and ‘Me Comfort’ in front o’ the warm fire. Mebbe later tonight we kin talk. But I tell ye, I be right puzzled, and not a little affrighted too, fer ‘tis early te be seein’ this I’m thinking’. And I tell ye this! That light is mebbe no light. That light is mebbe the Ghost o’ Smugglers Run. He be lookin’ fer the sailors that be lost in the storm. He be takin’ the careless, and he give none back. And the rocks he be standin’ on? Why they be The Rocks o’ Gold.”
Barney’s Tale
After we docked and secured the boat, Barney made sure that everyone cleaned their fish before finishing up. It was an unpleasant job, but we had done it before, so it took only a few minutes and the fish were cleaned and packed. Some of the fish Barney would take home, some he would sell. Dad put aside two large fillets of halibut, wrapped in greaseproof paper. These we would take back to Amos. When we finished cleaning the fish we took off our ‘togs’ and hosed and wiped them down, and helped Barney put them back in store. We did the same with our fishing gear, rolling the lines and placing the reels in the lockers behind the wheelhouse. “Ye should always be takin’ the greatest care with ye gear” said Barney. “It’s ever true ye be dependin’ on ye gear.”
Barney took the bait buckets and headed home. “Somethin’ te feed the ducks” he said. “I be seein’ ye in mebbe an hour or so.” We trooped back to the hotel and cleaned up for dinner. Everyone was excited by the day’s events, and we spent half an hour telling Mum and Anna about the wrecks and the fishing. When Charlie told them about the ‘ghost’ Mum frowned. “Well I’ll certainly look forward to hearing Barney’s story tonight” she said.
The wind had risen by the time we went down to the dining room, gusts buffeting the front doors, and squalls of light rain dashing across the windows. Thankfully Amos had a fire going in a huge fireplace at one end of the dining room, the hearth glowing beneath a huge mirror, surrounded by several large green easy chairs, some ottomans, and a sofa made from dimpled brown leather. The dining room was filled with warmth and enticing aromas. Whatever Amos was cooking, it smelled delicious.
We were the only guests at the hotel except for a tall bald man with glasses named Milo Leibowitz. Milo sat at a table by himself, nearby the door to the kitchen, chatting with Amos as he carried plates to and fro. Milo was a film producer from New York and was in Cornwall “...on a sabbatical man. Ya know! Ya gotta take a break now and then! That business is cut throat. It’s fulla sharks. Yeah!” Milo sounded like he came from one of his own movies.
Barney arrived just as we finished dinner. He waved to Amos, took a quick peek at Milo, then waddled over and sat down in one of the easy chairs. Barney pushed his feet to the edge of the hearth and spent a couple of minutes stoking his pipe, holding a match above the bowl and sucking at it loudly. Finally, with a large cloud of blue smoke hanging over his head, he looked around. “Ok now. Let’s be tellin’ the tale o’ the Ghost o’ Smugglers Run. And Amos, a large Guinness if ye don’t mind. I’m like te be dry with the tellin’ o’ sech a long story.”
We all grabbed seats nearby, while Mum and Dad settled on the sofa with Anna in between. Amos and Milo leaned on the bar, each with a Guinness at their elbow. Barney leaned back in his chair and sucked lovingly on his pipe.
“There be much te the tellin’ o’ this tale” he said. “We be goin’ back more’n two hunnert years, te the time o’ the smugglin’, te the French, and the failure o’ the fishin’. And the Revenooer. And a right hard time it be fer the folk o’ Looe and Polperro, fer they be poor and strugglin’. And, bein’ good folk and all, and jest like any other folk with children, they be wantin’ a good life fer the bairns. And so it be a tale o’ grand plannin’, o’ danger and loss, and some sadness too. But it be a tale o’ the human spirit, rightly, fer they be brave souls ye know. And even though their fortunes seemed often grim, they din’t never give up. But now I be prattlin’. On with the story.
Now the story be takin’ place way back around 1737. Those be the days o’ King George II te be sure. He was German born was George, and comin’ te the throne nigh ten year earlier. George weren’t a bad king mind ye, and he cared greatly fer his wife, sech that when she passed in the winter o’ that year, he was right sad. And fer many a month no man could speak long with him. And sad though it be it was mebbe this that saved some o’ the men o’ Looe. But I be comin’ te that.
And in those days, why Looe was a right big town. Much bigger than Polperro, ye know. Looe had a large fishin’ fleet, one that sailed with the Plymouth boats, cross the Atlantic te the Grand Banks. Best fishin’ ever they say. Was cod they was lookin’ fer. And cod they found. So many cod ye could walk across the water on top of ‘em. So they say. But the Basque and the Spaniard was greedy. They sent their big fleets out fer the cod. And they fought the men o’ Plymouth and Looe. That they did. And so the great cod trade through Looe, it all but stopped. Fer the Plymouth boats did not go out so frequent and, with the fightin’ and all, the catches was poor. And Looe fell on hard times. Many families it was that packed up and went off te Bournemouth, or te Bristol, or even London. Those that stayed looked fer other work. But there be little work in a town with no money. And while Looe be doin’ poorly, Polperro be growin’, what with the high road te Bournemouth and all. But even so it were only a little work was comin’ te Looe from Polperro, not more than cleanin’ and cookin’ and sech fer the richer folk. And the earnin’s be meager.
But some good fortune did come te Looe, and in a strange way I be thinkin’. Around the 1730’s a French family name o’ Dreyfus set up a powder mill. That be right. A powder mill. Makin’ gunpowder fer the King and his army. And it be a gunpowder with unusual quality mind ye, fer it was, by a turn o’ fate, that there be in the hills behind Looe and Polperro a single vein of coal o’ highest grade. And the Dreyfus, they be burnin’ this coal te make coke, and they be grindin’ the coke inte fine powder, and mixin’ it with sulphur and saltpeter and whatever te be makin’ the best gunpowder ever. Fer this gunpowder could fire wet or dry, and that be somethin’ that any king or army would value most high.” Barney stopped speaking and held up his glass. Amos was already filling another at the bar. He handed it to Barney, who took a long sip and smacked his lips. He took another puff on ‘Me Comfort’.
“And so the factory be set up on the cliff atop Looe, and the powder be produced in small quantities and sent on te London each month. Some o’ the men and boys o’ Looe worked in the factory and, though the earnin’s still be poor, every shillin’ was a godsend in that time o’ hardship.
Now it were that no family be earnin’ full enough te get by on what the factory be payin’, and so they be lookin’ always te earnin’ extra so te feed the bairns. And fer somethin’ more they was. Fer with the shrinkin’ o’ Looe there was the closin’ o’ the school. And the teacher be moved te Salisbury and not ever replaced. Now the schoolin’ be somethin’ dear te the hearts o’ the families o’ Looe. Fer they din’t wish te see their children toilin’ in the powder mill or strugglin’ with poor catches. Nay. They wanted fer the bairns te get a learnin’, and te make a good life fer thesselves.
And so it was, when the French started te want fer the gunpowder, that the Dreyfus, bein’ French and all, was right happy te sell. And the men and boys o’ Looe was right happy te do the run, te take the powder out te the French ships, and te bring home the Frenchie’s payment. The gunpowder was like gold almost, and with gold and rum would the Frenchie pay. Oft with stolen gold, pillaged from the Spaniard or the Dutch no less. And oft as not the gold the Frenchies stole from the Spaniard was stolen first by the Spaniard hisself.
On one night every month, when there be no moon, the men and boys o’ Looe would row te the Smugglers Cove, below the beacon o’ Long Nose Point. They would load their dories te the gunnels with the powder, 10 or 12 kegs in every boat. With a crew o' two or three men they would row te meet the French just west o’ the Maw. Fer the Revenooer was ever about, but the Maw they thought was dangerous, and not a place where any sane man
would tarry. And that was the Revenooer’s weakness. Fer they knew that there was smugglin’, true, but they couldna catch the smugglers. But they wanted that powder fer thesselves, and even more so, wanted that the Frenchies should not have it. And so the smugglers was ever careful. They wrapped rags around each keg that it would not knock agin its neighbours, and they greased the ‘ro’locks’ with gannet grease. And they rowed quiet, no splashin’ mind ye, and kept the boats well clear. Fer sound kin travel far over water, and if the boats was te be knockin’ up one upon t’other then it may be the sound te set the Revenooer loose.”
“What’s a Revenooer?” asked Max, in a quavering voice. “And why was it so dangerous?” Max’s question made me think of a story I once read, called The Hound of the Baskervilles. It was about a huge dog with glowing jaws, that came out on foggy nights and ate careless travellers. It was a terrifying story. But it turned out the Revenooer was something else entirely.
“The Revenooer. Ah, the Revenooer “sighed Barney. “But it bain’t be what, it be who. They be the banes o’ our lives they be. They be the