8
Harry, Patrick, Mr Eames and old Mr Tilbury sat in a loose circle on the ship’s deck, chatting amiably; all were tired but content. A gentle breeze refreshed the men but did little to either ease their aching muscles or alleviate the multiple weeping and itching scratches on their arms from manhandling countless sheaves of hay.
Following a generous dinner of roast beef and vegetables, a bottle of cool English beer was issued to each crew member, its contents lasting only seconds.
‘Bloody hell Patrick, that meal wasn’t to be sneezed at, eh?’, said Harry while not bothering to disguise another loud belch. ‘I haven’t eaten anything that nice for more than a year. But mate, how did Captain Campbell’s cook manage to get the beer so cold?’
‘I can answer that,’ Mr Eames replied casually. ‘B
