Knightsbridge. Purtaph said that with the springing of the new growth and the sadness of this past winter she could not bear to remain any longer in Looe. I would that I could do as she but I fish now with Ned and, though the catch is sometimes poor, both families find it ample. Oft times we have fish to sell and the money is most welcome. I am of the mind that Ned and I will meet some success with the joining of our endeavours.’
“So it’s six months later and Leslie and Ned have gone into business together” said Dad. “They’ve continued to search for their lost friends, but without success. Then, in, December, something amazing happens. Listen to this.” What Dad read out made my hair stand on end.
‘Date of December 7, in this year of our Lord 1738.
This day I can scarce think and my thoughts race pell mell. Rohan Venables was last night fishing close by the Maw. The wind and the sea being calm, he felt it not unsafe to venture near. At the hour of 9, just as he turned for Looe, a light appeared on the rocks of the Maw. Rohan said that the light moved upon the rocks, as if searching, and that though he was terribly affrighted, still did he have his boat drift near, for to better view the apparition. But he did not tarry long for, as he neared the rocks, he heard the cries of a child, a sobbing to wrench your very bones he said. And he cried out in fear, at which he saw the light stop and he felt it look upon him and he heard words that made his skin to crawl. He swears that the words were “Where is my gold, Rohan Venables? Where is my gold?” And then Rohan spoke the words that were to sear my soul. He said “It be a ghost just rightly Leslie. That’s for sure. But Leslie, how could it but know my name if it not be your young Jim?’
We all leaned back and stared at each other. The Ghost of Jimmy Herriott! Could that be what we saw only two nights ago on the Rocks of Gold? But Max started shaking his head. “It couldn’t be the Ghost of Jimmy” he said. “It’s only October, and Barney said the Ghost only comes on one night each year, on the 6th of December. So it can’t be Jimmy’s ghost.”
“That is a puzzle” said Dad. “And we may never know the answer. Maybe the ghost was trying to make contact, to get someone new, like us maybe, to search for the gold and the lost dories. Maybe Barney will have an answer for us.”
Dad continued to page through the thick journal. In some years there were only a couple of entries. It seemed that Leslie would write in his journal only when something important occurred. There were several entries about the children, about things that happened while they were growing up, some entries when the children married, and a couple of entries that mentioned local events such as fires or the loss of a fishing boat. Dad stopped turning the pages, holding his finger in the centre of a blotchy page of writing. “This might be the last entry that Leslie made” he said. “It’s a long one.”
‘Date of June 15, in this year of our Lord 1765.
Even though my hand shakes with the palsy and the hour grows late I must write to my journal. I have kept to this without fail since its gift by my good mother these fifty years past.
This last year the gout and the flux have claimed me. My blood is impure, says physician Peck, and my diet bad. No more mulled wine he says. No more boiled mutton. Or salted cod. But what joy in life then if I eat only his dried beans and pickled beetroot.
I have been blessed in this life with 65 years, a good wife and fine teeth. I have many of them still. My children are well married and have prospered. Bess and Harold are to London gone and William and Portia to Salisbury. Bess and the boys are in service in fine homes and this warms me for their future is secure. But Portia has excelled. I feared much for her as a child but she grew sturdy and is now a teacher of mathematics and geometry at the King’s School. Portia was always dark of eye and sharp of wit and in many ways oft brings to my mind a picture of her brother Jim.
And my partnership with Ned has been successful. The catch has been strong these many years and we have prospered. Ned now sails three dories and I four. Our incomes and the wellbeing of our families have been well served.
And I am further blessed with 12 beautiful grandchildren. I cannot describe the lightness that these tiny beings bring to my heart. I feel at times that my chest is fit to burst when I hold them close. I have not seen them this past monthe and would dearly wish to see them again before I go.
Good Purthaph has visited me this last week and Ned and Rohan too. They are not the strong men they once were but their eyes are bright as before. I oft think how strange it is that the body and face I now have do hide the mind and soul of the boy I once was.
My one regret is that we found naught in our search for Jim and the gold. Even now, many years hence, Looe has not school nor teacher. And we did search, for many a year. Our talk is still of the next plan but I fear that all is now too late, though Rohan’s map may preserve our thinking. The gout and the flux will take me soon I think, though physician Peck says I am strong and will leave my bed before spring. My bones say otherwise. I am tired now and must sleep. Perhaps I will meet my boy.’
We were all silent for a while, even George. “Looks like this last entry was made only a few days before Leslie died” said Dad. “He was sixty five years old. Doesn’t seem that old to me”
“Ah, yes” piped Amos. “But ye should be knowin’ that sixty five be a right long life in that time. Why Leslie be keeping his teeth too, when many a folk was gone to the physician for to have their rotten teeth pulled. With large pincers no less, and they din’t be nigh twenty year. So, Leslie, he was a goodly age and enjoyed right fine health for most of his life it would seem.” I think we were all pleased to hear that. It was a relief to know that Leslie had a good life in spite of the hardships. But we knew that nothing could really make up for the loss of his boy.
“But the map?” queried Max. “What map was he talking about? Go back to that bit and look at it again.”
“Max’s right” said Dad, turning back to the earlier page. “Sure enough, and I quote ‘…though Rohan’s map may preserve our thinking.’ Preserve our thinking? What does that mean? If there’s a map, we need to find it. It might be our best chance of finding the gold.”
“But where would they put the map?” asked Charlie, turning the pages of the journal, then turning it over and picking at the binding. “Why didn’t he put the map in his journal?”
“Let’s put our thinking hats on” said Dad. And we did. The map! Where was it? And what did it look like? It was old, obviously, more than two hundred years, so maybe it had fallen apart by now. Anything could destroy it, water, insects, even people. Maybe someone didn’t know what it was and just threw it out with the rubbish. What a bummer that would be. And what secrets did the map hold? Leslie called it Rohan’s map. Did Rohan have a journal? Maybe the map, if it existed, was in Rohan’s journal. Or was that too obvious? Maybe it was somewhere in Rohan’s house. But we didn’t even know where Rohan had lived. And the people living there now wouldn’t want us searching anyhow. We were stumped. We just couldn’t see any way forward. Where did we go from here? Was this the end of our quest?
“OK” sighed Dad, leaning back in his chair. “There’s only one way to do this. We need to be systematic! Remember what Mrs. Mahoney said. We need to listen to her. That means we start at the start - and we do a thorough job.” We all groaned. Please, no more searching. But Dad was relentless.
“We start with a search for Rohan’s journal” he said. “But we need to narrow it down. We cast our net too wide today. When George found Leslie’s journal it was in year order, under date order. Unusual maybe, but not impossible to follow. Leslie’s wife stored his journal in the library in the year he died. Maybe Rohan’s wife did the same, assuming, of course, that she outlived him, and assuming that he even had a journal. I think we should go back to the library at Looe and look for the year of Rohan’s death. Rohan must have died within ten to fifteen years of Leslie at a rough guess. That should be our starting point.”
Rohan’s Journal
Mrs. Mahoney didn’t seem surprised to see
us waiting for her the next morning when she arrived, five minutes early, to open the library. “I just don’t know” she sniffed. “ Everyone is so impatient these days.” We grinned and trooped in behind her. Despite the gloomy warnings of Barney and Amos, we were learning that Mrs. Mahoney’s bark was a lot worse than her bite. While we arranged ourselves around the table, Dad went over to Mrs. Mahoney’s desk to ask for help. Mrs. Mahoney was pleased to point out the old registers.
“If you’re wanting to find a death from the 1700s then that’s where you should be looking. They run from 1600 up to 1865 when all the BDMs went to Polperro.”
“Is that the ‘Births, Deaths and Marriages’?” asked Dad.
“Yes” replied Mrs. Mahoney. “That’s the BDMs. But there hasn’t been much in that way over the past few years. Most of the registers relate to the years when Looe was booming, between 1650 and 1720.”
The registers were in year order and there were dozens. Lots for the years 1600 to 1700, at least six per year, dwindling to one per year by about 1820. From 1820 on each register seemed to contain about 5 years of entries. From what we had learned, this
The Ghost of Smugglers Run Page 7