tables. It sold Dagwood Dogs, hot chips, ‘Toad in the Hole’ and ‘Spotted Dick’, whatever they are, and weak tea. Everyone ordered Dagwood Dogs and chips, but when George was told there was no tomato sauce she said she was ‘aghast’. Charlie just sniggered. Max and I had no problems. After lunch we trooped back to the library. “Two more hours” said Dad. “Let’s go!”
We slogged on through shelf after shelf. We searched every category we could think of and, as the time ticked away, we could feel our chances slipping away with it. We would never find anything. The library was too big and, anyhow, was the information even collected in the first place, and even if it was, was it in the categories we’d selected? And to make things really difficult, we didn’t actually know what we were looking for. “We’re shooting blind” said George. “We might be here forever.”
Over lunch Dad had said that the reason there was no information on 18th Century smuggling was possibly because the books had been borrowed or stolen by other treasure hunters and never returned. He was right. Everyone was interested in the lost gold. And they might have taken anything they found, without telling Mrs. Mahoney. And if millions of others had already searched for the gold and failed, why would we succeed? I was starting to think that maybe this treasure hunter stuff wasn’t so hot after all.
We watched the clock as we searched. Slowly the minutes ticked by and then, at 2.45, when we had all but given up, George let out a loud whistle. “I’ve got it” she yelled. Mrs. Mahoney jumped to her feet but Dad waved to her. “It’ll be fine. We’ll keep it down” he said.
As Mrs. Mahoney sniffed and ‘harrumphed’ herself back into her chair, we all clustered in the corner around George. She plopped the book on the table. “It’s the journal of Leslie Herriott” she said. “But it wasn’t where we thought it might be.”
“Where did you find it?” asked Charlie.
“Well” said George “The journals weren’t really in strict alphabetic order. They were, sort of - but they were also in year order. So I had to search all the “Js” and “Hs” in each year. I searched all the years between 1700 and 1750 but didn’t find anything. So I decided to keep going. I found Leslie Herriott’s journal in the 1765 section.”
“That’s awesome” said Max.
“Yeah. Good one George” said Charlie.
“Sure is” said Dad “Well done George, that’s smart sleuthing.” George almost popped with pride. “Now let’s have a look at the journal and see what we can find.”
Dad placed the journal on the table. It was almost the same size as one of my schoolbooks, but much thicker. The covers were made of stained leather, which might have been dark brown once, but was now so scratched and scuffed that it had the colour of sawdust. Imprinted on the front cover were three letters in large type – L.A.H. Dad opened the journal to the first page. It was the title page, and it told Leslie’s life story is only five lines. Leslie Aloysius Herriot. Born in Lincolnshire in 1700, and died in Cornwall in 1765. We could see that there were two different styles of writing. Leslie would have written his own name and birthday, but someone else would have added the date that he died.
Journal
of
Leslie Aloysius Herriott
Born - Lincolnshire May 7th, 1700
Departed from this Life in Polperro on this day of our Lord
June 22nd 1765
We all stared at the page for a few moments. It was so long ago. Then Dad turned to the next page. It was the Herriott family tree. It showed the names and birthdays of all the Herriott family. Dad ran his finger down the page.
The Family Tree of Herriott & O’Donoghue
Leslie Aloysius Herriott - Elizabeth Mary O’Donoghue
James Ogilvy Elizabeth Eleanor William Leaven Harold Leslie Portia Estelle
“It shows that Leslie and Elizabeth were married in 1722 and that they had five children. Of which Jim was the eldest. Three were born in Looe - Jim, William and Harold. Elizabeth was born in Polperro, and Portia was born in Plymouth. So these are the ‘littluns’ that Barney referred to.”
Dad began to skim through the journal. “There’s too much here for us to go through right now” he said as he turned to Mrs. Mahoney. She agreed to let us borrow the journal as long as we returned it the next morning. “Done deal!” said Dad. “Let’s get back to the hotel. We’ll set up in the dining room. Amos might even be able to help.”
We trekked back along the path to Polperro. It was late afternoon and the sun was low on the horizon, giving its last glare beneath a bank of purple clouds before it slipped into the sea. The seas below were calm. Even waters around the Maw and the Rocks of Gold looked peaceful. But there was a faint wetness in the air, a soft touch that gave you goose bumps, and we remembered Barney’s chilling words from last night, in front of the fire in the Cod’s Roe. “Never underestimate the Maw” he said. “It ne’er sleeps nor rests and if ye be careless for but one moment, it be strikin’, and ye be gone.”
When we arrived back at the Cod’s Roe we told Amos what we had found. “Well that be right good me young buckos” he boomed. “And good luck too. We’ve had lots o’ people search for an answer to that one. But none has ever found it. So be getting’ ye’selves into the dinin’ room and I’ll be stokin’ the fire for ye.”
We clustered around the big easy chair as Dad opened the journal. “The journal’s in date order” he said. “That’s good for us because we’re looking for the 6th of December, 1737.” He turned the pages over slowly and respectfully. “The first entry is on the 7th of May, 1716 and the last entry is on the 15th of June, 1765. It’s the story of his whole life. Let’s see what it says in December 1737.”
We watched as Dad turned through the pages, looking for the right year and month. A whole life I remember thinking. In one book? I couldn’t imagine keeping a journal for every day of my life. If I did, and Mum saw it, I’d be grounded for months. Dad stopped and looked up. “Here it is” he said.
‘Date of December 6, in this year of our Lord 1737.
The catch remains poor as throughout this past year. It provides not an ample wage and we must work double hard to secure our table. Our toil at the powder mill is most vexatious. Though we may scour till our flesh be raw, still we are never clean, for the powder seems to sink into the very skin. Jim’s eyes are ever red and water constantly and the ointment seems not effective. I would that we could put the boy to better toil for he is strong and of sharp wit.
Young Bess and William grow like weeds and Harold is oft his mother’s bane. I worry for Portia, our youngest, for she grows quickly and is strong of mind, but her chest doth trouble her and the Cornish winter is hard.
Another shipment is planned this eventide. Some 60 kegs will be transported, requiring the use of full five dories. Ned Huxley and Rohan Venables will lead, followed by David Swain and Eric Mickle. I, Purtaph and Jim will carry the final load. God speed us on our journey, for with this will our endeavours be secured and the school and the books be safeguarded by the French coin.’
We looked at each other in excitement, pulling our chairs closer so that we could all read the journal at the same time. Just then Amos came in and dropped a plate of fat yellow scones on the side table. “These be from Petra at the café” he said. “Petra’s pumpkin scones are famous for sure. I think ye’ll be likin’ them.” But only George grabbed one. The rest of us just wanted to find out what was written in Leslie’s journal. Dad turned to the next entry.
‘Date of December 7, in this year of our Lord 1737.
We are beset with grief. Our shipment of last evening has gone awry and our dear son Jim is lost to the sea. His good mother Elizabeth has taken to her bed and the children cannot be consoled. Though Purtaph and I, and good Ned Huxley and Rohan Venables did all search both the night and the day, we could find no trace of Jim or the boat.
Also lost are the good men David Swain, Roger Docherty and Martin Haggley. Their families are stricken. And the Revenooer has given no peace. He has destr
oyed the powder mill and blocked the run so the Princess Cave is sealed forever. And he has captured and taken Eric and his crew up to London and we fear for them. God has spared good Purtaph and I but I wonder that we can ever recover this dreadful loss.
The clock is striking twelve. It is the midnight hour and I am sorely tired. Tomorrow we will search again, but the glass is low and the storm grows worse. I fear that we may not see our Jim again.’
While we watched expectantly Dad continued to page through the journal, studying each entry, looking for anything that could tell us what had happened. After several minutes he glanced up. “I’ve found a couple of entries that look like they might help. One is in May 1738, and the other is a year after the loss of Jim and the gold, in December of the same year.”
‘Date of May 22nd, in this year of our Lord 1738.
It is nigh six monthe that Jim is gone. Our search has continued but has brought us naught. The children grow like small trees and seem happy. Elizabeth is strong but is melancholy. I am better myself by far, but my heart grieves for her.
This day good Purtaph attended our door. His daughter, Jawali Kaur, his princess as he so often makes comment, is to London gone. She is to serve in a large house in the