Page 51 of A Castaway in Cornwall
Alex turned and stared back at him.
The scowling man approached. “What’ee doin’ here?”
Alex lifted his chin. “Same as you, I hope.”
“Yer not from here.”
“So? The agent said he’d pay any able-bodied person willing to work.”
Parsons sent a sly glance toward Alex’s leg. “Yer not exactly able-bodied.”
“I may not win any races, but you’ll find I work harder than most.”
The red-haired man jerked a thumb toward Jago. “Then why bring the idiot along?”
Alex clenched his jaw. “He is not an idiot. Being large does not make one slow, any more than having red hair makes one a devil.”
Parsons smirked. “I don’t know about that....”
Mr. Hicks approached, shaking his head. “Well, well, Tom Parsons. Would have thought you’d already carried off more than enough cargo the night of the wreck. Now you want me to pay you to carry more?”
“That’s right. All legal and proper.”
“As if you’d know the definition of either word.”
Parsons’s nostrils flared. “Careful, Hicks. You’ve got no armed militia standing behind you.”
“Not yet. But they are on their way from the Bodmin barracks.”
“For yer sake, better hope they arrive soon.”
Alex tensed at the thought of the militia joining them. Would they question him? Somehow guess his identity?
Mr. Hicks led the dozen or so volunteers down to Greenaways. When they reached the beach, Alexander saw the customs officials in the Padstow cutter,Speedwell, already in the water, and two six-oared Cornish gigs on the beach nearby.
Alex looked around but counted too few oarsmen. Hailing the coxswain, he asked, “Shorthanded, cox’n?”
“Aye,” he replied. “Short a hand is right. Moyle broke his in a brawl last night.”
“Need another man to row? I’ve had some experience.”
“Suit yerself.”
Alex climbed in and looked back at his companion. “Jago?”
The big man shook his head, wild hair flopping forward and back. “Don’t like boats. I’ll stay here and load carts.”
The first gig launched into the surf and moved toward the wreck.
“No catchin’ crabs now, boys.”
Following their lead, the coxswain commanded, “And row.” Alex and the men in the second gig complied.
“Row long!” They did so, Alex pressing hard against his oar.
When they neared the wreck, the coxswain called, “Ease up.”
While the men at the oars held the boats as steady as they could against the waves, a man in the prow of each stood and took turns throwing grappling hooks, trying to snag theKittiwake’s rigging, visible between the waves.
