Tom Pagdin, Pirate

by E. J. Brady

On the river bank above, blocking the roadway, were yet standing some of the teams which had brought the wool down from the New England tableland.

The dusty whips of the carriers cracked no longer, and their tired horses dozed contentedly in the sunlight.

Some of the carriers were at the water-side pub, beerily quarrelling over the merits of rival “leaders.” One was in the backyard of the hotel conducting amorous negotiations with a black gin, and another, who did not drink, had gone down to see about back loading.

It was three in the afternoon, and Donald Mac., the skipper of the Greenwich, took his place at the wheel.

On the river, up and down, there was no boat more popular than the Greenwich. The crew of the little steamer consisted of Sam, the fat engineer, George and Bill, and the skipper. George and Bill were the deck hands, who put the cargo and passengers ashore at the various landings.

There was a general air of courtesy and good humour about the Greenwich. Nothing seemed a trouble to little Donald Macpherson, but the fact of the matter was that Donald’s troubles had made him lean, and somewhat sad.

He had all the responsibilities of a deep-sea skipper, with less than the pay of a third mate. It had taken him his life to learn the river, its depths and bars, its shallows and reefs, and banks, and currents, and as the river had a habit of changing its geographical features after each flood, Donald was always at school.

Then there was ever the possibility that some day, as he brought the Greenwich round the Devil’s Elbow, between the reef and the bar at the mouth in a swamping southerly, despite all his knowledge of the game, the Greenwich would stand on her head and kick her propeller at the Milky Way.

It was three in the afternoon, and the skipper swung the nose of his ship out from the wharf.

Sam, the engineer, with his ear at the gong, and his hand on the lever, stood to his post. George, the senior deck hand, who ranked as first mate, ran his eye down the cargo list. Bill stood by. There were coils of fencing wire to drop here and there, boxes of groceries, tins of kerosene, all sorts of sundries, mails, and newspapers.