A Place Called Freedom - Ken Follett [83]
He reached the waterfront and looked over the broad gray river. The tide was high and there were several new ships at anchor. He looked for a boatman to row him out. The traditional undertakers waited at their taverns until the captains came to them and asked for a gang to uncoal their ships: Mack and his gangs went to the captains, saving them time and making sure of the work.
He went out to the Prince of Denmark and climbed aboard. The crew had gone ashore, leaving one old sailor smoking a pipe on deck. He directed Mack to the captain’s cabin. The skipper was at the table, writing laboriously in the ship’s log with a quill pen. “Good day to you, Captain,” Mack said with a friendly smile. “I’m Mack McAsh.”
“What is it?” the man said gruffly. He did not ask Mack to take a seat.
Mack ignored his rudeness: captains were never very polite. “Would you like your ship uncoaled quickly and efficiently tomorrow?” he said pleasantly.
“No.”
Mack was surprised. Had someone got here before him? “Who’s going to do it for you, then?”
“None of your damn business.”
“It certainly is my business; but if you don’t want to tell me, no matter—someone else will.”
“Good day to you, then.”
Mack frowned. He was reluctant to leave without finding out what was wrong. “What the devil is the trouble with you, Captain—have I done something to offend you?”
“I’ve nothing more to say to you, young man, and you’ll oblige me by taking your leave.”
Mack had a bad feeling about this but he could not think of anything else to say, so he left. Ships’ captains were a notoriously bad-tempered lot—perhaps because they were away from their wives so much.
He looked along the river. Another new ship, Whitehaven Jack, was anchored next to the Prince. Her crew were still furling sails and winding ropes into neat coils on the deck. Mack decided to try her next, and got his boatman to take him there.
He found the captain on the poop deck with a young gentleman in sword and wig. He greeted them with the relaxed courtesy which, he had found, was the fastest way to win people’s confidence. “Captain, sir, good day to you both.”
This captain was polite. “Good day to you. This is Mr. Tallow, the owner’s son. What’s your business?”
Mack replied: “Would you like your ship uncoaled tomorrow by a fast and sober gang?”
The captain and the gentleman spoke together.
“Yes,” said the captain.
“No,” said Tallow.
The captain showed surprise and looked questioningly at Tallow. The young man addressed Mack, saying: “You’re McAsh, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I believe shippers are beginning to take my name as a guarantee of good work—”
“We don’t want you,” said Tallow.
This second rejection riled Mack. “Why not?” he said challengingly.
“We’ve done business with Harry Nipper at the Frying Pan for years and never had any trouble.”
The captain interjected: “I wouldn’t exactly say we’ve had no trouble.”
Tallow glared at him.
Mack said: “And it’s not fair that men should be forced to drink their wages, is it?”
Tallow looked piqued. “I’m not going to argue with the likes of you—there’s no work for you here, so be off.”
Mack persisted. “But why would you want your ship uncoaled in three days by a drunken and rowdy gang when you could have it done faster by my men?”
The captain, who was clearly not overawed by the owner’s son, added: “Yes, I’d like to know that.”
“Don’t you dare to question me, either of you,” Tallow said. He was trying to stand on his dignity but he was a little too young to succeed.
A suspicion crossed Mack’s mind. “Has someone told you not to hire my gang?” The look on Tallow’s face told him he had guessed right.
“You’ll find that nobody on the river will hire your gang, or Riley’s or Charlie Smith’s,” Tallow said petulantly. “The word has gone out that you’re a troublemaker.”
Mack realized this was very serious, and a cold chill settled on his heart. He had known that Lennox and the undertakers would move against him sooner or later, but he had not expected them to be supported by the ship owners.
It was a little puzzling. The old