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smiling.
    Here comes the ten-cents tour.
    ‘- there was a ship come over from England, this is way back . . . eighteen hundred an’ something, back when England was as tainted with the slave trade as we were. This ship was called the Lady Grey ; she was due for Charleston, but winds had blown her up north a ways.’
    ‘She was carryin’ a few dozen payin’ passengers and two or three hundred negro slaves. She hit ice comin’ in. She was only half a day’s sailin’ from shore. They had a small hole, but water was comin’ in faster than they could bail it out. She was goin’ down all right, but slowly. Still, they got within a mile from shore when they decided to call it a day and abandon ship. The crew, the payin’ passengers, even pretty much most of the more expensive items of cargo, were ferried in row boats from the sinkin’ Lady Grey to the shore. All the while she’s slowly goin’ under.
    ‘People from Port Lawrence gathered on the beach kind’a helpin’ out, maybe even helpin’ themselves to a few choice things. This ferryin’ went on for the best part of the day, and all the while you could hear it from the shore, the hammerin’ of hundreds of palms against the inside of her wooden hull, and hundreds of voices wailin’ and screamin’ to be let out. Finally the question is asked of the captain, “What about them negro slaves locked up below decks?” He says, “Leave ’em. The condition they’re in, them negroes would be worth more on shippin’ insurance than sold at a slave market.” He says the valuable cargo’s already been saved. People up here hadn’t much to do with negroes back then, many had never even seen one. They were pretty shocked at the captain’s answer.
    ‘That evening, the Lady Grey finally lists to one side and quickly then she jus’ slides under. All the while the people on the beach could hear the hammerin’ and screamin’. The story goes, you could still hear them slaves for a while after she’d gone down.’
    The old man struck a match and lit his cigarette.
    ‘I presume there’s some hackneyed moral to that tale?’ said Chris, a little uneasily.
    ‘They say them slaves are still down there screamin’. When folks go missing at sea round these parts, they say “the slaves have got ’em”.’
    Chris nodded sincerely. ‘Right, okay . . . I’ll keep my eyes peeled for them, then.’
    ‘You hear that distant hammerin’ and screamin’ and you’re in big trouble, boys.’
    ‘If I hear hammering and screaming down there, trust me, Will, I’ll be back in this boat and halfway home before you can say scooby-doobie-doo,’ said Chris, smiling nervously.
    Mark shook his head. ‘No you won’t, you’ll be spending five minutes decompressing with me on the way up. Then you can run away.’
    Chris nodded at Mark. He was right, and now wasn’t the time to be goofing around.
    Will smiled, perhaps reassured that his little story had sobered things up some. ‘You enjoy your dive, boys. And mind you treat that wreck with the respect it deserves.’ He headed back towards the pilothouse and poured himself a steaming mug of something from a thermos flask stashed beside the helm.
    Chris shivered. ‘He could have offered us one, the tight git.’
    ‘I guess that would cost extra.’
    ‘Yup. On that note, care for a swim?’
    Mark pulled his helmet on and twisted it until it locked with a reassuring clunk. Chris did the same.
    ‘You hear me okay?’ Mark’s voice sounded tinny over the helmet speaker. Chris gave a thumbs-up.
    ‘You can talk, you idiot.’
    ‘Oh yeah, I forgot. Okay, Mark, you can take point.’
    Mark rolled off the stern of the trawler and splashed into the Atlantic.
    ‘Here goes,’ said Chris as he followed suit and disappeared into the ink-black water, leaving behind a circle of splash suds that were quickly washed away.
    Will turned off the floodlight that bathed the aft deck and turned on a fan heater and his FM radio. It was tuned to a