Brian Jacques - [Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

Braithwaite was glad to prove himself, not only as a history scholar but as a botanist. “I, er, must take issue with you on that, sir. Er. Let us take a look at this, hmm, tree.”

They trooped over to where Ben and his friends were standing beneath the tree. It was a twisted and venerable old specimen with a huge, untidy crown of thin leaves that sported red berries. The trunk, a gnarled column, was very thick, seeming to consist of several thinner trunks welded together by age.

Jon instinctively knew what it was. “This is a yew, there’s two growin’ back o’ the almshouse.”

Mr. Braithwaite became very schoolmasterish, wagging a finger at the young people as he lectured them. “Quite right. Taxus baccata, the common English yew, specimens have been recorded of up to one thousand years old. The branches of this old tree may have provided the wood for English longbows to fight the French at the Battle of Agincourt. Jon, hand me that carved piece of wood and your clasp knife, please.”

Mr. Braithwaite scraped away at the uncarved side of the wooden stick until clean wood showed, then he shaved a small section of bark from the trunk to reveal the wood beneath.

“Both common English yew, you see!”

Will smacked his open palm against the tree. “All sounds very good so far, but what’re we lookin’ for and where do we search?”

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.”

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.