“We’re from America, seventy-two days at sea, and needing fresh water. We knew
Kinsale Harbor, and when we saw Old Head we thought we were safe. We came right
on in, and the first thing we knew we were under the guns of a Spanish fleet.
“We went ashore to plead our case, hoping to be allowed to go, and then the
attack came and our boat came back to the ship just as you fellows were coming
in.
“By the lord, Captain, you were a sight for weak eyes! When we saw that British
flag and heard those guns …” Tilly mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “What
can we do for you, Captain?”
“Where are you bound?”
“Falmouth, Captain, to discharge and load supplies for America again. We’ve an
Indian aboard … one of the savages, you know, but he’s a fine chap, and a
great help to us. We’re taking him back to speak to his colony for Raleigh. He’s
a good fellow and we’ve treated him well. We believe he will speak well to his
chiefs when we get him back. It will ease the way for us.”
“Your name?”
“John Tilly, sailing-master.”
“I am Ephraim Dawes, first officer of Her Majesty’s ship, the Sprite. Let me see
your manifest.”
Tilly led him to the cabin while I kept out of sight. It was unlikely that he
knew me, but he would certainly know my name, for such a story as the possible
discovery of King John’s treasure would be bandied about.
Leaning on the rail, watching the water, I suddenly heard a faint rustle close
by. Warily, I put a hand to my sword. The sound came from the ship’s boat we’d
hoisted aboard. I waited, and suddenly glimpsed a white hand on the gunwhale,
then a head lifted enough for the eyes to see over and then, quick as an eel, a
boy went over the gunwhale, paused, then darted for the shadows.
The last thing I wished was to create a disturbance that would lead to further
delay in getting the British officer ashore, so I made no move.
A boy? A small man? Or perhaps a girl?
Hesitating only an instant, the boy ducked down the scuttle and vanished.
Unquestionably, whoever it was had somehow hidden himself carefully aboard the
ship’s boat … perhaps with Blue’s knowledge, possibly during Blue’s momentary
absence. Only one such possible hiding place offered itself … the small
compartment forward where the sail was stowed.
John Tilly and Dawes emerged from below. Tilly walked with him to the ladder
where several British sailors were gathered.
“You’re free to go,” Dawes said, “but keep a weather eye out for Spanish
vessels. There are a few about.”
And then Abby came out on the deck. She looked quickly around, saw me, and
started toward me. “Barnabas … ”
Dawes froze. Slowly he turned, staring at me. My clothes had been badly dealt
with in the trouble ashore. I’d been somewhat singed, and I was dusted by
falling plaster and wet from spray. I looked anything but a ship’s officer.
“You, there! What’s your name?”
“Cracker’s the name, beggin’ your pardon.” I touched my forelock with
diffidence. “Barnabas Crocker.”
“This lady called you by your first name?”
“Aye, my family served her’n for nigh a hundred years, though we be from
Yorkshire.”
I’d worked with Yorkshiremen and was handy with the accent … at least to a
degree.
“Where are you from, Crocker?”
“Filey was my home, an’ well I wish I was back there now.”
He studied me for a moment, then turned and went down the ladder. When his boat
pulled away we stood for a moment, watching.
“Get some sail on her, John,” I said quietly, “but not too quick with it until
we’re a bit further along. Then we’d best make a run for it.”
Abby came to me. “Barnabas, I am sorry. I just didn’t think.”
“There’s no harm done.” I glanced up at the sails. The wind was strong and they
were drawing well. Soon we would be out at sea, and with any kind of a lead the
British could not overtake us. Yet I had said we were going to Falmouth and the
more I considered it the more I liked the idea.
We had shingles, potash, and furs below, and might get as good a price at
Falmouth as elsewhere. And it was an easier place to leave than Bristol. With
every hour in these waters I was risking my freedom and the future of our
project, but we had already made a goodly sum from our timber venture. What the
chest contained we had not yet determined, but it was more than the worth of the
timbers we sold.
Yet we still needed supplies, both for the homeward voyage and for our stay in
the new land. Food, also. And clothing.
John Tilly came to me. “Falmouth it is,” I said. “A quick sail in, we’ll dispose
of the cargo to the first buyer, then buy our supplies and sail. I want to be in
port no more than two days.”
“That is very quick,” he said, considering.
It had to be. That British officer might get to thinking, and putting one thing
with another, might come back for another look. At the moment we were nothing in
his plans. With parties of sailors ashore, and a chance of further battle with
the Spanish, we were only an incident in his life. It was unlikely he’d give us
a thought until the situation at Kinsale was settled. With luck, we’d be in
Falmouth, out, and gone by then.
The Abigail slipped quietly into the harbor at Falmouth and dropped her hook.
The gray battlements of Pendennis Castle, now in the process of completion,
loomed over the harbor.
Jublain stood beside me, looking shoreward. “It is the Killigrews you must see
here,” he said, nodding toward the town. “If they are not off a-sailing after
Spanish ships themselves, they will welcome you, I think. See the big house
there? Close to the shore? That is Arwennack, the Killigrew home.
“Oh, they be a salty lot! They’d take your ship right from under you if you have
not an eye upon them, yet they are respecters of boldness and courage.
“Speak to Peter, if you can. He’s no longer young, but an able man, and you’ll
be safer talking to him than any of the others. Moreover, although he’s a
Queen’s man he’s damnably independent, and he’s not likely to report your
presence or hold you for the Queen’s officers.”
“You know him?”
“Served with him once. He’ll remember me, I think.”
“Let’s be ashore then.”
Peter Killigrew received us in a low-beamed room with a huge old fireplace. He
took bis pipe from his teeth and placed it on the table.
“Your name?”
“Barnabas Sackett, master of the Abigail. I’m fresh into your harbor with
shingles, potash, and furs. I’d like to sell what I have, load supplies, and be
off. It is,” I added delicately, “my impression that I do not have much time.”
“Sackett, is it? Are you the one they are hunting up down the land?”
“I am. I was told you were a fair man, and an independent one, and I have
some’at to sell and much to buy. From you, if you’ll but have it that way.”
“They say you’ve found King John’s treasure?”
“Balderdash, Captain Killigrew. Pure nonsense. I found some gold coins and
discovered there was a market for antiquities. Here and there I’d stumbled upon
ruins in the forest and up on the downs, so I got a manuscript by Leland … he
walked over the country hunting such places. … Then I went to a place I
remembered and commenced digging. I found some more, but it was pure chance.”
Killigrew made a rumbling sound in his chest. Then he said, “Luck! I’ve no faith
in luck, Sackett! Luck comes to a man who puts himself in the way of it. You
went where something might be found and you found something, simple as that.
“All right, Sackett. I like the way you stand, the way you talk. What is it you
need?”
I handed him my list. “I’ll treat you fair,” he said. “You’ll pay 10 percent
more than I’d sell for here, but that’s some’at less than you’d pay in Bristol
or London.”
He pushed some papers on his desk. “I’ll have lighters alongside within the
hour. I’ll pay the going price for your potash. The shingles and what timber you
have left, I’ll pay premium for. They are hard to come by.”
He turned in his chair and rang a small handbell. When a servant appeared in the
door, he said, “Send Willys to me … now.”
He pointed to a chair. “Seat yourself, Sackett.” He stared at me from under
heavy brows. “So you’re going back to America?”
“It is true.”