SS Glasgow Castle 11 Chapter Eleven

"In the summer of 1812, as Napoleon's Grand Army marched on Moscow, a thirty-gun frigate named 'Swallow' left Plymouth, and set sail for the African coast," he said, and paused to blow smoke at the ceiling. Then he eyed me for a moment in a calculating manner. It should have set off an alarm bell, but it didn't. All I can say is this: be extra careful when you're drinking really good booze.

"The 'Swallow' wasn't a very nice s.h.i.+p," Kross resumed. "In fact, in those days life aboard any s.h.i.+p was pure h.e.l.l. And it was even more h.e.l.lish on board of the 'Swallow', because her crew consisted of possibly the worst bunch of ruffians in the Royal Navy. Practically all of the seamen had been press-ganged – kidnapped by a marine patrol, dragged on board of the s.h.i.+p, and kept in irons until it put out to sea.

"Its captain, a guy called Connacher, wasn't much better. He believed the war was there for his own personal profit, and stole much more than was customary from the money he received for provisioning the s.h.i.+p. He also took bribes - a very lucrative sideline just then. Britain had just outlawed slave trade, and any slaver captains were to be hunted down and hung without trial.

"The 'Swallow' had been specifically sent out on slaver patrol, but somehow she failed to stop a single slave s.h.i.+p. And of course Connacher took advantage of every opportunity to trade the proverbial gla.s.s beads for diamonds. And now we come to an important point - " I distinctly remember Kross leaning forward at this juncture, sticking his foul cigarette right under my nose. He said:

"Connacher kept everything he'd acc.u.mulated in a lifetime of sailing and stealing in a trunk, right in his cabin. And his first lieutenant, a man called Avery found it out."

"Like that famous pirate?" I think I said. "Listen, could you move this cigarette away from my face?"

"Sorry. No, the Avery I'm talking about was not related to the pirate. Now shut up and listen," said Kross, pouring more booze, which silenced me very effectively.

"The 'Swallow' had hardly taken station off the African coast when the crew started to grumble," he said. "There was the food, or lack of it. Also, during the overhaul, some of the s.h.i.+p's rotten oak was replaced with teak. Teak is as hard as oak – but its splinters are poisonous. And in a battle between wooden s.h.i.+ps, most wounds..." Kross shrugged, and I remember envisioning a hedgehog-like sailor as he continued:

"Every month or so, the 'Swallow' stopped at an anchorage off a place called Dixon's Cove - an anchorage featuring a village and a British fort - to pick up fresh water, fruit, and vegetables. Once the rainy season began, it wasn't always possible to put to sh.o.r.e right away. And on one of these occasions, the s.h.i.+t hit the fan.

"The 'Swallow' threw down her anchor just before midnight, in a sea boiling under the pounding rain. Avery, having recorded this fact in the s.h.i.+p's log, went for a final round of the decks. He heard raised voices, and ended up eavesdropping outside the crew's quarters in the forecastle. The sailors were preparing a mutiny - the 'Swallow' was moments away from becoming a pirate s.h.i.+p."

"You don't say," I said. Kross ignored me. He said:

"Avery ran to tell Connacher, who panicked. He ordered Avery to lock the s.h.i.+p's steering wheel and lower the stern dinghy. He intended to go ash.o.r.e, and return in the morning with several boatloads of troops from the fort's garrison.

"Avery did as he was told to. No one noticed – the rain had swept the decks clean. Then he went to get Connacher, and Connacher's luggage. That was when he found out that Connacher's life savings amounted to a small fortune. The stolen Navy money, the bribes, the profits from Connacher's private transactions – it had all added up to quite a lot by the time Avery flung his legs over the stern rail, and slid down a rope into the waiting dinghy."

"f.u.c.k, it's a treasure story!" I think I cried out with drunken delight. He fixed me with a glittering eye not unlike the Ancient Mariner's. He said:

"Yes. Shut up and listen. The next morning, the colonel in command of the garrison at Dixon's Cove was told a man claiming to be a British naval officer wanted to speak to him. The man introduced himself as lieutenant Avery, but could not produce any proof of his ident.i.ty – he was naked save for a pair of breeches. He told the colonel there had been a mutiny offsh.o.r.e, and that he and the s.h.i.+p's captain had barely escaped with their lives. Unfortunately, Avery added, shortly thereafter their boat capsized, and the thrifty captain drowned.

"The colonel was suspicious. The fort's guards hadn't reported any s.h.i.+ps offsh.o.r.e. True, it was still raining heavily, and visibility was very poor; according to Avery, that was why Connacher was afraid to anchor closer to sh.o.r.e. But no explanation could alter the fact that permitting a mutiny to take place wasn't what was expected of a naval officer. The colonel stopped short of putting Avery under arrest; instead, he had him promise he would not venture outside the fort. Then he sent out a sloop to look for the 'Swallow'. But no one ever saw the 'Swallow' again, and within a fortnight, Avery had broken his parole and disappeared into the jungle.

"I bet he took the money with him too," I'm sure I said, because I can clearly remember Kross smiling thinly and saying:

"Not quite. Now let's fast-forward twenty years, to the eighteen thirties. France is conquering northwestern Africa. In the process, French troops liberate a white slave. It's our friend Avery, and he's not well – in fact he's close to death. He makes it to England, but dies just a few months later in a Suss.e.x village inn. But before he expires, Avery has a long conversation with the local vicar. He tells the vicar everything about himself, and about a fabulous treasure he'd left hidden on the West African coast. The generous Avery donates this treasure to the village church and the establishment of an orphanage.

"How n.o.ble," I think I sneered. "He knew he won't spend it."

"Greenbottle – that was the vicar's name – wasn't excited by Avery's gift. He had been at the receiving end of many deathbed donations made by people hoping to buy a blissful eternity. In his experience, many of these pledges consisted of things that didn't belong to the dying benefactors. Greenbottle had been the shepherd of his little flock for over forty years; during that time, his church had been given, among others, a gold mine in Brazil and a castle in Scotland. So he had good grounds to suspect that Avery's treasure existed only in Avery's mind."

I remember interrupting, and asking Kross how he came to know all this.

"Because something about Avery must have impressed the vicar," he told me. "A few years later, he decided he'd like to continue providing spiritual guidance after death, and wrote a long ma.n.u.script consisting of moral teachings thickly spiced with real-life examples. When he had finished, he had the ma.n.u.script bound into a book.

"The vicar duly died, and his book was stuck in a drawer - I suspect everyone was sick of his sermonizing, and had no desire to read what they'd already heard a thousand times. The book stayed in the drawer, and the chest of drawers stayed in the vicarage for close on two centuries. Then, quite recently, the vicarage had a jumble sale. Greenbottle's masterpiece was bought by a tourist – a nice Canadian girl bicycling through Suss.e.x. She did try to read it, but didn't get far. I don't blame her. I read it, and I'm glad I'm not a member of Greenbottle's flock. Mind you, he did a pretty racy piece on adultery."

"You read it?"
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"Yes. We sort of lived together until just recently. Me and the girl, not Greenbottle. Obviously."

"And that book's where you read about the treasure." I remember Kross nodding very slowly.

"He used it as an example in the sermon on the evil of falsehood. The Brazilian gold mine and the Scottish castle both rated a mention. Avery's treasure rated five pages. Somehow, Greenbottle didn't neglect to include a full description of its location."

"You mean to say the treasure's really there? Still there?"

"Sure it is. I even know the exact spot."

"You're kidding."

"No kidding. Wanna go and get it?"