The snow-white precipices of the English coast, and especially Shakespeare's Cliff, were so unlike anything he had ever seen before that they would have stirred Antonio even if there had been nothing within him of the poet and the student. But as they gave place to the flat beaches of Whitstable and the earth-banks of Sheppey he forgot the white walls in his eagerness to see the wonders they guarded. With the rosy breaking of the sixteenth day of the voyage he was already on the deck scanning the banks of the Thames. The chill landscape looked un-English and reminded him of Dutch pictures.
As day broadened the Thames narrowed. Many ships, great and small, came closer to the Queen of the Medway as she moved forward with the flowing tide. Suddenly a frigate, pushing seaward against the stream, set the Thames on fire with curiosity. Her flag was flying at half-mast. A minute later the incoming craft had read her signals. King William was dead.
The captain, the mate, and Antonio uncovered; and, rather tardily, the crew did the same. A big East Indiaman, just ahead, began firing signal-guns in an aimless way, while a small collier half-masted a grimy Union Jack of incorrect design. If all the ships' companies were like the crew of the Queen of the Medway, there was much less grief than excitement. Even Antonio, who immediately went below with a troubled face, was selfish in his regrets. Now King William was dead, would the new King take the pipes of port?
Mr. Austin Crowberry, Senhor Castro's London partner, was not at the wharf when the Queen of the Medway made fast. But Antonio had no trouble. As the cargo was wholly for the King it was not subject to customs-duties, and the formalities were completed in a few moments. Indeed, one high official of the Excise was so anxious to be obliging that he strove hard to carry Antonio off to dine at a famous tavern.
When Mr. Crowberry arrived at last it was evident that he had been honoring the Castro juices with his active patronage. He recognized Antonio, whom he had seen twice in Gaia, and shook him so warmly by the hand that it was no longer possible to doubt his exhilarated condition. He would have drunk two bottles more in the captain's cabin if Antonio had not schemed to show him an empty cupboard. Very soon he lost his temper and launched into imprudent and disloyal grumblings. The House of Hanover, he said, was a house of spendthrifts and madmen. Who but a madman, he demanded of Antonio point-blank, would go and die on the very eve of filling his cellar with Waterloo port? And who was this chit Victoria? She was a slip of a wench nobody had ever heard of. He wound up by thanking his stars that he had only one child, seeing that the country could not possibly last another ten years.
Like the gorgeous officer of the Excise, Mr. Austin Crowberry tried his best to drag Antonio away to a tavern. But the monk stood firm. Until some officer of the royal household should take the cargo off his hands, not Senhor Castro himself could have induced him to leave the Queen of the Medway for a moment. His quarters were narrow, the deck was malodorous: but Antonio stuck to his post.
IV
Under a heat which amazed Antonio the quays and the dock became more unsavory every day: but he did not quit the Queen of the Medway. His friend the Excise officer agreed with Mr. Crowberry that decency required patient waiting until after the King's funeral. Meanwhile, however, the dock charges and other expenses were running on. Accordingly, Antonio drafted a discreet and respectful letter to the comptroller of the royal cellars, asking him to affix seals to a small bonded warehouse in which the wine could await his convenience. Mr. Crowberry admired and signed the letter and despatched it through a privileged middleman. The comptroller's people accepted the proposal with surprising alacrity; and within a week of his reaching London the cargo lay safely under lock and seal and Antonio was free.
Through pure thoughtlessness Mr. Crowberry recommended Antonio to a hostelry where his expenses were a pound a day. After one night's stay he quitted these noisy and expensive quarters for a modest lodging within sight of green fields, up Tottenham Court Road. At first English habits upset him. He tried both beer and porter, and could not decide which was the more undesirable. The clarets, and even the ports, which he tasted at Mr. Crowberry's were heavy and all wrong. The saddles of mutton, the sirloins of beef and the boiled salmon were supremely excellent: but, on the whole, Antonio could not divine why the wealthy and table-loving English fed so unwisely and so unwell.