Hawke

Well, he’d just do the best he could and hope his dear wife would find the location. Surely she’d recognize the twisting river that he roughed in there on that jagged coast jutting into the sea? And the coconut trees here, and the big rock above the cave? His drawings looked something like cocoa trees, didn’t they?

He put a bold black X where he thought the treasure should be. Yes. That was it. Just about that far west of the river.

The captain and two shipmates had done their digging inside the cave right there, two leagues west of the mouth of the river. Boca de Chavon, the Spaniards called it, whatever that meant. And exactly one hundred paces from that big rock jutting into the sea, the one that nearly chewed the bottom out of that skiff all right.

Three men had rowed ashore. There was a hidden cave, the mouth of which was completely underwater all the time save dead low tide. At the very back of that cave was where they did their digging, hacking deep through coral and wet sand.

But after the bags of gold were safely concealed in a deep hole in the deepest part of the cave, only one man had returned to the sloop that night. Blackhawke himself. The two mates remained behind to “guard” the treasure, although they were in a most unhealthy condition. As they held their lanterns, leaning over, peering down into that black hole full of gold, both had their skulls stove in by a mighty swipe of Blackhawke’s spade.

Under the crude illustration, Blackhawke wrote to his wife in his crabbed hand:

Gold! Aye, there’s gold in that cave on the Dog’s Island, dearest wife, verily some hundred odd bags of it that we lifted from the good ship Santa Clara, being the barge of the Spanish corsair Andrйs Manso de Herreras, which we took as a prize off the Isle of Dogs.

This Manso de Herreras, he was the most bloodthirsty of cutthroats and we lost many a man in a pitched battle on his decks once we’d boarded the Santa Clara. He almost got the better of your beloved husband, advancing on me from behind, but my faithful parrot Bones sung out in time and I sent the cur to his maker and his gold to my hold from whence I stashed it in the cave. I pray you, care for old Bones, since the wily old bird will live a long life and twas mine he saved.

But also in that cave you’ll find two unfortunate souls who I had to dispatch so as to keep my secrets. Prepare yourself for them skeletons before you lift your spade, my Darling. And do your digging as I do mine, on nights when the moon has fled the sky or the clouds abet your endeavours.

A caution, dear Wife! There’s grave danger for a body wanting to go ashore on that rocky coast. Cave Canem! Its teeth are sharp enough to bite you into bits. Many have died trying. But, once past those cruel teeth, I warrant that my poor family’s salvation lies beneath my mark on the old Dog himself.

At least I go to my maker knowing I’ve provided for you and our dear children. I’ve got some fancy this letter will prove my farewell, although the king may spare me yet. I only hope my good name will not be forever sullied by this treacherous betrayal —

There was a sharp rap at his cell door, and Blackhawke looked up. Surely they’d not come for him so early as this? Blackhawke hurriedly reached beneath his threadbare bedcovers and withdrew a battered brass spyglass. He removed the eyepiece and set it aside. Taking up his quill, he scrawled under the map and letter “With undying affection, your husband Richard” at the bottom of his letter.

He then rolled up this document and inserted it into the body of the spyglass. As good a hidey-hole as any and his only one at that!

Another rap at his door and he called out, “Away with you, whoever you may be! Captain Blackhawke is not presently receiving!”

He was screwing the eyepiece back into place when the heavy cell door swung open. It was only Parson, carrying another jug of prison grog.

“Good Parson!” Blackhawke said. “Have you happy word from

my beloved monarch?” Blackhawke was at the window, the spyglass to his eye, peering through the bars at the dark and lowering clouds. Good, he thought, the letter was not visible inside the shaft of the glass. He’d get the thing to his wife somehow, with the parson’s help.

The parson came forward and handed the jug of grog to Blackhawke, who immediately took a deep swig. “Come, what news? I beg you.”

“The king’s men are in the courtyard,” Parson said. “The carts are being harnessed as we speak. Only one of your crew was pardoned. A Mr. Mainwaring, who finally produced convincing evidence of his i

The old pirate collapsed back upon his cot and uttered one word, “Lost.”

12

“Splendid yarn!” Congreve exclaimed just as the heavily armed steward came to stand beside Hawke. “For God’s sakes, man, don’t stop now!”

“Sorry for the interruption, sir,” Tom Quick said. “But the stern watch just rang up to say the launch has left the dock and your guests are on their way.”

“Thank you, Tommy.”

Ambrose slapped his knee in delight. “Astounding. Really quite remarkable!”

“What do you mean?” Hawke asked.

“Well, I mean to say it gave me goose pimples. The ‘skulls stove in with spades.’ All that blood and thunder sort of thing.”

Hawke smiled at his friend. He had to admit he had gotten rather caught up in the telling of the tale.

“So what happened next, old chap?” Ambrose asked. “You’ve certainly captured my imagination!”

“Well, I’ll continue it later, if you insist. I’m not much of a storyteller, but I must have made Grandfather tell it a hundred times. I’ve been anxious to tell you the story, and show you the map, ever since we got down here to the tropics. Get your old brain working on the thing. I’ve been chewing at that map all my life and made a little progress, of course, but I’ve only gotten so far.”

“It’s fascinating. Once I’ve examined the document more closely, I’ll compare it to some of the older maps in the ship’s library. First thing tomorrow and—heavens—look at the time! I’d better get hopping. I’ve got a few very nervous crustaceans awaiting me in the kitchen and I think it’s time to get them into a nice hot bath.” Congreve got to his feet.

“It’s called a galley, Constable. How many times must I remind you? On a boat, the kitchen is the galley.”

“In my view, a kitchen by any other name is still a kitchen.”

“I give up,” Hawke said, raising his glass. “Show those lobsters no mercy.”

“Yes, once the lobsters have been murdered in cold blood, I’ll rejoin you and your new comrades in arms,” Congreve said. He wandered off, cocktail in hand, pipe between clenched teeth.

Hawke noticed Quick coming up the steps with a bottle of Chateau Montrachet on ice.

“Love a splash of that, Tom,” he said.

“Pleasure,” Tom said, and poured him a glass.

“These two men coming for di

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t expect trouble. A fairly pathetic duo. But keep your eyes open all the same, Tom. You look a proper steward, but you’re armed to the teeth, I suppose?”

Quick opened his loose-fitted starched white jacket to reveal twin holsters strapped across his chest, a pair of nine-millimeter automatics in each one. There was a bandolier of extra magazines around his waist.

“Ah, good. I wonder. Do you find yourself missing good old Fort Hood much, Sergeant Quick?”

“Every minute of every day, sir,” Tom said, smiling.

“Good lad. I’m grateful to have you aboard.”

“Shall I escort the guests up here when they arrive?”