[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

Amy placed both hands on her hips. “Around this tree, I suppose.”

Ben sprang and grabbed a spreading limb. “Or maybe up in the tree!” He climbed into the branches.

The others started to search around the base of the yew. Alex soon got tired of the hunt below and with Ben’s help climbed up into the boughs, too. The dog looked up, communicating with his master. “If you fall and break a leg, don’t come running to me!”

After more than a half hour of scanning the trunk and the ground around it, Mrs. Winn gave up and went to sit in the gig with Eileen.

Will straightened up, holding his back. “Ain’t so easy as it first looked. See anything up there, Ben?”

Ben clambered down. “Nothing, Will. As you said, it would help if we knew what we were looking for.”

Being shorter than Ben, Alex found descending a bit difficult, but he made his way to the other side of the tree and found a low branch. Edging onto it, he hung there by both hands, facing the trunk.

The seaman stood beneath, reaching up with both hands. “Come on, mate, let go an’ I’ll catch ye.”

But Alex hung on to the branch, his face toward the trunk, shouting, “I found it! Here it is!”

Ben shot back up the tree like a monkey. Making his way across to Alex, he leaned downward, peering at what looked like tiny knots sticking from the bark. He gave a joyous whoop. “It’s the same pattern as the stick. Well done!”

Will shouted across to his wife. “Eileen, drive the gig over here, beneath this tree!”

32

STANDING UPRIGHT IN THE LITTLE cart, the four men could easily make out the pattern of marks. Jon traced them with his finger, then touched the point of his clasp knife to one. “Metal! They’re old horseshoe nails driven into the trunk. The bark has grown over them, but the pattern remains.”

Mr. Mackay dusted dead grass from his trouser knees fussily. “But with one difference, sir, there’s an arrow shape pointing down. That must mean we have to dig down at the yew base, directly where the arrow indicates.”

The dairyman backed Delia away from the spot. Grabbing a spade, Will began cutting away the top grass. “Right about here!” The old ship’s carpenter spat on his hands and grabbed another spade from the gig.

But Eileen had different ideas. “I think ’tis a waste o’ time diggin’ there, Will. Surely the girth o’ the tree has growed bigger since sixteen hundred an’ whatever. If you were lookin’ for somethin’ buried ’twould be right under that trunk now! Don’t waste your energy. You either, Jon Preston.”

Will threw his spade down dispiritedly. “You’re right, m’love.”

Ben watched Ned go off with small, dainty paces, sniffing hard at the ground. He sent a thought to the dog.

“What are you doing, mate?”

The big, black dog did not answer for a while, but kept sniffing and going forward. When he stopped, he sat down a short distance off. “Tell them the arrow is probably pointing not down, but out from the tree, to somewhere around here.”

Ben stared at the Labrador. “You could be right, but why there, why not further out?”

Ned nosed the grass, turning up a soggy, moss-covered length of board and sniffling. “Because this is where the old smithy once stood!”

The boy turned to his friends. “Suppose the arrow is pointing not down, but out. Would that be about where Ned’s sitting?”

Braithwaite was studying the piece of lath and its carving. “Hmm, about the length of a horse, eight horseshoes, and one more horse’s length. What, er, d’you think, Mr. Mackay?”

The solicitor focused on the stick with his glasses. “You could have something there, sir. At least we’ve got a horse to test your theory with!”

Taking the gig to one side, Will unharnessed Delia. Lifting one of her back hooves, he measured it with a yew twig, which he snapped off, then backed Delia up, until her tail was touching the yew trunk.

“Jon, take this twig. ’Tis a shoe’s width. Mark off eight lengths from where my mare’s front hoof is now.”

The seaman did as Will bade. When he had marked off eight lengths, he stuck the twig in the ground. “Right here, Will.” The dairyman brought his horse forward and stood Delia, with her tail hanging down, exactly over the twig.

The black Labrador looked up and licked Delia’s muzzle, which was directly above him, then looked over to where Ben stood, passing a thought to his master. “Told you I’d sniff it out, didn’t I!”

Eileen chuckled. “That good dog o’ yours, Ben, he looks as if he’s gotten more sense than the lot of us put t’gether!”

Jon and Will started digging on the spot.

Eileen harnessed Delia back into the gig shafts. “Come on, Winnie, we’ll go back to Hillside Farm an’ get lunch ready for the diggin’ gang.”

Ben and Amy helped Mrs. Winn up into the gig. She waved to them as Delia trotted away and called hopefully, “Bring whatever you find straight up to the farm.”