see no feature to its face, neither eye nor nose, still I knew that it stared upon me, and I cried out in fear. At this the apparition sent forth the words that caused my heart to all but fail.
“Save me, Rohan Venables. Save me” it moaned. Its voice was high and raspy and of the wind but I knew the voice. It was the voice of young Jim. The voice of Jimmy Herriott.
And that be the truth, by all that is holy. I have spoken to Leslie who is greatly excited, for he believes it to be Jim’s ghost. He says it may help us in our quest for the gold. Perhaps he is right. I hope so, for the return of my friend in good health has gladdened my heart and I would be saddened to see him return to the melancholy of this last winter.’
“Wow” said Max. “Do you think that’s what we saw with Barney? The ghost of Jimmy Herriott?”
“Well that’s what Barney thinks” said Dad, putting his hand on his chin.
“What did you think Mr. O’Leary?” asked George.
Dad rubbed his hands together, “Well, there was certainly something there, but Barney got us out of there so quickly I didn’t really get to see it. I’m not convinced it’s a ghost but who knows. Maybe its St Elmo’s fire?”
“What’s St Elmo’s fire?” I asked.
“Who’s St Elmo?” asked Charlie.
“Who cares?” said George. I could see that George was getting fidgety. And probably hungry.
“Hold it!” said Dad, patting the air with his hands. “I’ll try to explain.” We pulled out chairs closer to the table.
“St Elmo’s fire is a natural phenomenon. It often occurs at sea during thunderstorms. Sailing ships often have high masts with a small tip. When the air is charged up electrically by the storm it will sometimes develop what is called a voltage differential. This is where the electrical charge of the air is greater than that of other objects nearby, in this case the ship. And so the air at the tip of the mast can begin to glow. Of course this is most visible at night, and it gives the impression of a lantern or a bright candle burning at the masthead. It’s named after the patron saint of sailors, St Elmo. It’s considered to be a good omen.”
“But there’s no ships on the Rocks of Gold Mr. O’Leary.” Charlie was right.
“Yes. That’s correct. There’d have to be something made of iron, or something reasonably sharp and tall, otherwise there’d be St Elmo’s all over the rocks. And I don’t think there’s much out there except rocks.”
Then Max piped up again. “But Mr. Herriott said that the ghost asked about the gold. That’s not what Mr. Venables said.”
Dad frowned and pursed his mouth, then picked up Leslie’s journal and flicked through the pages. “Max is right” he said. “Leslie’s journal says that the ghost asks ‘Where is my gold Rohan Venables? Where is my gold?’ Dad turned to Rohan’s journal. “And now according to Rohan the ghost says ‘Save me Rohan Venables. Save me’.”
We were all silent for a moment. Did it mean anything? Did it have any significance? Then Dad shrugged. “What the heck” he said. “We’ll never know. Maybe it’s just the way things go when people tell stories. Everyone always tells it a little differently. Everyone always hears it a little differently. How about we see what else Rohan has to say? Here’s the entry about the men who were captured by the Revenooer. They’ve just come back from two years in gaol.”
‘Date of March 12, in this Year of Our Good Lord 1740.
I ventured this day to the town square, for today our friends Eric Mickle, Martin Newby and Arthur Valentine did return from their hideous incarceration in the Old Bailey. Leslie, Rohan, Ned and I stood with their families when they alighted from the coach and it was with shock that we greeted them. For they are now older men, their hair white and their muscles wasted. They were glad to see their families and greeted us well but one could see their discomfort. It has been more than two years since the Revenooer took them.
They have told us that their life in the Bailey was so terrible as not to be spoken of. Many good men perished from the poor food and sanitation, and it was only by their vigilance, and keeping to themselves, that they prevailed. They said also that the Revenooer was cruel but careless, and boasted that the Run was smashed and the smugglers broken. The Revenooer purchases his greed with musket and ball. But with greed oft comes blindness. Both Eric and Martin said that the Revenooer may have destroyed the mill and the Run, yet still he did not find the cave for he did not know the rule of the 300 steps.
Eric and Martin are keen to sail once again and will go to sea with Rohan and I this coming week. Arthur will take up the leatherwork in his father’s shop. We are glad that our friends are back and we trust that they will return soon to full health.’
Dad scrolled slowly through the journal. It was quite thick, and the pages were stained and blotchy. On some pages the ink had seeped into the paper. It made the writing fuzzy, and the ink had leached through onto adjoining pages. Many of the pages had a spotty appearance.
“There’s a lot of history here” said Dad. “Rohan wrote a lot about the town and the fishing. Many entries talk about how Polperro was doing so much better than Looe. There’s an entry about the Rocks of Gold and the ghost every December, but usually only a few words. It also looks like he and Leslie had a successful business. Which is good to know.”
Dad gently flattened out a page of the journal. “Here’s the entry for Leslie’s death, in 1765.”
‘Date of June 24, in this Year of Our Good Lord 1765.
This day we laid to rest my friend of many years, Leslie Herriott, who has passed away some two days past. I have known Leslie since boyhood and our friendship has been ever firm. Only once did Leslie want not to speak with me, and this for nigh two monthes in late summer in 1717, after I danced with Miss Jane Simmons on the Mid Summer’s Eve. Though I did never see Leslie speak with Miss Simmons, I am of the mind that he was fond of her for she was very comely. In any case he found his true love in Elizabeth and I stood with her today at the graveside. She is a fine and strong woman and good friend to my own good wife Beatrice.
Though Leslie was ill with the flux and the gout these last two years I did never hear his complaint. We spoke frequently and of this I am glad, for I feel I have not failed my friend nor I in our later years. To preserve our thinking, which I note to be a little cloudy of late, we have this last year prepared a map, which I will keep with my journal. We have searched many years but of both Jim and the gold found naught. Each year we watch for the Ghost at the hour of 9 on the eve of December 6. Never has the Ghost failed in its visitations though it speaks only rarely. We have journeyed as close to the Maw as seemed safe but on no occasion could we see the Ghost clear. But it looked upon us many a time, we were sure. And it brought us to tears what with the sound of its cries.
I will continue to search for both Jim and the gold, and I have sworn so to Leslie and Elizabeth though Beatrice thinks me daft. Both Leslie and I have been ever sure that Jim and the gold are to be found. But where? The Princess Cave is forever sealed and the run destroyed, thanks to the infernal Revenooer, and the Maw and the Rocks of Gold are beyond us. May the Good Lord grant me firm limb and clear eye to continue my search.’
“And that’s pretty much it” said Dad. “After this entry in 1765 Rohan seems to have lost interest in the journal. All the entries appear to be weekly, or even monthly. I guess he was busy with other things. There’s nothing at all about the gold. There’s one last entry in 1773. Listen to this.”
‘Date of January 16, in this Year of Our Good Lord 1773.
I am now in my 72nd year of life, and well past my allotted three score years and ten. Beatrice has nursed me patiently these last twelve monthes. Her kindness knows no bounds and she has been a great comfort to me though this bed is my prison and I am wont to escape it.
I am confined to my bed with the palsy. My limbs now shake so much that it be difficult to write. And I am ever cold, as if my blood does not flow unto my feet and my hands, and though I wear gloves and three stockings, always
must I have a fire.
But it is the boat I miss. I have not felt the thump of the waves beneath my feet or the whip of salt spray upon my cheek for such a long time. And the smell. How I long for the smell. Of the sea, of the rain, of the distant storm, of the fish fresh caught. And the cries of the gulls, the gannets, the albatross. I feel my heart swell as I recall these things so dear to me. I know that I will fly to meet them when my time comes.
I have not been able to honour my pledge to Leslie. No trace did I find of either the gold or young Jim. It is now so many years past that I have oft wondered if our search was naught but folly. But so what. We searched for love’s sake. And love will not be vanquished. I have asked Beatrice to pass my journal and the map to Ned Huxley. I hope that he and his son can prevail where we could not.’
Underneath Rohan’s last entry was a single sentence, written in ink of a darker shade, and in a different hand.
‘I close the journal of Rohan Venables, this 12th day of March 1775. BV’
The rest of the journal was empty. This was the last entry. Was Rohan too sick in February and March to make any more? The last sentence seemed to indicate that Rohan’s wife,
The Ghost of Smugglers Run Page 9
