The harbor master sat at his desk keeping one eye on the pier and the other on his shipping file. He could observe from his little office that the Congolese dock workers were doing their job of mooring the Portuguese merchant ship. If his life depended on it, Major Dunstein could not find any information about the Saint Mercy. He had misplaced the harbor mooring logs again, something he had done many a time in the past, primarily due to the effects of his rum consumption. The Major had served as the harbor master for some thirty-five years, he now owned the harbor, the town, and everything in it. The two piers, both four hundred feet long had mooring space for three ships on either side. With a little help from his good friend Keeps and on the backs of adequately paid Congolese employees, he had built the entirety with his two hands. He had built the town as well, all the time influenced by the rum. The harbor itself was mostly empty on this day, except for this new ship the Saint Mercy, which was now docked at the extreme end of the north pier.
“Hey Major, looks like some good business. They need a new foremast, some sail, and rigging,” said Keeps.
“Good,” said the Major, “Have the men set to work straight away. We’ve got other ships due any day now.”
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