Fisty's Fun: Schooner Days MVI (1006)

by C. H. J. Snider

Old Yonge Street Slip

ON one occasion "Fisty" Masterson brazenly landed two hogsheads from his schooner Christina at dusk, and began, with the assistance of his crew, to roll them up the wharf in the direction of a Front street tavern. Lurking in the shadows the whole Customs force (collector and two constables) followed the slow rumbling procession along the plank sidewalk. On, on, on they went, the Custom's men following, until they neared Moseley's auction rooms. Then the collector suddenly shouted "Halt, in the Ki—I mean the Queen's—-Name!" Whereat all but Fisty fled.

The collector chalked a mark on each barrel, the Broad Arrow, insignia of the Custom's service and convicts' uniforms.

"What are you doing?" he then asked Fisty, who. being one-armed, was much out of breath with his exertions.

"Racing water bar'ls on a bet," ' puffed Fisty. "I'd a won if you—"

"Fisty," said the Customs man severely, "if I didn't know that you had lost your arm in service I would lock you up this instant for smuggling. Racing water barrels on bet! You race these hogsheads of wine right into Moseley's rooms when I get the door open, and after that touch them at your peril. They are seized by Her Majesty's Customs."

"Well, sir," said Fisty, "I'll do my best to oblige you, sir, but seeing as how I've got only one arm I hope you'll not be in too big a hurry, they being only water bar'ls, like I said, sir."

NOTHING TO REPORT

"Don't go!" puffed the officer when Fisty said it was about time he got back to his vessel. "I'm going back with you when we get through here, and I'm going to see what you've got on board."

"Nothin'," said Fisty indifferently. "She's in ballast. Nothin' to report."

"We'll see," said the officer. "What I've marked will stay here in bond and will be sold by public auction within ten days unless claimed and duty paid earlier."

They trudged back to the foot of Yonge street, where never a light showed. The Christina was silent as a tomb and, as it proved empty as last year's bird's nest. The collector prodded among her ballast, and that was nothing but beach stones.

"Well," he said, "if you want your water barrels back, come up and bid them in ten days time. Goodnight, Fisty."

"We mayn't be in port in ten days time," said Fisty. "Goodnight, sir."

AFTEN TEN DAYS

Ten days later the auction took place. Fisty was there. He offered a "reserved bid of two York shillin's for the bar'ls" ere the writ was read. The jovial crowd insisted that the contents should be sampled before bidders committed themselves, and the auctioneer agreed, providing he also should be allowed to wet this whistle. Gimlets were produced and applied and two jets spouted into early extended cups and glasses. There was a gurgling sound and an awful silence.

"Water! Water!" shouted the experts.

"Is it that strong?" quavered the collector. "Danger of fire?"

"NO!" spluttered the auctioneer} It's that weak! It's just plain water! hat's been standing for days."

"That's what he said it was,"' said he collector bitterly. All the time we were following him and getting the stuff into bond his gang were making away with a thousand pounds worth of cargo that will never pay duty! This sale stands adjourned sine die."

"Kin I hev me bar'ls back?" asked Fisty, producing "two York shillings" in the form of a United States quarter dollar or two-bit piece.

REVISED VERSION

Another time Fisty let the Customs officers do their own barrel racing. They rolled a dozen suspected casks from beside his schooner into the warehouse across the wharf, put the broad arrow on each and went home for the night. When they came down next morning the barrels were all in place, but Fisty and his schooner were not. They, were not under arrest, they were free to go and come and they had merely taken advantage of a fair wind.

But the first barrel touched moved easily. The collector rolled it out and saw an auger hole in the floor where it had been standing. There was another auger hole in the barrel bottom. And nothing in the barrel but emptiness. That was the case with every barrel. But the floor was full. Of holes.

Someone with an accurate knowledge of the layout of the warehouse and the exact space the barrels occupied had bored upward from underneath the wharf, and drained off the contents into barrels and bottles below in a yawlboat.

The customs' man was very angry with Fisty. But why? As Fisty himself asked with generous indignation, what had he to do with it?

Masterson's Cottage, on the Beach - foot of Bay St.