Bare-Faced Messiah (PDF) - Apologetics Index

most recently in service as a cattle ferry on the Irish Channel crossing. Despite her age, she was in
good condition and could probably be bought, von Staden and Pook thought, for not much more
than £60,000. To Hubbard, the money was insignificant; Saint Hill alone was taking in around
£40,000 a week in fees. He immediately instructed von Staden and Pook to start negotiating the
purchase and to make arrangements for the Royal Scotsman to join the other ships in Las
Palmas, although Avon River was still high and dry on the slips.
It was only natural that the Commodore, who was not the most patient of men, would want his fleet
assembled at the earliest opportunity and he was constantly irritated by what he considered to be
unnecessary delays in the Avon River's refit. By this time there were thirty-five Scientologists
working on the ship from dawn to dusk, sawing, painting, chipping, scrubbing and polishing. The
bridge had been completely reconstructed and fitted with new compasses and navigation
equipment, all the cabins had been steam cleaned, the fish hold was converted into auditing space
with rows of built-in desks, and there was a research office for the Commodore just forward of the
bridge.
When at last she was ready for service, the re-launching was rather less than an outstanding
success. As the trawler, sprucely whitepainted, slid down the ways, it was realized too late that no
precautions had been taken to restrain her; she drifted helplessly in the bay until a boat could be
found to push her towards a mooring buoy. To compound this embarrassing indignity, the
Enchanter appeared over the horizon under tow, having broken down while out searching for the
treasure buried by the Commodore in previous lives. Two days later, both ships set sail, somewhat
uncertainly, for Gibraltar.
The Royal Scotsman, meanwhile, had left Aberdeen but had run foul of the Board of Trade, the
British agency responsible for the safety of ships registered in the United Kingdom. On 7
November, a solicitor acting for the new owners of the Royal Scotsman, had telephoned the Board
of Trade in London and asked if the ship could be re-registered as a pleasure yacht and cleared for
a voyage to Gibraltar. He was told that such a re-classification would entail considerable
modifications - under the Safety of Life at Sea Convention of 1960, the ship would need valid loadline,
cargo ship construction, safety equipment and radio certificates.
The Sea Org decided to try another tack: a couple of days later, the Royal Scotsman put in to
Southampton on the south coast and an attempt was made to clear her with the port authorities as
a whaling ship. This sudden transformation not unnaturally aroused suspicions and the authorities
responded by slapping a provisional detention order on the ship, preventing her from putting to sea
until necessary safety provisions had been complied with.
This news, nervously conveyed to L. Ron Hubbard in Gibraltar, produced a predictable explosion.
Hubbard railed at the stupidity of the people who were supposed to be helping him and fumed
about the injustice of being prevented from doing what he wanted with his own ship. When he had
calmed down, he decided that the only solution was to fly to England with a hand-picked crew, take
command of the Royal Scotsman and sail her away, protests from the Board of Trade
notwithstanding.
Shortly afterwards, a curious party of sailors in blue serge suits, white polo neck sweaters and little
tar hats arrived at Gatwick airport on a flight from Gibraltar. They were led by a large, red-faced man
wearing a white peaked cap and carrying a letter of authority explaining that they were the delivery
crew for a vessel under the seal of the Hubbard Explorational Company. In the customs hall, an
officer of HM Customs and Excise glanced briefly at the letter brandished by the red-faced man and
casually inquired: 'Is this the same Hubbard who has the place at East Grinstead?' 'Oh yes,' the