I’ll have to talk to Mrs. Mahoney about them.”
“Will we all take a chest each Mr. O’Leary?” asked Charlie.
Dad shook his head. “I think two to a chest will work best. That way we can cross check with each other if we find something interesting. How about Max and Oliver start with the Widegates? I’ll do the Seatons. Charlie and George take the Liskeards and the one from Herodsfoot. All good with that?”
“Triple AOK Mr. O’Leary” said George. Then we all waited while Dad opened each of the chests. Every latch was corroded and he had to whack the key against some latches two or three times. But eventually each one was freed up and each lid was pulled open with squeaks and moans, a slight smell of musty books and old rags filling the air. George and Charlie were checking the chests that had water damage. These were the smelliest so Dad checked inside before they started. They were also filled with books but there were rolls of paper and cloth on top of the books. Dad lifted these out and unrolled them. We all thought for a second that they might be maps. But on closer inspection it looked as if the cloth had been torn from a flag, or from many flags, because there were stripes and symbols in red and white and gold and blue. There were three large sheets of paper, each with a drawing on it. The paper had been oiled or waxed, so it was in good condition, though Dad was careful as he unfolded each piece. One sheet showed a drawing of two men, each on pulling at opposite ends of a cow, while another man milked the cow. The drawing was covered in curly writing. Dad rolled it back up with the other paper and put it aside. “The stuff on top is fine” he said. “Just be careful as you go through the books. If they’ve been waterlogged at the bottom they’ll probably all be stuck together. Yell out if this happens.” Dad tapped his watch. “Three fifteen. Let’s see what we can do.”
For the next hour we searched steadily through the books in each chest. To make sure we didn’t miss anything Max and I would take one each, check to see what it was, then swap books and recheck. Once we had checked each of the books we placed them carefully on the cement floor beside the chest, keeping each small pile the same size as in the chest. We made sure the floor was dry and free of dirt and grit.
But there was no journal among the books in the first chest. Though all of the books were quite old. I know because I checked the print date for each one. Well, some didn’t have print dates but the others did, and they were all between 1847, a book called Jane Eyre, and 1921, a book called The Great War. Not a journal in sight. We packed all the books back into the chest and closed it. Then we turned to the second Widegates. It had more books than the first chest.
It was nearly four thirty as we continued checking the books in the second chest, swapping and rechecking each one. George and Charlie were rustling behind us, while Dad was making ‘Wow!’ exclamations every now and then. I thought at first he had found something but then I realized it was just Dad being Dad. Everything’s amazing to Dad. Twice George asked Dad to take a look at the Liskeard chests. One of these had been damaged by water and some of the books had disintegrated. Dad said “Try to see what the spines say, or whether there’s a title legible on the cover, but don’t touch them otherwise. They’ll just fall to bits.” We’d just have to hope that one of them wasn’t what we were looking for.
But our luck had run out. It was almost 4pm when we closed the last chest. We’d looked through another thousand books. George said it was a bust, which made Charlie angry.
“We can’t just give up George. We’re so close.”
“I wasn’t suggesting we give up. I was just saying it was a bust. You know. We found nothing.”
“Yep. Sad but true” said Dad. “Let’s go have another gander at the journal. Maybe it has some other clues. But first, let’s get the chests and trestles packed away.”
Mrs. Mahoney was still sitting at her desk, picking away on an old typewriter. It was past closing time but she said nothing about finishing up. We must have been in the good books big time. Both Leslie’s and Rohan’s journals were sitting at the edge of her desk. Dad picked up both and we walked over to the long table. Dad placed both journals on the table.
Both journals were similar in size, though Rohan’s journal was much thicker. The covers were made of leather, scratched and yellow, the L.A.H barely visible. The covers of Rohan’s journal were made of waxed paper, almost black in colour, scratched and scuffed and heavily stained. Rohan’s name had been imprinted into the front cover but it was almost invisible.
“Rohan’s journal is different to Leslie’s” said Charlie. “The covers are fatter.”
“No it’s not” said George. “ Leslie’s journal is the same, just a different colour.”
“Yes it is. It’s different” said Charlie. “Look at it, you can tell. And the back cover is the fattest.”
“Hang on a sec” said Dad. “Charlie’s right. Rohan’s journal does have fat covers, much fatter than Leslie’s. Max, pull the light over close and let’s have a look.” Max pulled the reading lamp up next to the journals. Even Mrs. Mahoney had become so interested that she was forgetting to shush us. She hovered nervously at Dad’s shoulder. Dad positioned the light over the journals and opened Rohan’s to the last page with the cover exposed. We all jumped with excitement. Even Mrs. Mahoney squealed. It was obvious there was something underneath the inside back cover of the journal.
“Look at that” said Dad, pointing at Rohan’s journal. “The inside cover has been sealed with a new page. You can see clearly that it isn’t the original.” Then Dad picked up Leslie’s journal and opened it at the front and then the rear covers. “Now look at Leslie’s journal. You can see that nothing has been opened and re-sealed. The covers are untouched. At least I think they are.”
“Do you think it’s the map Mr. O’Leary?” asked Charlie.
“I don’t know Charlie” said Dad. “It looks like old work, but how old? We don’t know when it was done. It could be that someone simply repaired the journal at some time. It might be nothing more.”
“What a bummer” said George.
“Do you have a kettle Mrs. Mahoney?” asked Dad. “If we had a kettle we could boil some water and direct the steam onto the glue. If we do that we might be able to lift the new page without damaging anything. And then we can see what’s underneath.”
Mrs. Mahoney didn’t have to be asked again. She clattered into her small kitchen and had the kettle whistling in no time. She brought it back to the table and Dad carefully directed the steam from the spout onto the top inside corner of the page. We all watched expectantly.
After several seconds the edge of the paper began to curl. “That’s it. That’s it. Nearly there” whispered Dad with a grin. He teased the curling edge of the page until he gripped it between his thumb and forefinger and then, carefully directing the steam into the ever widening gap, slowly pulled back the inside cover, exposing a carefully folded, yellowed document.
We all whooped. We could barely contain our excitement. There was no doubt that it was a map. We could see roads and villages, and even the arrow for True North. Dad held back the back page with his thumb and carefully wiggled the map until it suddenly dislodged and fell to the table with a thump.
Dad unfolded the map slowly. The map was perhaps twice the size of a standard sheet of paper and, though old and yellow and blotchy, unfolded easily. “The map has been greased” said Dad. “Rohan was smart. He wanted to make sure that it was preserved. Greasing the paper will protect it for many years. In this case it’s lasted over two hundred years. Let’s see what it tells us.
The Map
We all crowded up to the table, Mrs. Mahoney as well, as Dad spread out the map and repositioned the lamp. You could see that it was an old document. The paper was brown and stained and the edges curled. All the words and drawings were in a beautiful handwriting, but the ink had smudged in some spots and the writing was hard to read. There was a criss-cross pattern on the map, where the paper had worn on the folds. There was also a date at the top. September 17, 1764. Two
hundred and thirty seven years ago.
“Just look at this” said Dad, running his finger slowly across the yellowed paper. “You can see that Looe is quite a bit larger than Polperro. And look at all the wrecks.” His finger moved slowly along the coast. “Look how dangerous these shallows must be. The Duc de Bourbon. The Paulus. The Baron of Hull. The lost dories of Herriott and Swain, lost in the Maw. Then through the Maw we see the Silken Purse.”
Dad paused, his finger lying on Long Nose Point. “This is it” he said. We all leaned closer. Inland from Long Nose Point there was the outline of a building with the words ‘powder mill’ inscribed above. And at the end of Dad’s finger we could see a series of dotted lines zigzagging from the powder mill back towards Long Nose Point. At about half way between the mill and the Point the dotted lines split, and went in two different directions. One headed westward to Smugglers Cover and Shell Beach. The other headed eastward till it joined a dotted circle that appeared to touch the coastline. A big arrow pointed at the circle and above the arrow two words were printed. ‘PRINCESS CAVE’. These words were scratched roughly onto the paper, the ink darker than that on the rest of the map. I guessed they had been added after the map was finished.
“Here we
The Ghost of Smugglers Run Page 12