob got hold of it and fastened it, so the lighter rode the current quietly.
Thornhill climbed onto the wharf. Damn your eyes, Rob , he hissed. Why ain’t you come down to lend a hand with the lighter? He could see it was his brother, but could not make him out and was spared the hangdog look on his silly face. I come as soon as I could, Will , he whined. As God is my witness . Trying not to shout in his exasperation Thornhill said, Forget God, man, get yourself down and hand us up the stern sheet and be quick about it .
He had just made the stern sheet fast to the bollard when he heard a sound beyond the lighter: a splash, the hollow wooden knocking of an oar against its pin. It crossed his mind, nothing more substantial than the shadow of a bird’s wing out of the corner of his eye, that something was not right. He peered and strained into the rustling darkness but saw only its tantalising shifts and textures.
They had to unload the Brazil wood into the skiff almost by feel. They moved the timbers down as quietly as they could, scraping them over the gunwale of the lighter, feeling the skiff twist under the weight. He could sense Rob take the weight, then the hollow noise as he eased each piece down. The small sounds seemed thunderous.
They had moved the fourth piece when suddenly at the end of the lighter there was a commotion, a clattering and thumping,several pairs of feet in several pairs of boots, running along the lighter to where Thornhill and Rob stood holding the flitch of timber. Thornhill! Lucas’s voice shouted. Thornhill, you rogue! In that moment all the dread he had been feeling rose up to swallow him. He should have listened! Should have listened to that cool little voice that had said, This time they will get
By three o’clock in the afternoon the lighter was loaded, but the tide was running out strongly so it was a matter of waiting. Thornhill had some food and sat on the load watching darkness fall. Around eleven o’clock he heard the change in the river’s voice that meant slack water had arrived, the tide about to turn. He let go the lighter from the side of the ship and felt the flood tide carrying it upstream. He had only to guide with an oar.
He shot through the middle pier of London Bridge and tended over towards the Middlesex bank. He could see nothing except a faint texture that showed him where the river was. By his speed under the bridge he judged the moment when he would come to Three Cranes Wharf, and swung the vessel around to where the shore must be, working her up into the tide until he was alongside the dock. The tide was running against the wooden dockside, but it was still too low to unload.
He could hear his skiff jerking on its painter at the end of the wharf where he had tied it up the day before. It was waiting to receive the Brazil wood. But until he set his hand to the timber, he was still an innocent man.
The watchman was in his little outhouse at the end of thewharf. Thornhill could see the tiny gleam of yellow light from the doorway. He would be tucked up tight in there with a drop of something to keep him warm.
Thornhill called softly as the lighter came alongside the wharf, Rob, Rob are you there? No one answered. He decided he must do it all himself, and was getting ready to leave the oars and spring forward to cast a line around the bollard, when there was Rob’s voice in the darkness. Will, here I am , he whispered hoarsely. Give us a cast on shore, man, for God’s sake , Thornhill called. He hurled the line up and by a miracle Rob got hold of it and fastened it, so the lighter rode the current quietly.
Thornhill climbed onto the wharf. Damn your eyes, Rob , he hissed. Why ain’t you come down to lend a hand with the lighter? He could see it was his brother, but could not make him out and was spared the hangdog look on his silly face. I come as soon as I could, Will , he whined. As God is my witness . Trying not to shout in his exasperation Thornhill said, Forget God, man, get yourself down and hand us up the stern sheet and be quick about it .
He had just made the stern sheet fast to the bollard when he heard a sound beyond the lighter: a splash, the hollow wooden knocking of an oar against its pin. It crossed his mind, nothing more substantial than the shadow of a bird’s wing out of the corner of his eye, that something was not right. He peered and strained into the rustling darkness but saw only its tantalising shifts and textures.
They had to unload the Brazil wood into the skiff almost by feel. They moved the timbers down as quietly as they could, scraping them over the gunwale of the lighter, feeling the skiff twist under the weight. He could sense Rob take the weight, then the hollow noise as he eased each piece down. The small sounds seemed thunderous.
They had moved the fourth piece when suddenly at the end of the lighter there was a commotion, a clattering and thumping,several pairs of feet in several pairs of boots, running along the lighter to where Thornhill and Rob stood holding the flitch of timber. Thornhill! Lucas’s voice shouted. Thornhill, you rogue! In that moment all the dread he had been feeling rose up to swallow him. He should have listened! Should have listened to that cool little voice that had said, This time they will get
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