The Ghost of Smugglers Run

by Robert Sullivan

pattern seemed to follow the fortunes of Looe pretty closely. Obviously there hadn’t been much action in Looe after the Powder Mill was destroyed. Many people had left the town. Even today there couldn’t be more than 200 people left living in the village. We were pretty sure that Rohan had outlived Leslie, so we started our search in the year Leslie died, 1765, with each of us taking a consecutive year. I ended up with 1768.

  The registers were large and very heavy. They were all bound in rough and battered leather, dark brown in colour, with embossed gold lettering. Each register was about 2 inches thick and contained about 200 pages. Each page had six entries, three on each side. That sure was a lot of BDMs. All the entries were in date order followed by a surname, so they were easy to read. Though all the entries were handwritten I was able to scan each page quickly. Some entries, however, were difficult to decipher, and I had to be careful that I didn’t miss anything. Staples, Malaprop, Cawnsey, Barnstable, Appleton – James Bigley – probably a relative of Barney’s, Cruz, Nunes, De La Hoya. I stopped and stared again at the names. Cruz, Nunes, De La Hoya! These weren’t Cornish names. And all had the same date.

  ‘Lost at sea on this 14th day of May in the Year of Our Lord 1768. The Fishing Barque, The Paula Christina, foundered on the Grande Banks in a Fierce Storm. All hands were lost.

  Capitan Geraldo Rivera de la Christobal, Commander of the Sister Shyppe, Rosa i Figeira, on this 28th day of October in the Year of Our Lord 1768.’

  Lost in a storm, just like Jim Herriott. They were only a few years older than us and yet they were sailing the high seas, braving wild storms and wide oceans. Just to catch fish. And so far from home. I wondered what sort of life they had. I kept reading, running my finger down the name column and keeping the name ‘Venables’ firmly in my mind. When I finished the 1768 register I switched to a new one. As there were five of us searching I ‘leapfrogged’ to the next fifth register, 1773. Again, there were so many entries. Thomas, Marlon, Battleby, Jacques, Albert, Whinney. The entries rolled on. Schultz, McBreedy, Markham, Venables, Addison, Hendren….. I stopped and ran my finger back up the page.

  April 6, 1773. Venables, Rohan. Passed from this life on the 23rd day of March, 1773. Taken by a severe inflammation of the lung. Survived by Beatrice Mary (wife,) Albert Ronald (son), Mabel Jane (daughter). Signed: Albert Ronald Venables

  I was lucky that I hadn’t overlooked the entry. My eyes were getting tired and it would have been easy to miss it. I read it quickly. Rohan had died in 1773, eight years after Leslie. Now, with a bit of luck, we might be able to find Rohan’s journal.

  “Well done” said Dad when I showed it to him. George was so pleased that she slammed her register shut with a huge bang. Dust flew in the air and Mrs. Mahoney nearly went airborne. We knew where to start now and fanned out quickly on the row of journals covering the years from 1773 onwards. But it was another hour before Max spun round holding a thick dark book. “Got it” he shouted. We were running out of credits with Mrs. Mahoney at a great rate.

  As it turned out we had been nearly spot on with our thinking. Rohan had indeed kept a journal, almost identical to Leslie’s in many ways. He had died in 1773 and his wife, Beatrice, had finished the journal and filed it with the library, just as Leslie’s wife Elizabeth had done. But Max had found the journal in the 1776 section. So Beatrice had either not given the journal to the library until a few years after Rohan’s death, or the library had simply misfiled it.

  Dad quickly examined the thick, dark book. “Rohan’s journal is similar to Leslie’s. It starts in 1718, when Rohan was 17, and the last entry is just after New Year in 1773, about two months or so before he died. I guess his wife finished the journal and then forgot about it for a couple of years. Or maybe one of his kids found it and put it in the library.”

  “Let’s follow the same approach we used with Leslie’s journal. We’ll check the entries around the night they lost the dories. And then we’ll scan the entries in the following years to see if they give us any clues.” With that Dad turned quickly to December 6, 1737. The entry was brief and ominous.

  ‘Date of December 6, in this Year of Our Good Lord 1765.

  We have been successful in our endeavours to this day. Our money saved is substantial but is not sufficient for the needs of both books and teaching. Leslie is keen to run to the French but one last time, on this very night. He feels that our earnings on the run will see us free to achieve our ends. But I am fraught with worry. The glass is low this last week and I feel a knyffe in the wind. There is a fyne storm brewing and I think we must treade with care. If another monthe was to pass before we had sufficient then it would little hurt us.’

  Rohan had been worried. He could see that there was a storm brewing but obviously could not contain the others. And, as we knew, disaster followed. We turned to the next entry.

  ‘Date of December 7, in this Year of Our Good Lord 1737.

  My fears have come to pass. We sent forth five dories this evening past and but three returned. The storm did come, as I afeared, and it was worse than could be imagined. The tragedy for the village cannot be fathomed with four souls lost. David Swain, Roger Docherty and Martin Haggley, all good men, have perished. And it is as a spear through my heart that I must write that young Jim Herriott is also lost. My grief is so great for young Jim and for my good friend Leslie, his wife Elizabeth and their family, that it strips the strength from my fingers that I can scarce write. This has been a fearful day and many will be the year to pass, I think, before we again feel joy and contentment in our breast.’

  Rohan’s journal mirrored Leslie’s, though obviously Leslie had been so overcome with grief about Jim that he didn’t say much about the other Looers who had been lost in the storm. No wonder the legend had lived on, passed down from generation to generation. It was a pretty bad night all round back in December 1737. One that they could never, and would never, forget.

  Dad skimmed through the journal. “Babies born, children married, festivals, new dories. These journals are amazing. And look at how many there are” he said, sweeping his arm towards the shelves. “Can you imagine the stories that are hidden in these dusty old books? I’d love to spend a fortnight reading some of these books, but today it’s the map we’re after. Listen to this. It’s dated six months after Jimmy and the others perished.”

  ‘Date of May 15, in this Year of Our Good Lord 1738.

  Thanks be to the Lord for my continuing good health and the well being and good fortune of my family. Emily, my fine daughter, has this day journeyed to London. She will serve in a Lord’s house in the Fulham Road. She will reside not far from Miss Jawali Kaur, the daughter of my good friend Purtaph. I trust that they will strive to meet, for our families are close and I would not wish to see us lose our friendship.

  This past week I have been joined in the dory by my other good friend Leslie. Both he and Elizabeth grieve still for the loss of Jim but it brightens my heart to see them returning to colour and strength. I enjoy Leslie’s company fully for I find him a man of minds, with thoughts and ideas that oft fly far from our small town.’

  Dad ran his finger down the page. “So it looks like Leslie has now gone into business with Rohan. That agrees with Leslie’s journal.” Dad continued to thumb through the pages, many of which were the dusty yellow of age, mottled and brown in patches and, in some spots, almost unreadable. “Let’s check the entry for December 7 the following year” he said. “That’s when Rohan first saw the Ghost on the Rocks of Gold. Let’s see what he says about it.”

  ‘Date of December 7, in this Year of Our Good Lord 1738.

  I have read in the Good Lord’s Book that there be more things in heaven and earth than any man can but see or understand. I believe that this last eventide I have seen these things, and it all but froze my heart with fear when I first did see them. The story be told thus.

  As it was a fine day with good sea and wind, and the water clear, I judged it to be a day for fish, and so I set forth in the mid afternoon on
December 6, to fish off Point Perdition.

  My catch was steady, for the whelks of Blind Bluff are fat and the fish found my bait to their taste. My anchor was firm set and though the sea and wind both freshened I was able to fish beyond eventide. Though now full darkling and the beacon bright on Long Nose Point, still the fish came. My dory was well set with a fine catch when I drew anchor at the 9 o’clock.

  As I turned my boat for Looe I spied a light upon the Rocks of Gold. At first I thought a beacon had been set, and I wondered at the brave or foolish soul who would venture so near the Maw. For even now the seas and the wind grew firm and the Maw was ever ready to strike. But I then saw that the light did move about upon the rocks, as if it searched.

  To better view the light I grew careless and allowed the dory to move with the sea close unto the Maw. This was very near my undoing for, as I drew closer upon the Maw I loosed the oars and, at the sound of the ro’locks, the light stopped and, in that moment, it became clear to me that it was perchance an apparition.

  And as it stopped, it turned, and while I could