the Maw. No-one be wantin’ te go down there today, no sirree.”
With those words we popped out of Polperro’s harbour entrance and into the first gusts of the ‘westerlies’. We felt the boat rise to meet the swells, every now and then the bow plunging into an oncoming wave with a thump, peppering us with spray. Barney settled back in his captain’s chair, his pipe now somehow alight in his hand, and told us about the wreck.
“The Wreck be right good fishin’ fer sure” said Barney. “She be the U467, an old German U-boat, a submarine, from the War she was. Damaged and sunk by the Royal Oak. We called her The Oak. And a fine cruiser she be. Still sailin’ te this day do ye believe? But in ’44, mid winter it was and the ice thick everywhere, and hard as iron, the Jerries be sendin’ their U-boats te hunt the convoys comin’ in te Plymouth. The Oak be followin’ the convoy on this evenin’, and she sights the 467 on the surface, gettin’ ready te fire on the convoy. Must have fired off all its ‘toe-pee-doe’ things and so was goin’ te use its deck gun. But the Oak was too quick, and forced the U-boat te dive. And then the Oak chased it. Up and down the coast they went and finally the Oak damaged the U-boat with its ‘depf’ charges. She right scragged the Jerries that night.” Barney paused for a moment and puffed furiously on his pipe. He checked it a couple of times and when he was happy that it was burning properly he took another puff and continued the story.
“Now that U-boat was hurt sore, but it struggled inte the shallers near Point Perdition, not far off Blind Bluff, and it be sunk in ten fathoms no less. They was good sailors, the Jerries. They laid the U-boat on her side and all of ‘em ‘exscaped’. No man lost ye know. But it was off te the POW camp it was, fer the whole crew. And all of ‘em went home after the war, fat and happy I tell ye. Best thing that could be happenin’ to ‘em I think. But she lies there since the war, the 467. And the fish be likin’ her ye know. We been catchin’ fine mackerel and cod off her nigh on 30 year. She like te be a sunken reef, and ye be seein’ her clear as clear when we come te anchor.”
We dropped anchor 500 metres south of Blind Bluff. To the east, maybe a kilometre distant, we could see the white water churning around three large rocky outcrops that lay off Long Nose Point. To the south of the rocky outcrops there was another, taller spire of rock that rose sharply from the sea. “That be the Gannet” rasped Barney. “And right there, the channel between, it be the Maw.” Towards the end of the headland I could see the top half of the Looe lighthouse, its white roof bright in the weak sunlight. To the west, another kilometre away, Point Perdition loomed, then ‘nuttin’ but ocean till ye be hittin’ Labrador’. Beneath us the water was green and clear and, just as Barney had said, we could see the old submarine lying on its side below. It was covered in long streamers of seaweed and sea grass, schools of fish moving lazily along its sides.
“Awesome” breathed Max. “You can still see its guns.” We stared down through the rippling green. The submarine looked like it was in perfect condition, except for a thick forest of barnacles and sea grass, and some damage at its stern.
“That be done when the ‘depf’ charges went off. Right dangerous they were, that’s fer sure.”
I shuddered and looked back towards the headland. “Why is it called Point Perdition?” I asked Barney. “Is it dangerous or something?”
“Aye. That it be lad. That it be” replied Barney, spinning the anchor rope easily around a cleat. “The shallers hereabouts be right dangerous. All around Point Perdition and right across te the Maw and Long Nose Point. Ye see, we be gettin’ mostly the westerlies and a heavy sea. And when the sea be hittin’ the shallers then it be right savage. The shallers make fer a steep wave and a breakin’ wave, and they come right close one on top t’other. It be no place fer any craft when both wind and tide are agin ye.”
“I think I can see another wreck” called George.
“Ah, that be so’ said Barney. “Just be lookin’. There be many a wreck hereabouts.”
And sure enough, below us we could see two more wrecks, each coated with reeds and barnacles, and both surrounded by fish. One of the wrecks looked like a small fishing boat, but the other appeared to be an old sailing ship, its masts rotted stumps, streaming seaweed like tattered sails.
“That be the Annie Rose” said Barney as he baited the hooks. “She went down in 1880 close on – lost 25 that night we did. Be carryin’ spices from the East Indie she was. And fer nigh two whole months after she founder, the sea be black like tea what with all them spices and sech. So they say. Tis a sad tale too, the story o’ the Annie Rose. She not only be carryin’ the spices but also women and children, who did not travel on sech ships in the usual way. They be missionaries, quite rightly, travellin’ home from the Africa they was, but their ship sprung its seams in the Canary’s, and so the Annie Rose called in and brought them on te England. Twere a fateful voyage indeed.”
We all hung over the side and stared into the depths at the Annie Rose. What sort of ship was she? She didn’t look that big, but who could tell from up here. It must have been terrifying when she was sinking. Darkness, roaring winds, scouring rain, the pounding of the waves, the rocks coming ever closer. It was frightening.
By now Barney had baited all the lines. “Ye be havin’ a hunnert metres on each spindle” he said. “And that be more’n enough fer fishin’ hereabouts. All the lines be double hooked, so ye be catchin’ up te two fish each time. Ye be needin' Amos’ breakfast fer sure.” Dad’s face turned a nasty shade of green at the mention of breakfast.
Following Barney’s lead, we spun the baited hooks, sinker and leader in a wide arc over our heads and flung them as far from the boat as we could. Everyone did it perfectly, and Barney seemed a bit surprised. “We’ve been fishing quite a few times in Australia” said Dad in explanation. Barney harrumphed a couple of times and chewed on his pipe. “I see I be fishin’ with experts then” he grumbled.
Our fishing expedition was a great success. Max hooked in a huge halibut that even Barney seemed impressed with. “By gum, we be seein’ that on the table this very evenin’ I’m thinkin’” he chortled. George landed seven large mackerel, and Charlie and I managed three each, all “a good size” according to Barney. Dad caught four cod and a halibut. Of course we only knew what kind of fish they were after Barney told us.
We ate lunch as the Myrtle bumped up and down on the swell. Dad seemed to have recovered and even had something to eat. The time flew by and it was late afternoon before we knew it. The wind and the sea were starting to pick up. The swell had become sharp and lumpy, and every now and then a gust of wind whipped the crest off a wave and dashed it across our faces. It was refreshing and exhilarating, but Barney was starting to look nervous, glancing frequently at the swell, then back over his shoulder towards the waves breaking on the rocks near Long Nose Point. And the light was starting to fail. On the headland we could see that the lighthouse had started operating. The beam rotated in a clockwise fashion, sweeping to the west, flashing as it passed over our heads.
“Best get movin’” said Barney, reeling in his lines and stowing them in a locker. We followed Barney’s lead and packed our gear as quickly as we could. In the background we heard the heavy thud of breakers, mixed with a dull roar. It was coming from the rocks to the east. Even though it was getting darker, we could see that the sea was very fierce where it broke over the rocks. The water heaved in all directions, and sheets of spray and wind borne snakes of foam were blown high into the air.
“That be the Maw” said Barney “Like I be tellin’ ye this mornin’. If we blown down there it will chew us up fer sure. If it be takin’ us inte the Corehole we be goners, and that be that. We best be leavin’ now.”
But Max suddenly hopped up and ran to the stern. He pointed towards the rocks. “There’s a light on the rocks” he shouted. Barney spun round and stared, his face suddenly a pasty green. On the rocks we could see a faint wobbling glow. It floated slowly across the smallest of the rocky outcrops. “No. It canna be” croake
d Barney. “It only be October.” For long minute we all stared at the light, our boat pitching heavily in the rising seas. When he spoke again his voice was rough and hoarse. “We canna tarry. We be goin’. Now!”
By this time we had dragged our anchor, and were much closer to the rocks off Long Nose Point. The waves were steeper, coming one on top of the other, and breaking on the crests. As the Myrtle heaved and rolled, Barney hauled up the anchor and fired the motor, then turned the Myrtle and we moved quickly into deeper water. We motored west, into the wind, then turned and cut across the run of the sea towards Polperro harbour. Darkness was settling fast as we approached the harbour entrance, the harbour foreshores and hillsides filling with golden pools of light as the streetlamps flickered into life. As we moved smoothly into the harbor Dad asked Barney about the light on the rocks. Barney didn’t say anything for a long time. He just sat there, one hand on the tiller, the other holding his old pipe to his mouth. He called it ‘Me Comfort’. As we motored towards our mooring he looked at us sadly.
“Well me lads and lassies, that be a right long story” he said. “And one I best be tellin’ over a Guinness
The Ghost of Smugglers Run Page 2
