Where Gold Lies

by Jacqueline George

  “A hundredweight of silver bits and pieces. Well that would come in nice and handy for me, I don’t deny. But I think the Squire might be disappointed.” Elspeth chewed the idea over. “Yes, that would come in nice and handy. And what else is there.”

  Israel said nothing but it was obvious her guess had struck home. “Don’t be so provoking, boy,” she warned him. “Speak up. What are you scared of? You don’t think I’d be chasing after it myself, do you? So what else?”

  “Well, there was some gold as well,” mumbled Israel.

  “Good, good,” Elspeth was getting excited. “Several hundredweights of silver and about the same of gold.”

  “No, no,” Israel rushed to correct her. “There was less gold.” His voice trailed off as he realised how he had been out-manoeuvred.

  “So. Several hundredweights of silver and a bit less of gold. What else?”

  Israel sounded sullen now. “There was some jewels and stuff, but that’s all, I swear. And now the Squire’s the only one who knows just where it is.”

  “And he’s set to go chasing after it. And where did it come from?”

  “Flint took it. It’s his share, kept over a few years. And we took it from the Spaniards, so it’s clean. And we fought d----d hard for it, too.”

  “Ah. Pirate treasure,” Elspeth cut through his prevarication. “And it belongs to whoever may find it. How did it come to be lost?”

  “Flint died in Savannah. He had yellow jack and died, and Billy Bones ran off with the chart, the dumb ox. If he’d had the wit to hang together, we’d all be setting up as lords right now. Instead, he’s dead too and we’ve a deal of work left to do if we’re ever to get hold of that chart again. But we’ll have it, even if we have to turn highwayman to get it.”

  “Well, thank you kindly, Israel Hands,” said Elspeth. “It seems you’ve got a tongue in your head after all. And now it’s my turn.

  “The Squire’s off next Monday to Bristol. He’s taken all the inside seats on the coach as far as Exeter. He’s taking half his people along with him. He’s written to a party in Bristol already, telling him to look out a nice ship for the voyage, and he’s hoping it will be waiting when he gets there.”

  So here were our orders to get back on the road at last. There might even be a chance to retrieve the chart. We sat thinking what we should do next.

  “With a bit of luck,” said Israel, “we could ride up to Bristol on the same coach. That would be the sweetest thing. And if the weather don’t get too miserable, it will be a fine trip into the bargain.”

  “I’d better go and get our places now then,” I said. “There won’t be many left if the Squire’s taken all the inside seats.”

  “Tomorrow,” ordered Israel. “You won’t get to Bude early enough today. Start out early tomorrow and come back here afterwards. I don’t want the Squire changing his mind and us not knowing. We’ll go down Sunday night to Bude and we shall be sitting on top laughing at him as we stop by his gate. I believe I may even give him a hand up with his case.”

  Israel jumped up and bowed to his victim. “Why certainly, Squire, no trouble at all. It can travel up here alongside o’ me. And don’t you give it a second thought; I shall take care of everything.” He laughed. “Ah, it’s good to be moving again and quit skulking in these woods. Not but they’re very pleasant woods, ma’am,” he added quickly to Emmy, “but they don’t compare to the sea, and that’s the truth!”

  Nor to Bristol, I thought, remembering the little we had seen of it as we passed through last autumn. The door of The Spy-Glass beckoned, and the thought of some fiery cooking from Mrs. Silver unsettled me. When had I last slept in a decent bed? Discounting the damp little corner I had in Bideford, it must have been back in Exeter. In Worthy’s. I started to tell Israel again about that hostelry.

  The two cousins listened for a while then Elspeth, realising we had left them in spirit if not in body, called us back to our surroundings. “If you two will rest with your drinking and eating pies along with pretty girls, it’s time Lizzie and me were off, or the men’ll be complaining. Now, Dick, Lizzie has a present for you. She came by it from the parson’s wife, freely given so it’s not unlucky. And I believe you’ll need it more than her.”

  “You will keep it, won’t you?” entreated Lizzie, clutching something under her shawl. “Or I won’t let you have it.”

  “Get on with it, girl,” said Elspeth. “Surely he’ll keep it. Give it to him.”

  But Lizzie waited for me to confirm it. “I’ll keep it, I swear. What is it?”

  Shyly she drew out a small book. “Here. It will bring you luck.” It was a miniature bible. A finely printed one in soft black leather covers. Page after page of tiny text that would need a good light to read.

  I have it in front of me now, all these years later. Perhaps you have seen it on my shelves. It is stained and worn. The fine print is too small for my eyes now. What did I think of it then? Very little, almost nothing. I expect I regretted my promise to keep it but I was superstitious then, and it would have been very unlucky to break any promise concerning a bible. Of course, it was very pleasant to think that anyone should feel I warranted a present, and I felt grateful to little Lizzie. But not impressed by the Bible, even though I did keep it with me as you see.

  Next day early I walked off to Bude to secure our places on the coach. On Sunday we rolled up our tarpaulin, said our thanks and goodbyes to Emmy, and stepped out.

  It was a fine windy morning when the coach pulled up at the gates of Squire Trelawney’s manor. A trap waited for us, loaded with luggage, and a crowd of servants and relatives surrounded the Squire. For all the extra hands, it took a long time to get the luggage stowed, and sure enough, Israel and I sat with one of the Squire’s chests between us. Not, however, the one that contained the chart. That was presumably in the small writing box he carried with him inside the coach.

  When we reached Exeter two days later, we followed in the Squire’s wake as he moved into The Sun. He and his party would need most of a coach, and the earliest he could be accommodated to Bristol would be at the end of the week. After conferring quickly, Israel decided to take a coach on the morrow. I would travel up after the Squire had safely left. Israel had been thinking ahead and decided that the less the Squire saw of us, the better. We might need to hide ourselves from him in the future.

  Duty done, we went down the hill to Worthy’s, looking for a pie and a welcome. It was indeed a nice homely feeling to be welcomed by Mr. Worthy, who enquired after Caspar and the old shipmate we had been looking for. Israel had agreed that I should say only that I had not found Billy. Any mention of his death, or even the Admiral Benbow, might bring unwelcome attention. It was, I admit, even nicer to be welcomed to the board by Jenny and it looked as if my stay would be a fine holiday.

  That evening we were content to bask in the heat of the fire, replete with good food and close to sleep. So comfortable were we that Israel even volunteered some personal information, something that had not been heard from such a taciturn and close-mouthed man. He was, it seemed, from the nearby port of Topsham, the eldest son of a farmer-fisherman.

  “Why don’t you go back, Israel? You can spare a couple of days.”

  “Oh, it wouldn’t serve. It never does to go back to any place you liked.” He drew on his pipe. “I ain’t free with advice. Let a man make his own mistakes, that’s what I say, but I’ll tell you this. If you ever go back to a place you was happy in, look out for sadness. And if you weren’t happy in the place, why, it’s madness to go back anyways. There’s plenty of other places.”

  “But what about your family? Your mother, she’d be happy to see you.”

  “Gone. Long ago. And my father too, if there’s any fairness in the world. He was a useless old drunk, anyways. My brothers and I would’ve been a deal better off without him.” Such memories seemed to irk him. “Besides, I had trouble with the local justice. He’s about the only person would be glad to see me back. How abou
t you, boy? Don’t you go home?”

  But where had I to go to? My orphanage in Hereford had not a single warm memory to it.

  Israel left for Bristol next day, and I followed only after seeing the Squire’s party safely onto the Friday coach. The Spy-Glass welcomed me, and I found there the better part of the old crew. Long John, not wanting to feed idle mouths, had set them all to work painting, a craft with which all sailors are familiar. We slung our hammocks in the loft of The Spy-Glass. Mrs. Silver cooked, and we earned every mouthful of our rations by painting the tavern from tip to toe.

  That done, we started on one of the quayside warehouses. Was it one of Long John’s properties? It might have been, but I expect he persuaded one of his business acquaintances into having the job done, for a fee. He must have pocketed the money himself, for we saw none of it. He was liberal with the food and grog however, if not with money.

  We had not long started on the warehouse when news of the Squire’s plans began to reach us. He had busied himself with details he did not really comprehend, and was making a good deal of noise about it. Scarcely a soul in Bristol did not know of the expedition and its object. Long John locked the doors of The Spy-Glass that Sunday and told us how we would go about getting first the chart, and then the treasure itself.

  “I call it right neighbourly of the Squire,” he told us. “Bringing the chart to Bristol for us. If I’d knowed he was to do that, it would have saved Caspar and Dick a deal of sitting out in all weathers. And as if that ain’t enough, he’s going to fit out a ship for us. Our Mr. Blandy has sold him the Hispaniola for not much more than twice what it was worth.” Mr. Blandy was a well-known character in Bristol. Now that he is dead I can say that he was a notorious buyer and seller of old cordage, rotten hulls and surplus victuals. He had a name for selling old nags as hunters. Long John must, at some time, have put him under an obligation for he was always exceedingly civil when he came to The Spy-Glass. Or perhaps he recognised in Long John a man of violence.

  Long John went on. “I’ve put the word out, melads, that it would be an unlucky thing for just any man to ship in her. So we’ll sign on, one at a time. We’ll make like no more than ordinary sailors, and not let on.”

  How Long John got into the Squire’s good graces I do not know, but he did and was soon working hard on victualling the Hispaniola. He got rid of a couple of the hands he that did not suit him, and acted as agent to recruit the rest. He signed on all of Flint’s crew that had come to Bristol, and made up the numbers with a collection of rogues and hayseeds he felt he could handle.

  He also found Bent Arrow for mate. Arrow was a cross-eyed, drunken, old sailor wholly unfitted for the mate’s berth. Perhaps ten years before he had been a man to reckon with, but now rum had rotted him to the core. Long John fed him, gave him a clean shirt and also just enough rum to keep him upright. Mr. Arrow (as he was to be known on board) berthed in The Spy-Glass under the eye of its host.

  Long John had less luck in the matter of the ship’s master, Captain Smollett. I am afraid the selection of that hard and honest mariner owed little to any acuity on the part of the Squire. We heard the Squire had taken him to oblige a lady. She was trying to drive a wedge between the Captain and her daughter, who welcomed the attentions he had been paying her.

  Long John did not tell us whether he would join us. We imagined he would travel as passenger. All of us worried when we heard he would ship as the cook. No man can upset the crew faster than a bad cook. In the event, we need not have troubled ourselves. Long John ran the galley as competently as anything else to which he turned his hand.

  I remember very well the chance that deprived us of Black Dog. It was a sunny spring morning shortly before we were due to sail. We had gathered in the tap-room of The Spy-Glass, just about all of Flint’s crew that were still living, and were talking of times and ships gone by. A sudden hush broke over the room, and looking round I saw a smartly dressed boy standing on the threshold. This was my first clear sight of Hawkins, and I wish I could say more of him. I have in my mind a picture of an ordinary boy with a letter in his hand, uncertain of his welcome.

  We did not know who he was, and would have hardly noticed him had he been dressed as was normal for boys in those streets. However, Hawkins, in his fine, clean clothes, looked obviously out of place. We all turned to watch him wavering nervously on the threshold. He stepped back and looked up at the sign for reassurance before forcing himself forward.

  He stepped in and asked in a low voice for Mr. Silver. Long John hopped up to him and said quickly (and loudly enough for us all to hear), “I see you have a letter from Squire Trelawney. I’d recognise that hand anywhere.” He held out his hand for the letter but Hawkins, in hopeless confusion, took it to shake and said, “How do you do?”

  Long John laughed and said, “Let me guess. You’d be the new cabin boy, Jim Hawkins, am I right?” and Hawkins smiled happily. “Come in and sit yourself down by me. I’ll get Mrs. Silver to make you a wet.” Jim climbed up onto a stool and waited for Long John to return.

  “Well, well. The new cabin boy. Tell me, Jim, my lad. Was you ever at sea before?”

  “Oh no, sir. Only fishing. But I will do what I’m told. I really want to go on the boat.”

  “Ship, Jim lad, you must call the Hispaniola ship, God bless her. Otherwise we shall think you a landsman, no more. The Hispaniola’s a ship.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I try to remember. The Doctor told me the same.”

  “Never you mind. You’ll soon get into the way of it. So what do you know about this here voyage? What does Squire Trelawney want, stirring so far from home?” Jim was too young to conceal his confusion at the question. He had been told not to let out a word about the treasure and was at a loss as to how to answer. He had just started to reply when he caught sight of Black Dog trying to slip out of the door.

  If Black Dog had had the commonsense to grow a beard, or buy a new hat, he could have sailed alongside Hawkins until his dying day without being connected with the visitor to the Admiral Benbow. But the act of sneaking out confirmed his identity, and the boy raised such a cry and commotion that we feared all was lost. Except for Long John. He put on as fine a bit of theatre as you might see in a London playhouse.

  He quickly sent George and Ben to run after the fugitive, who had left without paying for his drink. He asked if anyone knew the man, of course without learning anything. He even called out Tom Morgan and gave him a dressing down for drinking in such low company. He even had the wit to find out that Black Dog and Pew were the only crew members that Hawkins could recognise, and Pew was in no position to trouble us.

  Hawkins soon fell under the charm of Long John’s talk, and shortly the pair of them disappeared down the quay deep in conversation. Long John had his free hand on Hawkins’s shoulder, except when he was pointing out things of interest on the ships they passed. The boy, swept away by Long John’s attentions to him, was looking up at his face as if fearing to miss a single word.

  Next day we went aboard. Getting a ship ready for sea is like trying to complete the spring cleaning before breakfast. So many things are needed to supply the needs of the crew. Tuns of water, barrels of biscuit, salt pork, dried peas, stockfish, flour. The Squire was generous in his provisioning, laying out for unheard of luxuries for the crew such as barrels of apples and even two smoked pigs. He was more than generous with his own supplies and case after case of wine and spirits were carried aft to the cabin, together with crocks of butter and conserves, cheeses, smoked eels and sausages. We also shipped enough animals for a small farm.

  Shortly afterwards, the Captain came on board and set us to moving the muskets, pistols, pikes and cutlasses aft to the cabin. Here they would be away from the crew’s reach. We thought nothing of it. Any captain would want them under lock and key. It only showed that Captain Smollett was no man’s fool and knew something of his trade.

  Our final day in Bristol brought a mad rush to lay aboard the last of the stores and
supplies. Looking rather like a farm, a wood yard and a circus squeezed into a tithe barn, we got underway at dawn and crabbed down the river to the Bristol Channel, still hurrying to stow below those items we could, and to secure on deck those we could not. For once that difficult stretch of water was kind to us and by evening we sailed free in open water. Next day we left Hartland Point and the Admiral Benbow far behind. The Cornish rocks passed astern and we were alone in the Atlantic.

  Smollett turned out to be a good hard master, who knew his place and kept the crew in theirs. No true sailor will be happy for long under a soft or incompetent captain. It matters not if the man shouts and swears at them, or rouses them out of their hammocks at all hours and works them hard. Always providing he knows his trade, they will be happy and respectful. Smollett knew that and dressed himself accordingly. He stood like a rock on the poop and looked every inch the king of his little sea-girt kingdom.

  Bent Arrow, Mr. Arrow as we had to remind ourselves to call him, was more of a problem. He berthed with Smollett, and was liking his position less and less. Long John kept him supplied with grog, and listened in the privacy of the galley to long whispered complaints. Arrow was not a man to count on, and he was knocked on the head one night and dropped over the lee rail by Long John and Israel Hands. They told us next day how he had been set to go to the Captain and reveal everything.

  Long John’s plan was that Israel Hands should be the next mate, but the Captain’s choice fell first on Job Anderson. Now Job was as slow as an ox when it came to thinking, and before Long John could explain to him again, he had accepted and we had a new mate. Not that Smollett took him aft to berth. Perhaps that was the reason for picking a man of Job’s class.

  The men who had not sailed with Flint were Long John’s next problem. They had to be won round to our side before we landed. Flint’s men had been split between the two watches and soon drew the others together into a crew. Nothing was said of our true purpose, as turning a man’s mind to mutiny is not simple. That was left to Long John and Israel. In the meantime, the daily round of work and watching gave us the feeling of living in a family again.