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Updated: May 21, 2025
The Allytheer; registered from Liverpool; bound from London to Hantwerp, in cargo. Anythink else?" Kirkwood shook his head, turning to scan the seascape with a gloomy gaze. As he did so, and remarked how close upon the Sheppey headland the brigantine had drawn, the order was given to go about.
"I'm Wilyum Stryker, Capt'n Stryker, marster and 'arf-owner of this wessel, and wot I says 'ere is law. We don't carry no passengers. D'ye understand me?" aggressively. "There ain't no pusson nymed Calendar aboard the Allytheer, an' never was, an' never will be!" "What name did you say?" Kirkwood inquired. "This ship?
"Ten shillings," volunteered Kirkwood promptly; "ten shillings if you get me aboard her before she weighs anchor; fifteen if I keep you out more than an hour, and still you put me aboard. After that we'll make other terms." The man promptly turned his back to hail his mate. "'Arf a quid, Bob, if we puts this gent aboard a wessel name o' Allytheer afore she syles at turn o' tide."
"'Oo," interrogated old Bob, holding the boat steady by grasping the stage, "was th' party wot engyged yer larst night, Bill?" "Party name o' Allytheer," growled the drowsy one. "W'y?" "Party 'ere's lookin' for 'im. Where'll I find this Allytheer?" "Best look sharp 'r yer won't find 'im," retorted the one above. "'E was at anchor off Bow Creek larst night." Kirkwood's heart leaped in hope.
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