[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

The old mariner and the dairyman dug a square hole, straight down about two feet. Clank! Will’s spade struck something as he was shoring the side of the earth straight. “We were diggin’ slightly astray, Jon. I think the dog was sittin’ in the wrong spot!”

Ned sniffed. “Dearie me, showed you the place, didn’t I?”

Ben heard the thought and agreed with his dog. “Aye, can’t expect a poor old canine to be accurate to the inch, can we? Pay no heed, Ned. I thought you did splendidly!”

They dug down again, directly over the place where Will’s spade had struck an object. After several minutes of hard digging a sandstone building block was uncovered. Between them the two men lifted it out. Alex cleaned it up with his hand until the letters E.D.W. appeared visible. Ben ran his finger over the letters. “Same as on your map, Will! And the same as that name in the back of Winnie’s family Bible! Edmond De Winn, the one who had one son and seven daughters!”

Further speculation from Ben was cut short. The old seaman bent and began tugging with both hands at an object embedded beneath where the stone had lain. “Here’s something, mates, an old chest!”

Will helped him pull the chest out. It was iron-bound, rotting, and fused hard to the soil around it. Once they got it out, a few smart jabs with Jon’s spade soon caved it in, and it broke open. Braithwaite fell on his knees and lifted out the contents. Wrapped in sheepskin and heavily coated with solidified tallow, it was still fairly obvious from its shape that the thing was a cross.

High-noon sunlight streamed into the farmhouse kitchen. Will’s ma shaded her eyes against it, peering out across the yard. “Here they come, Winnie. Put the kettle on to boil again, Eileen.”

Little Willum toddled out, holding Winnie’s hand. “Daddeeeee!”

The dairyman swung his son up onto his broad shoulders. “I hope you ain’t ate all our lunch, Willum, I’m starvin’!”

But food was out of the question once Eileen spotted the bundle.

“You found it, good men!”

Amy took little Willum from his father. “What about me?”

Will’s ma wiped flour from both hands upon her apron. “An’ you, too, m’dear, good work. Now, let’s see what you got, my meat an’ potato pie’ll be ready directly.”

Ben placed the bundle on the table. “D’you think we’ll need more hot water to melt the tallow, Jon?”

Taking out his ever-useful clasp knife, the ex-ship’s carpenter set to work, slicing through the greased string around the tallowed hide. “With any luck it’ll just peel off.”

Mr. Braithwaite was permitted to undo it. Finding an edge of the skin, he drew it back, exposing gold. In less than a minute he had stripped sheepskin and tallow away completely.

It was a crucifix, complete with a tiny monstrance chamber for displaying the host. The top and ends of both arms had pigeon-egg rubies set into the metal, identical to the ones on the chalice. At its base a marvelously graven gold bird supported the cross on semi-spread wings, its talons gripping a half-orb of solid gold. The old scholar’s hands trembled as he held the object. He gazed at the embossed figure of Christ upon it, surmounted by the letters INRI. “Crucifixus anticus!

Wrought by the same Byzantine hand that fashioned the chalice. Do you realize, we are the first ones to behold it since the seventeenth century!”

Jon and Ben were inspecting the tallow-bound sheepskin minutely when Will’s ma wrinkled her nose in disdain. “What’re you messin’ with that ole sheep ’ide for?”

The strange boy replied without looking up. “For the next clue, but it doesn’t seem to be here. Can you find anything, Jon?”

The carpenter’s strong, tattooed hands delved through the tallowed skin. “Nothing, lad. The chest was empty once we took the cross out. I was hopin’ we’d find something in this wrapping, but no.”

Alex sat at the table, his chin cupped in both hands, downcast. “We’ve missed the next clue somewhere.”

The black Lab’s tail swished to and fro as he raised his eyes to Ben. “Tell them it’s carved on the bottom of that half-dome the bird is standing on, I can see it from here. So could you if you were lying on the floor. Good job old Braithwaite held the cross up. What would you do without me, eh, mate?”

Ben sat down on the floor by the Labrador and patted him fondly. “You’re the best dog in the world, Ned. Excuse me while I break the good news to them.”

Ben squinted up at the underside of the crucifix, then raised his voice in excitement. “Look, there’s carving underneath that dome the bird is standing on. I can see it!”

Mr. Braithwaite harrumphed. “Bird, young man? That’s the eagle of St. John the Evangelist you’re talking about. Let’s see!” He turned the cross upside down. With Mr. Mackay leaning over his shoulder, checking, he read aloud.

“ ’Twould seem at the wicked’s fate

that bell ne’er made a sound,

yet the death knell tolled aloud