Call Me Mac--Port Out by Susie Baggaley

Author:Susie Baggaley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical fiction, womens fiction, historical romance, New Adult fiction, Action and Adventure
Publisher: Susie Baggaley
Published: 2021-02-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

We stood at the starboard rail watching the shambles below as two tugs with lines fore and aft nudged the ss Narkunda towards Ballard Pier. Steamer trunks swayed to the motion as they were stacked by the gangway door, the lascars and stewards moving in one continuous loop like an army of ants, while Stanley scratched his head and directed operations.

Constant orders were bellowed from the bridge to crews manning the lines while Indian stevedores clad in drab, discoloured dhotis and pleated turbans hovered on shore ready to clear the liner of her passengers and belongings. My eardrums ached from three sharp blasts sounded from ss Narkunda’s steam whistle, then the ship shuddered, her engines went astern, and she was expertly manoeuvred alongside.

It was ten-forty-five on a dusty, crowded Tuesday morning, and we had finally arrived, three weeks and four days after leaving Tilbury Docks. I recalled the Elizabeth Stuart-MacKenzie of that damp and grey October day and compared her with the woman standing above this chaotic, sultry dockside in Bombay. The contrast was stark. After all the highs and lows of the passage and the many and varied experiences I had faced along the way, any resemblance between my two selves was merely skin deep and as tenuous as comparing Nimbu Panis with Newcastle Brown Ale. I chuckled silently.

Sweat was trickling down my neck and back from the humidity, my eyes swivelling left and right trying to take in all the unfamiliar sights of this bustling harbour.

‘Doesn’t look much, does it?’ commented Ruby frowning down at the grubby façade of the harbourside buildings.

I leant out to get a better view between the girders of a giant, rusty shoreside crane with its chain and hook dangling precariously above my head. ‘Crikey, look at those police officers manhandling the beggars off the dock using truncheons.’ I winced as one poor down-and-out was smacked sharply against his legs and dragged bodily backwards.

‘It’s like Wembley Stadium on Cup-Final day,’ remarked Frances, borrowing Ruby’s fly-swat and making figure of eight movements above her head. ‘How we are to find our way out of here between all these crowds is beyond me.’

The sea of humanity began to part, and a canvass-sided sloping gangway rolled towards the ship’s side. Stanley took control of proceedings and the first-class passengers began to disembark, their exit blocked by stevedores and local agents all keen to make headway in the opposite direction.

‘It’s total mayhem,’ sighed Frances, holding her nose with a lace hankie. ‘And the smell!’

‘Get used to it, Miss Trotter,’ croaked Ruby, retrieving her fly-swat and decapitating a large blue-bottle against the rail.

‘To think, we paid good money to experience all this,’ I groaned. It was an understatement to say I was not impressed, and I was more than ready to turn around and head straight back to Riveldene.

‘Come back Soho, all is forgiven,’ was Ruby’s derogatory comment on the scene. ‘I suggest we get out of this dust and get a drink.’

‘OK,’ agreed Frances looking at her

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