Where Gold Lies

by Jacqueline George

  This is to assure you that, in spite of your mutiny and the hurts you have done us, we mean no evil to you provided you make no move to attack us. If you are prepared to help us, we will do the same for you.

  Captain Smollett instructs me to make the following offers to you. Firstly, we have need of one of your boats. We are prepared to leave you supplies of food, sail-cloth, cordage and other necessaries in return for one boat. If you agree, leave the boat here by the cairn and return to your camp. We will immediately bring some supplies, and the rest will be left before our departure for England.

  Secondly, while we have located Flint’s gold we believe there is still a substantial quantity of silver yet to be found. Should you be fortunate enough to locate it, we are prepared to allow you to purchase a passage to a safe port without fear of prosecution as mutineers and pirates.

  Do not forget that we will be watching you. Even as you read this we are watching. Any attempt to interfere with us or our business, or even to move north of this point, will be met with death.

  Yours, in earnest,

  Livesey

  Taking the warning to heart, I looked up and down the beach, searching under the trees for evidence of the threat about which I had just read. There was nothing, nothing to be seen at least. I called Caspar out from the trees and he came trotting down to read it for himself. We agreed immediately to comply. As we waved Chips in, I noticed the neck of a bottle protruding from the cairn, a brandy bottle. A friendly gesture in deed.

  The choice of boats was quickly made. Both were in good condition but the one we had left at the camp was some six feet longer. The size of a boat is very important if you plan to cross the open ocean, and the larger one would give us more protection and a better chance of arriving. We beached the smaller boat near the cairn and walked back to the point. Chips was suffering from his wounded leg and our progress was slow.

  On reaching our camp we sat below the palms watching the boat drawn up on the beach some five furlongs away. Two figures emerged from the forest, both carrying bundles on their backs. They were heavily laden and plodded slowly up to the cairn. We could almost hear their sighs as they shrugged off their burdens, and started to heave the boat down to the sea. Minutes later, they were aboard and pulling north. If they were bound for the other side of the island, they would have a hard journey.

  We wasted no time launching our own boat into the water and rushing to see what had been left for us. True to the spirit of the exchange we found food in plenty, an axe, some log line and a tarpaulin. There was also a short note saying future communication should be by letter left at the cairn. When there was a letter, the flag would be left flying.

  As we pulled back with our booty, our minds naturally turned to winning our passage home. If it was true the silver had not been found, we should devote ourselves to finding it. It was our assurance of a safe passage home. The alternative would be a long and dangerous journey in an open boat. None of us was conversant with the mysteries of true navigation, something I now regretted bitterly.

  Flint’s chart with its written directions was still in Caspar’s pocket. It was very clear as to the location of the gold, and we had found its old location quickly, in only a couple of unhurried hours. However, Flint seemed to have treated the silver almost as an afterthought. The only reference to it was a cryptic note ‘Silver in a like place butt nearer too’. When we got back to our camp we spent some time peering at it and wondering what Flint had meant. We had much of the day left to us and we resolved to start our search immediately.

  It was strange to start again up the path to the grassy ridge. Hope was returning to our young hearts and the memories of the day before did not weigh unduly upon Caspar and me. They may have weighed more heavily on old Morgan as he limped along behind us. The wound on his leg had grown red and swollen, and he walked in obvious pain.

  Our first goal was the empty pit that had held the gold. The buzzing of flies and a terrible smell led us there. George and Johnny were still lying where they had fallen. Decay had already advanced horribly in that tropical climate. As our stomachs would not allow us to bury them honestly, we could only grab the scattered tools and hurry back up the slope. Our companions would have to wait for nature to have its way before we could return and lay them to rest.

  Sitting a little way off, we pondered again on Flint’s words ‘Silver in a like place butt nearer too’. `Nearer too’ could only mean that the silver was concealed nearer to the tree which had served as a sign-post. But the description ‘in a like place’ was more difficult. The gold had lain at the swamp margin, where the flank of the ridge falling sharply had met the flat, forested swamp. Not an easy spot to reach if you had to carry large chest of gold along with you.

  We moved first to the tree and spent the rest of the afternoon in forays down towards the sea, looking for a sharp bank that we could consider ‘a like place’. Our search was fruitless. The little valleys running off the hill behind us were all round bottomed, and harboured only a few scrubby, dry palms with hanging leaves. There were no sharp banks with dense thickets at their foot. Added to that we soon moved too far from the tree and had continually to return to the tree and start again. Morgan’s leg was troubling him badly and he spent the afternoon under the tree, leaving Caspar and I to struggle through the long grass looking for signs.

  It was a heavy hearted trio that left the tools below the tree and headed for home. We had been unsuccessful on our first day, but we would be back.

  Chips Morgan slept very poorly that night, and woke in a fever. He would only take a little water and was obviously not going to be able to help us for at least one day. His leg was badly swollen, marbled with red flames, and walking would have been impossible. Making sure he had everything he might need at hand, we left to continue our search.

  At the end of an exhausting day spent combing the hillside above the tree, we returned tired and thirsty to find Morgan raving in the grip of a deep fever. His case was obviously much worse than we had thought, and his wound seemed to be poisoning his whole body. We resolved to leave a letter for the Doctor at first light. Morgan’s cries and struggles kept us awake far into the night. Towards dawn his delirium seemed to lessen and as we fell asleep he was breathing hoarsely through his mouth.

  Caspar woke me by shaking my shoulder. “Chips is gone,” he said. Morgan lay as he had the night before but both of his eyes were staring up at the sky. Yet another of Flint’s crew would not be leaving that hateful island. Before eating, we dragged and carried his spineless body some way down the beach and, turn by turn, began the weary business of making a grave. Shovelling sand over his staring face made us both sick at heart. From my Bible I read over him Psalm 107, the Mariner’s Psalm, for he did go down to the sea in ships and make his business on great waters.

  We were keen to leave our camp that morning, but less keen to return to our dispiriting search. Under the excuse that we needed fresh food we spent the day fishing and smoking our catch.

  Next day our energy was renewed and we returned to the task, though with little hope of success. Accordingly, when we had gained the height of the grassy ridge above the landing place, it took little to persuade us to sit down and contemplate our surroundings.

  When worrying over a puzzle, a man’s mind may become over-full of calculating. New thoughts and inventions are swamped by a sea of contingencies and suppositions. A new mind coming fresh to the problem might cut through this enveloping web. Failing that, complete relaxation may allow a shaft of light to penetrate an over-loaded brain.

  “How would it be,” I mused carelessly and not really thinking about what I was saying, “if ‘nearer to’ didn’t mean nearer to the tree? Perhaps it’s nearer to something else, like the gold.”

  “Couldn’t be the gold,” Caspar seized the idea. “The silver is ‘nearer to’ than the gold. But nearer to what?”

  “The beach? The silver is in a like place but nearer to the beach!” I was shouting in my exciteme
nt. “That’s where Flint started out. It must have been hard enough getting the gold to where it was, so he buried the silver a bit nearer. Nearer to the beach.”

  We stood up and looked down at the forest below. The abrupt change from swamp to grass followed the foot of the slope, winding crazily in and out as the sea of the forest lapped against the coast of the hills. Here indeed were plenty of ‘like places’, all the way back to the beach over a mile away. Dropping down to the trees we started to traverse the foot of the slope.

  It was a tricky march. The slope was very steep and we found it difficult to maintain a footing. It required that we should have one leg markedly shorter than the other to maintain an even keel. We began to realise that the constant winding of our course added considerably to the distance.

  We searched for any signs of a disturbance, any indication that the ground might have been dug up. And we found it! In a wide embayment whose floor sloped more gently into the trees was a longish mound, looking for all the world like the grave of a giant. It lay half hidden by grass and encroaching creepers. No force of nature could have made such a thing.

  We hurried up the slope to the tree to recover our tools. Working feverishly we beat back the scrub and started on the lower end of the mound. The difficulty of digging in that oppressive heat soon slowed us down. We had continually to enlarge the hole to give ourselves room to dig, and to stop the spoil falling back into the hole. The soil was not compacted and came easy to our shovels. Progress was fast and the hole deepening rapidly when two things happened simultaneously. Firstly, Caspar’s shovel struck something that made a hollow thud, and at the same time he flung his shovel aside and leapt back with a frightened oath. Sticking out of the dirt at the bottom of the hole was a broken, rag-covered bone.

  “It’s a grave!” Caspar whispered in horror. We had been disturbing someone’s last resting place. A moment later we were sitting halfway up the slope above, appalled at what we had done.

  I felt unsettled in my opinions. We had definitely found a body, and not a native one, judging by remnant of clothing. And the grave, if such it was, looked far, far too big. The mound must have been ten feet long by five broad. Flint had taken three companions with him on his expedition. We knew where one lay, a mute pointer. Had we discovered one of the others? It would be just like Flint to cover his treasure with a pair of corpses, just to put any finders off the trail. I determined to dig farther to find out what Caspar had struck. But I worked alone as Caspar would have nothing to do with opening a grave.

  It was with some trepidation that I scooped away the soil and extracted the bone, which I lay carefully to one side along with some more fragments. And underneath, as I had suspected, lay the silver. The top of a keg had been broken open by Caspar’s shovel and, amongst the dirt which had fallen in, shining coins could be seen.

  Shaking with excitement, I squeezed a hand in through the hole and drew out three silver coins between my fingers. We were saved! Caspar, his niceness about disturbing bones forgotten, embraced me and throwing tools aside we climbed up the slope and raced to the beach. We had to write our news to the Doctor as quickly as possible.

  We rowed straight to our camp but stopped only long enough to fetch paper for our triumphant letter. Only when we returned to the boat did we realise the view over the beach had changed. Floating at anchor just outside the reef lay the Hispaniola. The Captain had refloated her and our finding of the silver had come just in time, for he would surely not delay his departure long.

  With light hearts we rowed on to the cairn and left word of our news under the top stone. We picked up the flag and set it fluttering its call in the late afternoon breeze. We returned to our camp to cook and to watch for our message to be picked up but to our disappointment there was no movement on the beach before nightfall.

  We woke early next morning, rising with the sun to start what promised to be an exciting day, but our hearts leapt to our mouths when we saw that the Hispaniola had gone. Not a ripple disturbed the empty sea to the north of us. The flagstaff on the cairn was erect with its white flag hanging limply. We wasted no time getting into the boat, not pausing even for breakfast. I expected the worst and the message we found justified my fears.

  Our letter had been recovered and answered by another.

  To the Mutineers.

  We are about to embark for England and, as promised, we have left supplies on the beach about two miles north of here. You are well equipped and victualled, and with good fortune should be able to escape. The Captain tells me that you should steer to the north-north-west and expect a landfall after three or four days. If you then follow the coast to the west you will quickly come to Port Domingo. On our part we undertake to leave no news of you, good or bad. If your pasts find you out, it will be without our assistance.

  God be with you,

  Livesey

  Under these cold words, in a more ragged style probably due to the darkness in which it was written, was another message.

  I have just read your message concerning the silver. I regret that we have already considered taking you aboard, silver or no, and decided the risk was too great. I will, of course, represent your position to the Captain but I believe the fact of your find is unlikely to change his mind. We only put you to the task to keep you diverted and had no expectation of your success. I am sorry, but you have only your own dangerous natures to blame.

  Livesey

  We looked at the empty anchorage and knew then that the Captain had given his answer. The injustice of it all crushed us and I believe we were both close to weeping in our dejection.

  Marooned

  We were alone, marooned on a deserted island. Our friends had gone or lay dead. The Hispaniola too had left us. We were two young men surrounded by an empty and limitless sea, too shocked for the moment to order our thoughts.

  It is hard to convey the awful loneliness of our situation to you who have never been far from the next human being. Think of it. All through your life a good shout would have come to the ears of another person. Can you think of a moment when that would not have been true? Now try and imagine how we felt, knowing that there was a real chance that, for as long as we lived, we would never see another mortal soul.

  We sat beside the cairn and railed at the Captain, the ship, Long John, Providence itself that had cast us aside. But that was a dry and profitless occupation and soon we had mustered enough curiosity to go and seek the goods that had been left for us. We rowed up the coast.

  The Captain had been generous. He had left cordage and sailcloth, biscuits and pork, carpenter’s tools, nails and timber. We had a quantity of line and fish hooks of various sizes, so we might look for fresh food. Lying on top of the pile was another musket with its accoutrements, balls and powder. Shirts and trousers for three persons. A kettle and a skillet. Three mugs and a tinderbox. A small keg of rum and a leather bag of tobacco. We were at least handsomely victualled. There must have been enough there to support us for two months, and it would last much longer if we supplemented it with our own efforts.

  As we loaded the supplies into our boat, our minds turned to the future. We must endeavour to escape from the island. We were both certain about that. Our boat was conceivably large enough for such an enterprise, and it seemed that Captain Smollett agreed with us. It would need some attention however. If we were not to row all the way to Port Domingo, we must have a sail—at least one, two would be better as we would be rigging our vessel fore and aft. And we must load it with sufficient food and water to last us for, say, a week. A boat that is to brave the wide ocean must be in the best of conditions and I could already see small items that would need attention. And while we were working on the boat, we would have to survive somehow. We could not expect to go on sleeping in the open. My thoughts raced over the problems, getting a mast stepped in our boat, building a shelter against heavy rain, providing water butts for our escape, digging a well to draw the water. And what about the silver? Would we take it with us or l
eave it where it lay, or should we move it to another more private spot? And George and Johnny still unburied? We had a long list of tasks still ahead of us.

  However, the longest journey starts with a single step and in our case the first small step was moving our supplies to our camp. Then we determined to spend the rest of the day making ourselves more comfortable. A shelter was the first requirement. We set two stout saplings in the sand, with another tied between them, and draping our tarpaulin over it soon had the beginnings of a substantial tent. Then we devoted ourselves to a hearth built from coral rock taken from the beach. Palm fronds did service as a floor inside the tent and our little house began to look homely. The crew had spent several days living at the point and had left a deal of rubbish to mark their stay. After picking it up, we carefully cleaned the sand outside our tent and got our campsite ship-shape. By the time we had completed these preparations, the sun was falling rapidly to the horizon and the cooking fire took our attention.

  We did not stint ourselves in the matter of food that night. Whatever the future might bring, tonight we needed comfort and took it in the form of a generous meal. Indeed, the fullness of our bellies did in some part alleviate the emptiness we felt in our hearts. As we lay on our backs, watching the tropical stars wheel above us down to the still mirror of the ocean, we made our plans. First of all we would get our boat into shape for a long voyage. Then we could at least set sail with some confidence that we would come safe to land. Then we would attend to George and Johnny. We both wanted our friends to be buried properly.

  Finally, there was the silver. Here there we had a difficulty, not only from its considerable weight but also from pirates. We knew (who better?) just how we would fare if we were caught at sea with such a treasure. And if we came to port, how could we land it in safety? It was impossible that we should row into the harbour of Port Domingo in a boat loaded to the gunwales with silver. Quite apart from the land-based thieves we might expect to meet, how would we answer the voice of authority with its inevitable questions? Such a quantity of silver is not normally to be found in the possession of two poor sailors. So we elected to carry what we could in our pockets and hide the rest. There would be no difficulty getting a lugger or something similar to retrieve it, once we had sailed to Port Domingo and found out how and where we could safely bring it ashore. Best of all, Long John could help us, if we could only get to Port Domingo.