sailing mystery: search for a ghost ship by tony crowley

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Search for a Ghost Ship

This story is dedicated to the beachcomber three good

friends met on Osea Island one hot and lazy summer day.

His curious tale of a lost and haunted sailing ship led them

on an adventure that they have never forgotten.

Tony Crowley

The Crowsnest. 30 Mandeville Road, Hertford, Herts. SG13 8JG



2



3

1. The telephone call

Ben wasn’t clumsy; he was just enthusiastic. And that’s

why on a summer evening, just as the crew of Shimmering

prepared to cast off from the jetty and set sail for adventure,

he fell overboard and slid into the mud. Not the stuff you

find in the garden or a football pitch, but the real thing; asticky mixture of thick slime and black grease. He lay face

down on the riverbed and, somewhere above, a girl was

laughing.

Ben floundered around and tried to lift himself up but slid

deeper into the mud. To his relief, he could still breathe but

for how long? It is said that people who are drowning see

their lives flash before them. All he could remember was a

favourite uncle who, overcome by the heat of a crowded

restaurant, had fainted into a large plate of spaghetti.Fortunately, uncle was saved by an alert waiter who was

checking the tablecloth for tips.

Eventually, his journey downwards stopped but then the

panic started. How could anyone rescue him without

ending up in the mud as well? Was he still visible? But help

was at hand and he felt a rope tightening around his ankles.

There was a sharp tug and he started to slide in the opposite

direction. At last, looking like the nasty end of a suction

pump, he returned from the underworld to the sound of

applause.



5

most of the time in the water clinging to an upturned

dinghy. The sharp-tongued instructor who ran the course

had two methods of teaching: shouting loudly and shouting

even louder.

‘Pull the sheet tight! Not the sail you idiot, the sheet.

That’s the rope from the sail. Pull it tight .’

Ben longed to pull it tight around the instructor's neck.This loathsome bully, and capsizing into filthy cold water,

were the first things that came to mind when anyone

mentioned sailing.

But here was an opportunity to escape from the house and

Ben wasn't going to let it slip. All he had to do was pack

some clothes in a bag and take enough food to keep him

going for a few days. Jake's dad would drive them to where

the boat was moored at a boatyard on the River Blackwater

and then they would be on their own. Suddenly, the worldseemed a much better place. Later that afternoon, Ben's

mum switched on the radio for the weather report. It was a

special one for mariners.

'Humber, Thames, Dover,’ droned the announcer, ‘Wind

westerly, force 3 to 4, visibility good, seas moderate.'

She wondered if he might need to take some tablets for

seasickness, but his sister just laughed, ‘They're only going

to the River Blackwater, not the Bay of Biscay!’

Little did Ben know that the journey he was about tomake would lead him, in a rather special way, to the islands

of the South Pacific, on a search for lost treasure and a

haunted sailing ship.



6

2. A rising tide

The van rattled along a winding road passing tree-lined

cornfields and winding villages on its way to the Essex

coast. Thatched farmhouses, old churches and farms

flashed by. The journey lasted over an hour but time passed

very quickly. At the wheel, Jake’s dad told rather stale jokes, or burst into song with lines like 'For those in peril

on the sea'. In the back of the van, Jake and Emma tried to

drown him out with the chorus of The Drunken Sailor.

Way-hay and up she rises,

Way-hay and up she rises,

Patent blocks of different sizes,

Early in the morning

‘Why patent blocks?’ asked Emma suddenly.‘Silly words to an old song. They’re ship's pulleys,’

replied her father.

‘I know that but what's patent got to do with it?’

‘Er ... I’m not too sure. I think it has something to do with

their being specially designed.’

‘For what purpose?’ persisted Emma

‘Oh, for lots of different things. If you’re interested,

there’s a large basket of blocks on one of those fishing

boats beached near the boatyard.’ At this point, he

explained to Ben that he had borrowed one of the blocks to

help someone lift out a heavy engine from a boat.

‘Find that basket of blocks and you may find the answer.’



7

Both Jake and Emma were good sailors. At home, her

bedroom wall was covered with pictures of rock bands and

school certificates for things like swimming twenty lengths

of a freezing pool. The pride of her collection, however,

was a simple handwritten certificate mounted in a glass

frame. It was several years old and was starting to fade.

In the days that followed, Ben discovered that not only

was Emma skilful at rowing the ship's dinghy, but at many

other shipboard tasks too. Climbing a mast, splicing rope,or chipping rust off the anchor, no task was beyond her,

except one. But more of this later.

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

This is to certify that Emma

served as deck boy aboard the good ship

SHIMMERING

Reg'd number 309091 Reg'd tonnage 3.5

on an epic voyage from Maldon to Pin Mill.

She behaved in a trustworthy and sober

manner and carried out her duties to my

entire satisfaction. She was particularly

skilful at rowing the ship's dinghy.

Signed: The Captain



8

The van climbed a hill through the small town of

Danbury and, after a mile or so, the River Blackwater came

into view. The evening was clear and they could see as far

as the entrance of the estuary where several large cargo

ships were anchored. In the centre of this scene lay Osea

Island and a handful of small boats with their sails

reflecting the last rays of the setting sun. Soon, they enteredthe town of Maldon and, turning left, crossed the bridge at

the head of the river. Within minutes, they drew up outside

Arthur James’ boatyard and started to unload their bags and

stores.

‘We may have difficulty in getting away tonight as it’s

not a spring tide.’ said Jake standing on the sea wall.

The other two scrambled up to join him and looked down

at the river creeping slowly across the mud flats and

lapping the edge of the boatyard's small jetty. The mentionof a spring tide puzzled Ben, but he was to learn later that

this kind of tide occurred every two weeks with either the

full or the new moon, and brought a lot more water into the

river. Many of the boats in the yard spent much of their

time sitting on the mud and were only afloat for an hour or

two at high tide. Some of the heavier ones could hardly

float at the top of any kind of tide which explained Jake's

concern. Having checked that they had everything for the

voyage, they returned to the van to wave their driver off on

his journey home.‘Here are the keys to the boat, so don’t drop them in the

mud. And don’t forget to give the bottom a scrub.’



9

Jake caught the keys but showed little enthusiasm for this

particular task. Then the van's engine burst into life and off

went their father, pausing at a bend in the lane to give a

final wave.

The three stood on the sea wall for several minutes

listening to the sounds of the river. The water gurgled as itswirled around the sides of boats trapped in the mud whilst.

flicked on by the breeze, halyards and lines slapped noisily

against a dozen masts. Somewhere out in the gathering

darkness, an anchor chain was being hauled aboard a barge,

and a small power-driven launch motored away in the

direction of the shore. Eventually, they picked up their bags

and hurried along the wooden jetty to where the boats were

moored: their footsteps echoing around the deserted

boatyard.

Shimmering was lying in the mud at the far end of the

jetty with her sharp end facing the yard. She was leaning

over at an awkward angle and, from what Ben could

remember, had very little standing room inside. In this

condition, she would be very uncomfortable and he hoped

that the tide would soon be high enough to lift her upright.

Jake scrambled aboard from the jetty and unlocked the

entrance to the cabin. Ben attempted to join him.

‘Use the bowsprit as a gangplank,’ suggested Jake, ‘And

hang on tight to the forestay.’Eager to get aboard, Ben stepped out onto a long wooden

spar or pole pointing from the bows and grasped at what he

thought to be the forestay - a stout piece of wire leading



10

down from the mast. Instead, his fingers clutched at a loose

line and, within seconds, he had lost his footing and

plunged headlong into the mud. Emma stood laughing on

the jetty whilst Jake rescued the bags with a long boat

hook. A wash from a nearby tap and a change of clothes

put Ben in a better mood.

Jake was most apologetic and presented Ben with a pairof odd socks, red for his left foot and green for his right.

‘I’ll explain about those later,’ he said.

Emma was still laughing, ‘Now you know why they call

it the Blackwater.’

If Ben had worried about sitting at an angle while waiting

for the tide, he needn't have bothered; there was so much to

do to get the boat ready for sea. The cover on the large sail

had to be removed and a smaller sail attached to the

forestay; he certainly knew where that was after his 'trip'ashore. A small outboard engine was fitted to help the

yacht get clear of the moorings, and the anchor placed

ready for use in case of an emergency. Then Jake handed

Ben the red, green and white navigation lights to display.

‘The white one goes at the blunt end,’ explained Jake,

‘The other two are sidelights. Use your socks to work out

which side they go on.’

Having so many tasks, they almost forgot to fill the fresh

water tanks from a tap in the yard. Then came a moment of

panic. Emma discovered that the dinghy was missing andthought it must have come adrift during a recent storm. It

had and was lying on a beach close to the yard, but with no

signs of damage. She explained that the dinghy was a



11

nuisance to tow behind the boat, but would come in handy

for getting ashore at various places in the river.

With all the preparations, no one had noticed that the tide

had crept in and had lifted the boat off the mud. They were

ready to leave. With a final look around to see that nothing

was left behind, they released the mooring lines andmotored away from the jetty. It was just after ten o'clock

when, with the moon rising over the mudflats, Shimmering

pointed her bows downstream and set off on her journey.

‘Do you know,’ said Emma, ‘If we had the time and

enough supplies aboard, we could sail straight out of this

river and go right around the world.’

Ashore, close to the jetty, someone watched their

departure for several minutes. Then he turned away and

disappeared into the shadows of the boatyard.



12

3. The Doctor

One thousand years ago, an army of Danish warriors sailed

up the Blackwater and camped on a marshy island near

Maldon. The island, Northey, is joined to the mainland by a

causeway or path that is covered by the sea at high tide.

Shortly after their arrival, a Saxon leader called Brithnothappeared on the opposite shore with an army ready to repel

the invaders. Like football supporters, the two sides jeered

and abused each other: Come and have a go if you think

you’re hard enough! They remained separated, however,

because of the state of the tide. At last, the tide started to

ebb and Brithnoth invited the Danes to cross the causeway

and join him in battle. Being a good sportsman, he waited

until the other army had cleared the watery causeway and

had prepared itself for the contest. Unfortunately, poor

Brithnoth had underestimated the strength of the oppositionand one by one his Saxon warriors were slain. The defeat

was total.

Shimmering glided past Northey and the ghosts of that

long lost battle. At the northern point of the island, Emma

edged the tiller gently and the boat sailed out of Colliers

Reach. The tide was starting to ebb, and with a freshening

breeze on the beam, they were moving along at a good

speed. In the distance, Osea island gradually took shape:

low brown cliffs, clusters of bushes, and tall trees. Emma

explained that, at low tide, most of the channel behind Osea

dried out leaving just a small road from the mainland.



13

‘It’s called a causeway,’ added Jake, ‘Occasionally, cars

get stranded on it and are swamped by the flood tide.’ Then

pointing at a dark object in the water, he yelled, ‘Watch that

buoy ahead!’ Within seconds a large red can came racing

past and just missed the bows. ‘Its easy to spot them when

there’s a moon. If not, they just appear from nowhere.’

Presumably the Danish invaders were not too concernedabout unlit buoys on their night trip up the river.

Alert to the risk of a collision, Ben stared anxiously into

the darkness ahead. The moonlight danced across the

surface of the water creating a pattern in which all sorts of

dangers might lurk. There were no further near misses, but

a mile or two further on, another large shape loomed ahead

of them.

‘That's the Doctor.’ explained Emma, ‘It’s a green buoy

close to Osea Island. I’m afraid you'll have to drink a glassof sea water when you pass it.’

‘Why?’ asked Ben.

‘It’s an old custom.’ came the reply, ‘First-trippers on the

river have to drink to the Doctor's health.’

‘Well you can count me out. I've swallowed enough of

the Blackwater for one night.’

To Ben's relief, the matter was dropped and they began to

discuss the best place to anchor for the night. The first

choice was to lie off the south beach at Osea, but the boat

wouldn’t be comfortable if the wind increased. Thealternative, and the one they chose, was to anchor out of the

wind on the north side of the island.



14

They continued skirting Osea and picked their way

carefully past several boats that were moored by a pier.

From the shore came the smell of a charcoal fire, possibly

from a barbecue earlier in the evening. There were no other

lights or signs of life on the island, just a large deserted

house which overlooked the pier. Along this southern

shore, the current was quite strong and Ben wondered howthey would cope when they turned to face the tide on the

other side of the island.

Standing in the entrance to the cabin, Jake called, ‘We're

going to gybe in a few moments, so keep your head down.’

‘What's a gybe?’ asked Ben but Emma's reply was not too

encouraging,

‘Just stay where you are right now, we don't want to have

to fish you out of the river again.’

The next few seconds were quite eventful. Jake yelledsomething nautical as the back of the boat swung through

the wind. Suddenly, the boom, a long wooden spar at the

foot of the mainsail, swung over with a violent crack as the

other side of the sail filled with wind. This, Ben guessed,

was the 'gybe' that Jake had announced. One minute they

had been gliding silently and gracefully past the edge of the

island; the next they were heeled over at a steep angle and

forcing their way across the river in a wind that was

screeching through the rigging. At the bows, the jib sail

flapped angrily and Emma moved quickly to settle it. Ben just kept out of the way with his head well clear of the

boom; the odd socks would be of little help here.



15

Despite the tide, the little yacht made good speed past the

eastern tip of the island. With only a few lights on the

northern shore of the river to guide him, Jake steered the

boat carefully towards an anchorage. The small yacht

turned to face the wind and the anchor splashed down to

the riverbed. The sails flapped and shivered until they were

lowered and made secure. Jake put up a light to show theywere at anchor and Emma went around tying up anything

that was loose and rattling in the wind. Having checked that

the boat was holding steady against the tide, they blew out

the remaining lights and went below. After a drink and a

sandwich, the three companions were ready for sleep.

Emma took the small cabin in the bows; Jake and Ben took

the bunks in the main cabin close to the hatchway.

Crawling into their sleeping bags, they exchanged a few

thoughts and plans for the morning.

‘We'll go fishing in Goldhanger creek.’‘Sunbathing on Osea.’

‘Sheltering from the rain on Shimmering.’

The boat rocked gently at her anchor and in no time at all

they were fast asleep.



16

4. A mishap

The crew of Shimmering awoke to a beautiful sunny day. A

light mist was lifting and the river was as calm as a

millpond. Looking out of the hatchway, Ben saw a small

blue yacht moored closer to the island; there was no sign of

anyone aboard. Emma was dressed and cooking breakfastin the small galley between their two cabins. Ben looked

around at his new surroundings and thought he was in

paradise! Within a few minutes, however, the cabin was

filled with black smoke from burnt toast. With a groan,

Jake leapt out of his bunk and snatched the grill pan from

the cooker.

‘Well, I can't think of everything,’ protested Emma ‘I'm

trying to put out cereal, make the tea, and then this rotten

water pump leaks everywhere. It's your turn tomorrow, let's

see how you cope.’Not wishing to appear ungrateful, Ben assured her that he

liked his toast well done.

‘You won't say that when you've tasted her porridge,’

said Jake beating a hasty retreat up to the deck closely

followed by a well-aimed dishcloth.

After breakfast, they decided to go fishing behind Osea

Island. Jake suggested that they might explore some old

oyster beds on the Stumble. The name made Ben shudder;

it reminded him of his fall into the mud. Emma went

forward to weigh the anchor and Jake started to raise the

mainsail and then something unexpected happened. The top



17

of Shimmering’s mainsail was attached to a long wooden

pole and hauling up this pole or ‘gaff’ raised the sail. As

the sail was being raised, the mast gave a shudder and the

top of the gaff crashed down to the deck. Fortunately, it

didn't do any damage, but a close inspection revealed the

cause to be a rusted and snapped bolt at the masthead. This

bolt supported the sails that now lay strewn across the deck.Ben looked at them and thought that their sailing trip was

over, but Jake was very cool about it. ‘No problem. The

mast will have to come down so we can replace the

eyebolt.’

They made a thorough search of the lockers around the

boat, but there was nothing the shape or size of the original

bolt. Emma suggested that one of them went ashore to get a

replacement while the other two lowered the mast. Not

wanting to be in the way, Ben offered to go back to theboatyard and leave the other two to clear away the rigging.

This was agreed and, with the help of its small outboard

motor, Shimmering motored gently in the direction of the

northern shore. They anchored close to Decoy Point and,

clutching the broken bolt, Ben climbed down into the

dinghy and rowed away to the beach.

‘Try to get the exact size as we don't have a wood drill

aboard,’ yelled Jake.

A few minutes later, the dinghy ran aground on theshingle and Ben stepped ashore. As he walked along the

coastal path in the direction of the boatyard, he looked back

and saw Jake and Emma busy freeing the tangled rigging



18

ready for lowering the mast. Though it had been a

disappointing start to the day, their confidence and

enthusiasm at tackling the awkward job ahead cheered him

up considerably.



19

5. A bag of bolts

Mr Arthur James sat on the steps of the office enjoying the

morning sun and a large mug of tea. In front of him lay his

kingdom - a dozen or so cruising yachts berthed against a

jetty, several motor launches, a couple of disused fishing

boats, and a small barge hauled up on the slipway forrepairs. Behind him were the chandlery and workshops;

guarded, or so it seemed, by a tall crane from which hung

an enormous steel hook. Above his head, a metal sign

swung lazily in the breeze: Arthur James. Boat Builder and

Chandler.

A chunky bald man with a drooping moustache wandered

around the yard looking at boats that were stored ashore.

‘Any of these for sale, Arthur?’ he asked.

‘They're all for sale,’ replied Arthur, and pointing withhis pipe towards the river added, ‘You show me a boat out

there that isn't for sale. They're all for sale if the time and

the price are right.’

Ben puzzled over this remark for a few seconds and then

approached Arthur with the two halves of the bolt. ‘This is

from our masthead,’ he explained, ‘Have you got one the

exact size?’

Arthur clung to his pipe with yellow teeth and, after

studying the broken bolt, smiled sympathetically. ‘I bet you

moved like greased lightning when that snapped.’ He took

the two pieces and disappeared into the chandlery,

returning a few minutes later shaking his head. ‘We've got



20

plenty of bolts in stock, but nothing quite like this. Take a

look in the storeroom at the back of the office.’

Ben wandered around the building and saw a concrete

store with a steel door. Sliding the bolt, he pulled the heavy

door open and peered inside. The light switch didn’t work,

but there was enough daylight from the doorway for him toinspect the shelves and lockers inside. He could see sacks

of waste, empty paint drums and other things waiting to be

taken to the dump, but no bolts. Seeing him return empty-

handed, Arthur suggested that he looked around the

boatyard.

‘There are loads of unused bolts on some of the older

boats stored here. I'm sure you'll find one that fits.’

For the next fifteen or twenty minutes Ben explored the

cabins and lockers of several sailing boats, most of whichhad seen better days. Some of the boats still had souvenirs

of earlier voyages: faded tide tables, worn charts or dog-

eared pilot books. Most contained brass oil lamps, clocks

and barometers that were rusting and forgotten; the same

kind of equipment that was on display in the chandlery

window and costing a small fortune. It was clear that

without care or attention nothing lasted very long aboard a

small boat. Curtains became stained with mildew, paint or

varnish peeled away, and rain leaked through the deck

planking. He particularly enjoyed reading the names of theboats and wondered why the owners had chosen them.

Could the owner of Pitcairn possibly be descended from

the Bounty mutineers? What kind of a reception would a



21

visitor to Knot Yours have received? One boat was even

named Osmosis - a rotting condition dreaded by the owners

of plastic boats. The owner must have had an odd sense of

humour, as it would be quite difficult to sell a boat with

that name.

‘No luck yet?’ Arthur crossed the yard carrying severaltins of paint; Ben shook his head.

‘Then try the fishing boats by the beach. I think there's a

bag of bolts somewhere on one of them.’

Two fishing boats, Ariel and Paradox, lay high and dry

on the muddy beach just beyond the slipway and close to

the coastal path. Beyond them lay the burnt out shell of a

third boat. Their decks were still cluttered with all kinds of

gear: ropes, nets, boards, and buoys. Proud old workboats

huddled together on the shore; still ready for work but

abandoned because they could no longer earn a living.

The first boat Ben searched had several rusty bolts but

nothing worth carrying back to Shimmering. The second

boat, with its long green hull and large wheelhouse, looked

more promising. Inside the wheelhouse, a flight of stairs

led to a gloomy hold in which strong smells of tar and fish

still lingered. The hold was crammed with all kinds of gear:

large canvas covers or tarpaulins, coils of rope, and racks of

shackles. Encouraged, Ben lit a lamp from the cabin and,

taking a deep breath of fresh air, commenced his search.After ten minutes he had enough; the hold was hot and

stuffy and he had nothing to show for his efforts. Then

something odd happened. Whilst he was rummaging



22

around the hold, he heard someone climb aboard; it was the

man with the walrus moustache who had been wandering

around the yard.

The man descended the steps leading to the hold. Ben

watched him carefully as he walked around inspecting the

inside of the hold. Then, taking a screwdriver from hispocket, he started to unscrew a metal plate containing some

numbers from a wooden beam. All this time, Ben kept out

of sight behind a large wooden pillar; it was the lower part

of the mast. The man, who was having difficulty removing

the screws, cursed loudly and began to wrench the plate off

using the screwdriver. Then, moving to get a better view,

Ben tripped over something lying at his feet. Disturbed by

the noise, the man came over to investigate and saw him in

the shadows.

‘What the hell are you doing down here?’ he demandedangrily.

Ben felt like asking him the same question, but before he

could reply, the walrus pocketed his screwdriver and

hurried out of the hold. When he had gone, Ben saw that he

had tripped over a canvas bag containing several steel bolts.

Out in the daylight, he soon found one the right size and

dropped the bag back into the hold. Arthur refused any

payment and Ben returned with his prize along the path in

the direction of Decoy Point. He passed the walrus sitting

on the sea wall but gave him a wide berth. Shimmering layquietly at anchor facing down the estuary; her mast was

lowered and his two companions were sunbathing on the

deck. He rowed out to join them.



23

6. Smoke rising

Although Shimmering’s mast was quite short, when

lowered to the deck, it hung over the stern by a metre. Tan

coloured sails, ropes and lines filled every inch of space

and restricted movement around the decks. Balancing in

the dinghy, Jake edged himself around the stern andcarefully inserted the eyebolt into the head of the mast.

Emma watched with some apprehension; one false move

and the bolt with which Ben had proudly returned would

have been swallowed by the mud several feet below. If they

had tied a line to the bolt, they could have dropped it

several times without worrying. There were no further

mishaps and, after tidying up the rigging, they were ready

to raise the mast. Jake and Ben pushed it upright and Emma

connected the forestay to the bows. A few more

adjustments and they were ready to sail again.

As they rested for a few minutes in the cockpit, Ben

gazed up at the mast and realised that he had learnt a lot

about boats and their rigging in a short time. To a casual

onlooker, the lines and halyards that surround masts were

usually a bit of a mystery, but he now realised that

everything served a purpose. He was also impressed by the

strength and quality of the materials used in the various

fittings - even on a small sailing boat. On a later voyage,

when they caught in a gale whilst crossing the Thames

Estuary, he was to appreciate the boat's ability to withstand

the awesome power of strong winds and heavy seas as they



24

fought to keep her from the clutches of the Maplin Sands.

But as they sat peacefully in the sun that morning, there

were no thoughts of storms or gales. There was nothing but

a gentle lapping of the water along the white-painted hull

and the occasional splashing of fish breaking the surface.

He started to tell the other two about his trip ashore: thehelpful Arthur, the forlorn and abandoned boats, and, of

course, the strange man in the hold. Jake thought that he

might have been a souvenir hunter. Ben pointed out that he

had enquired about boats for sale and spoke to Arthur by

name.

‘He definitely sounds like a souvenir hunter to me,’

agreed Emma, ‘After all, Arthur's name is on the yard's

board and your mystery man probably used it to sound

friendly as he hunted around for something to pinch.’

Ben remembered that the man hadn't looked particularlysuspicious as he wandered around the yard, and decided

that Emma's hunch was probably correct. But why had be

been so unpleasant and abandoned his task so suddenly?

‘While you were gone,’ said Jake, ‘We found a small

mystery of our own.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Emma, handing Ben the binoculars, ‘Take a

look at the far end of Osea Island - close to that small blue

yacht.’

Ben looked in the direction she was pointing. He could

see only the sea wall above the beach and some dead elmtrees.

‘What am I to look for?’



25

‘Look to the right of the blue yacht - just above that old

jetty.’

‘There's some smoke rising, but what's so strange about

that?’

‘Well it's unusual,’ replied Jake, ‘Osea island is up for

sale and is completely deserted. Even when people land on

it from boats, they avoid that part of the shore because itsvery wild and muddy.'

‘At first,’ added Emma, ‘We thought there might be a fire

in the field behind the dyke, but it would be raging by now.

The smoke's been rising from that same spot for over an

hour.’

Ben suggested that they sailed over to have a closer look.

The tide was ebbing quickly, and they would soon be high

and dry on the mud or stranded on the causeway leading to

the island. So, for the second time that day, they set off across the Stumble and were soon approaching the small

yacht lying at anchor. Smoke was still rising from behind

the dyke, but there was no sign of anyone around. They

sailed towards a disused jetty, but as the tide was falling,

they thought they might not get close enough to land and

turned back. They continued sailing around the eastern tip

of the island and turned into the main river where they

faced the oncoming ebb stream. Ben remembered the

dramatic ‘gybe’ from the night before, but this time the

boat turned quite gracefully and edged her way slowlyupriver towards a shingle beach.



26

7. Flotsam or Jetsam?

'Let go!' The anchor splashed into the water and the chain

snaked after it. Having lowered the sails, Jake went below

to fix some lunch whilst the other two stayed on deck to

check that the tide didn't drag the boat away from its

anchorage. Emma showed Ben that by lining up severalobjects on the shore, they were able to check that the yacht

held her ground at anchor. This part of the beach had firm

sand and shingle on which the boat’s two keels could rest,

and when the tide dropped, they could start to scrub the

sides of the hull. This was a new experience for Ben and he

quite looked forward to it. Unfortunately, he hadn't

bargained for the amount of work involved.

Within twenty minutes or so, the boat stopped rocking

and started to settle on the beach. She thumped aroundseveral times and pots and pans rattled inside the cabin.

Then, she gradually settled as her weight took over and felt

rather heavy and solid. Water slopped around noisily

between the two keels and this was the signal that Jake had

been waiting for. With a groan, he grabbed a couple of deck

scrubbers, passed one to Ben, and slipped over the side.

Standing in about a metre of water, he started to scrub one

side of the boat vigorously. Below the waterline, barnacles

and weeds had formed on the hull and needed removing.

They had to work quickly as the tide was falling rapidly.

The worst part was directly underneath the hull. There was



27

very little room to work and they were soon covered in

loose barnacles and mud.

‘I hate this job!’ exclaimed Jake.

Ben couldn't have agreed more. The task left them both

wet and hungry. Any thoughts of exploring the island were

forgotten while they had a meal and a long rest in the sun.

Black and white birds with orange bills and long pink legsswooped across the beach with penetrating piping calls.

These probed around the sand and mud looking for worms

and crabs, or chased the receding waves to snatch up any

creatures left behind on the shore.

‘They're oystercatchers,’ explained Emma.

‘I wondered when the biology lecture would start,’

groaned Jake who seemed more interested in flicking

pebbles in their direction. ‘What do you think of her now?’

he asked, nodding towards the stranded boat.

Ben looked at Shimmering standing upright on her twokeels and said he thought she reminded him of a duck about

to lay an egg. Emma looked at them scornfully.

‘I would have said a gannet, but perhaps that's because

I've just been watching you guys eat.’

Later that afternoon, they set off down the beach and

climbed up the sea wall that circled the island. Ben spotted

something round and white hidden in a cluster of salt marsh

plants. It turned out to be a football that had probably been

washed ashore from a passing yacht.‘Lets have a kick around later,’ suggested Jake so they

hid it in the bushes ready for their return.



28

They wandered along inspecting the high water mark for

further treasure, but found nothing more exciting than a

length of mooring line and a broken oar.

‘What's the difference between flotsam and jetsam?’

asked Emma.

The two boys looked at each other and shrugged their

shoulders.‘Go on,’ said Jake ‘You’re dying to tell us.’

‘Well, flotsam is wreckage but jetsam is something that's

been deliberately thrown overboard.’

They trudged along and couldn't decide whether the

football was flotsam or jetsam, or neither. Then, skirting

the edge of an embankment, they scrambled up through

brambles on to a footpath to get a better view of the island.

To the left of the path, a large field extended to the middle

of the island and was bordered by trees and a few buildings.

To the right, the sea had withdrawn leaving dozens of smallislands threaded by creeks. Ahead, however, there was no

sign of the smoke they had seen earlier.

‘Never mind,’ said Emma, ‘Lets go and have a look at

that old jetty we saw earlier. Perhaps we can reach it from

the beach?’

They continued along the edge of the embankment until

the path turned along the northern shore of the island. In the

mud to the right lay the remains of several old boats and,

just beyond them, the old jetty. The two boys ran downfrom the path across the mudflats to explore it. They had

just reached it when they heard a cry from the embankment



29

behind them. Emma was waving at them and pointing

down behind the embankment.

‘Come and have a look at this!’

Retracing their steps, they scrambled up to join her. There

in the long grass, completely hidden from the beach, was a

small hut. It was an old wooden hide from which visitors tothe island could study sea birds on the shore. A canvas

tarpaulin had been stretched across the roof and was held in

place by several large stones. It completely covered the

entrance to the hide. Lifting the tarpaulin, they peered

inside.

The hide on Osea today



30

8. The beachcomber

Today, a visitor to the island will still find the wooden hide

tucked into the embankment on the northern shore

overlooking the Stumble. The wooden structure is decaying

and the roof has long since collapsed. Gorse bushes conceal

it from the footpath and wild roses cling to the rottentimbers. There are certainly no clues left to show that

anyone would have used it as a shelter or refuge. When the

three companions lifted up the tarpaulin, however, there

were plenty: a bedroll, several books, a small supply of

food, and some clothing. Behind the hide, the remains of a

small fire were still smouldering, and two pairs of woollen

socks were draped over a nearby bush and drying in the

sun. Of the occupant there was no trace.

‘Who could be living here?’

‘A very tidy hermit?’‘Or an escaped convict who likes reading.’

They stood around the shelter wondering who the owner

of these belongings might be. Ben stepped inside and

peered out through the gap overlooking the top of the

embankment. Even through the long grass outside, the view

of the mudflats and the river was excellent. Someone could

have seen them sail up to the disused jetty, listened to their

conversation, and watched their retreat. It was the perfect

hiding place. Then he spotted a man walking along the

beach in their direction. He told the others and they quickly

replaced the tarpaulin.



31

‘If we keep walking along the footpath behind the

embankment, he won't see us,’ suggested Emma, and they

set off along the path. A short distance from the hide, they

were suddenly confronted by their hermit, or escaped

convict, who had taken a short cut over the embankment.

He had grey hair and a short beard, and he walked with alimp. His face was well tanned and he had remarkably blue

eyes. On his head was a small cloth cap and he was dressed

in a blue fisherman's smock and sea boots. In his hand he

carried an enormous colourful and furled umbrella; similar

to those used by golfers. They couldn’t imagine why

anyone would need to carry an umbrella on such a nice day,

but guessed it was something to do with his limp as he held

it like a walking stick. Their first reaction was to greet him

pleasantly and continue down the path. To their surprise,

however, he stood barring their escape and raised his handin a salute.

‘Welcome to my summer residence!’ he announced.

Startled by this greeting, no one knew what to say, but

Jake was the first to recover.

‘Is that your camp back there in the bushes?’ he asked.

‘It certainly is,’ the man replied, ‘Would you like to see

it?’

They didn't want to admit to having recently invaded his

home so they just nodded.

‘Come along then, it's my secret hideaway. I discovered ityears ago. In fact, I was quite surprised to see you on the

path as no one ever comes to this part of the island.’



32

Though no longer young, he was very agile and

clambered up the grassy slope with ease. ‘That's my boat

out there in the channel.’ He pointed with the umbrella to

the small blue yacht that they had seen several times during

the day.

‘You don't live here, then?’ asked Emma.

'Goodness me, no. I come to the island each year for aweek or two, just to look around and do some fishing. You

can get very cooped up in a small boat, so I spread myself

around a little and do some beachcombing. I like to think of

this place as my summer retreat. How about a nice mug of

tea?’

The three sat down outside the hide and watched him

kindle a small fire inside a square of bricks. From inside the

hide, he produced some tin mugs and a tea caddy.

‘How do you manage for stores?' asked Ben.‘Well, sometimes I catch a few fish, though they're hard

to find in this part of the river: the catches are better off

Bradwell. I usually sail down to the shop at Stone, or else I

walk across the causeway at low tide and stroll up to

Heybridge. In fact, I’ve just come back across the causeway

and was overtaken by a car. Not many drivers risk using the

causeway; it must be someone thinking of buying the

island. I hope they leave before the tide rises! Anyway,

what brings you to this part of the world?’

Jake explained that they were sailing around the river fora few days, and that they had spotted smoke rising from the

fire and came to investigate.



33

‘Then you’re the crew of the small cutter that came up the

creek this morning. Were you trying to moor at the old jetty

out there? I was about to warn you of some sharp iron

spikes that are hidden in the mud, but, fortunately, you

turned away just in time.’

The three exchanged uncomfortable glances as they

thought of Shimmering impaled on those rusty spikes.‘You have to know these creeks quite well, especially at

high water. It's much easier at low water because you can

see the banks and shallows, and any obstructions on the

river bed.’

He then described a trip he had made up a narrow creek

near Tollesbury, where 18th century smugglers used to hide

barrels of brandy. It had been so easy to work around the

bends and shallows on the rising tide, but returning down

the creek at high tide, he had slammed into something thatholed the boat, and it wasn’t a barrel of brandy! Whatever

the cause, it left him stranded a long way from any help.

They chatted on about similar matters and, gradually, the

conversation came round to the different sailing boats that

could be seen on the river. With Ben's limited knowledge

of sailing, much of this talk concerning yawls, ketches,

spritsail barges, and so on, was beyond him. He agreed,

however, that the traditional boats were a lot more

interesting to look at than many modern yachts.

‘The boats nowadays are so dull. Some look like twobathtubs glued together; others are more like space capsules

with masts.' complained their host and pointed with his pipe

in the direction of the blue yacht anchored off the beach.



34

‘Mine’s no better. Its easy to manage, and sails closer to the

wind, but there is something missing.’

‘Then you'd like our boat Shimmering,’ suggested Emma.

‘Oh yes, she is pretty. I had a boat just like her once but

much larger. Some said she was ugly but I thought she was

beautiful. In fact, I went halfway around the world in her.

What an adventure we had…’ he paused, ‘Until the day Ilost her and I never found another one quite like her.’

‘You lost her?’ queried Emma. ‘Do you mean she was

stolen or wrecked?’

‘No, she wasn't lost at sea in a storm or anything like that,

but I did lose her. It's a long story, and a long time ago; I

wouldn't want to bore you with it.’

‘You must tell us,’ said Jake, ‘We've plenty of time, at

least until the tide rises, and I can't imagine how anyone

could lose a boat especially a large one.’

The man knocked his pipe against one of the firebricks

and started to refill the bowl. He leaned back against the

wall of the hide and looked out across the estuary. For a

few moments he appeared to be deep in thought, then

lighting his pipe, he turned to where they were sitting.

‘Well, as I said, it was many years ago, but I can

remember it all as if it were yesterday.’



35

9. The dream

When I was much younger, I was falsely accused of a

crime that I hadn’t committed. I ended up in court and the

judge - they were really harsh in those days – dismissed my

pleas of innocence and sent me to prison. Being stuck in a

cell for hours on end gave me plenty of time to think aboutthe future. I was angry at losing my freedom, but I knew I

was innocent and I was determined to use the time

profitably. Each day, I would visit the prison library to read

about sailing ships and the sea. In the evenings, my

cellmates and I would talk about our lives back home and

make plans for when we were released. My dream,

however, was not about a new job or a girl friend, but of a

ship; one that was tall and sturdy enough to take me half

way around the world to the islands of the South Pacific.

To explore these islands was something I had dreamedabout ever since I was a boy. Once, it had distracted me

from my schoolwork; in prison it distracted me from hours

of boredom. I spent every spare minute I could drawing up

plans for a voyage. Eventually, the real culprit was caught;

he confessed to the crime and I was released. With the help

of a small amount of compensation for wrongful

imprisonment, I made my way to the coast and started my

search for a boat.

I found her on the East Coast, a pilot cutter about forty

feet long and built in Norway around 1930. During the war,

she had been used as a fishing boat in the North Sea and



36

had dragged up a mine in her nets. While the crew

struggled to release it, an enemy patrol boat appeared out of

the mist and fired on them. The skipper and crew took

cover on deck, but, after the attack, they went below to find

that the skipper’s wife had been shot by a bullet that had

ricocheted through one of the skylights. They placed her in

a bunk and set sail urgently for the English coast. Thatnight, however, she mysteriously disappeared from the

cabin and was never seen again. In fact, that is not exactly

true because, on later voyages, some members of the crew

claimed to have seen her crossing the deck at night or

standing in the shadows of the wheelhouse. Anyway, the

catches got smaller and smaller and eventually the boat was

abandoned. Having been neglected for some time and

needing quite a lot of work, she was put up for sale at a

bargain price and I bought her. My sister Kate, and an old

friend Simon, volunteered to join me as crew and we spentseveral months raising money for our trip, and making

repairs. Finding the money was our main problem, so while

the other two found temporary jobs, I took her back to sea

as a fishing boat to catch anything that would fetch a good

price in the local markets.

My first day at sea as a fisherman was a complete

disaster! Not only did I fail to catch any fish, but also

whilst returning to port, the mast started groaning and then

collapsed with a crash the full length of the ship. Nearly amonth was to pass before I got back to sea again, but this

time I made sure that the new mast was built of the best

timber and extended well below the main deck. For two



37

weeks I caught nothing but mud, shells or weeds, but

gradually my luck changed and we started to haul in tons of

fish. With the ship paying for herself, and some money

saved, the three of us began making plans for our voyage.

First, we had to convert the ship from a scruffy fishing

smack to an elegant cruising yacht. While we were fittingher out, all kinds of things kept disappearing. It was a

mystery and very frustrating, so Kate suggested we called

the boat Ghost Ship. We were keen to learn about the noble

art and science of navigation, but that had to wait until the

wooden bottom had been sheathed in copper as a protection

against attack from tropical water worms. Several tons of

rusty pig iron had to be transferred to the bilges for ballast

to stop the ship from capsizing in heavy weather. Old

varnish needed scraping away and repainting. Huge fresh

water tanks were fitted and filled; provisions were boughtand stored. I never fail to be amazed at the number of

useless things that people can be persuaded to buy for their

boats. Sometimes, we were just as foolish.

The tasks seemed endless, but learning to navigate was a

real challenge. How our heads spun with mathematical

formulas and calculations. Fortunately, we found a retired

and very patient ship's captain who helped us to unlock the

secrets of how not to get lost at sea. The kitchen table of his

small cottage became the setting for many nauticalemergencies or potential disasters. Spoons became storm

tossed yachts; salt and pepper pots became jagged rocks.

'How would you cope with that then?' he would cry, and we



38

would stare at the table in confusion. Gales, shipwrecks and

collisions occurred daily in that kitchen, and we soon

learned that successful navigation relied not only on maths

and tables but on good seamanship too. As we became

more confident at handling these problems, our pleasure at

studying charts of the voyage increased. The evenings

passed in long and enjoyable discussions on the routes wemight take and the ports we might visit. Our pencil-lined

track touched Madeira and the Canary Islands, crossed the

Atlantic Ocean and Caribbean, passed through the Panama

Canal, and came to rest amidst the islands of the Pacific. It

was going to be a long journey, but we had the right ship

and the right crew. At least, we thought we had.

At long last, the day arrived when we were ready to start

our voyage. With heads held high, we rowed out to our

ghost ship and hoisted sail. Several friends and a number of local fishermen had come to watch our departure from the

town quay; they were in for an entertaining half hour. With

an ebb tide running, we dropped down the river and, to the

amusement of several bait diggers, ran aground on a mud

bank. Once free of its clutches, we got under way on the

wrong tack and sailed, with great accuracy, into an

anchored fishing smack and damaged our bowsprit. I

offered apologies mixed with excuses to the skipper while

he helped us free the tangle of lines.

‘The current is quite tricky along here and the wind is sochangeable,’ I explained meekly.

‘I've been wondering if your lack of success is related in

any way to a lack of skill?’ he commented dryly.



39

For the next twenty minutes, while I struggled to start the

engine, our good ship continued to bump into other boats at

their moorings to the ever-increasing jeers and cheers of the

assembled audience. Our chances of reaching the main

river, let alone the South Seas, seemed very slim. But we

eventually entered Colliers Reach and headed down river.

Our friend, the ship's captain, was in a rowing boat just off the same beach that we are sitting on here.

‘Turn right when you get to Bradwell,’ he shouted, ‘And

you might reach the English Channel. After that, you've

only got twelve thousand miles to go!’

‘Come along with us!’ we shouted.

‘No fear,’ was his reply, ‘I'd rather be here wishing I was

out there than out there wishing I was here.’ And off he

rowed laughing.



40

10. Madeira

The journey down the Channel was uneventful but the Bay

of Biscay lived up to its awesome reputation. We were

swept across its wild seas during the middle of a gale. The

ship lurched on her beam-ends and we were all extremely

seasick. Things came adrift from every part of the boat andlittered the decks. A large drum of porridge oats toppled

over and burst open in the main cabin where it mixed with

water seeping from one of the tanks. It took hours to clear

up the sticky mess and taught us all a harsh lesson in

making things secure before a change in the weather. We

also had another mishap when the rest of the bowsprit

snapped off during a sudden squall. But one evening, lights

from the coast of Madeira loomed over the horizon and we

headed for Funchal, our first foreign port of call. As we

were anchoring in the harbour, dozens of fireworks and starshells burst over our heads, but this was no special

welcome for our benefit; we had arrived at the start of the

annual fiesta.

For the next few days, we enjoyed the fun and festivities

going on around us and took many trips ashore. We dived

into the harbour from the newly repaired bowsprit and

watched people dancing in the streets. If visitors turned up,

Simon played the mouth organ accompanied by my sister

on the banjo. It was the only entertainment we could offer

and if our visitors were less than impressed, they certainly



41

didn't show it. With the repairs completed, we said farewell

to that pleasant port and set off for the Canary Islands.

At sea, our watches were arranged so that we each spent

four hours on lookout and steering, then eight hours resting.

We each hated being roused from sleep to take a turn at the

tiller and reacted in different ways to our human alarmclock. Indeed, at one stage, we used a real alarm clock, but

this woke everyone up and ended up being hurled over the

side. You certainly learn a lot about yourself and others on

a small ship with a crew of three. Fortunately, thanks to fair

winds, there was rarely any need for more then one of us on

deck during the watch. We also took turns at cooking and

Simon was the worst cook, but he never gave up trying.

Several times, he set fire to the galley and sent us all in a

panic for buckets of water! If the ghost ship is still in one

piece, I am sure that she carries the scars of her battles withSimon to this very day.

Having left Madeira, we were feeling pretty pleased with

our navigation skills. But pride goes before a fall! A

careless error in our calculations brought us as close to

disaster as we ever came during the voyage. At one o'clock

on a pitch black night, while we were cruising along at

seven knots, a rock suddenly appeared in the sea just a

hundred or so yards to starboard. We gazed at it in horror

and then hurried below to consult our chart. It was the mostwestern point of a group of uninhabited islands that we had

planned to miss by at least twenty miles. After that, we

double-checked every calculation.



42

A few days later, we anxiously scanned the horizon for

any sign of the Canary Islands, but the hours passed and

they failed to appear. Our main fear was that we might have

missed the islands completely and were heading for a part

of the African coast known to be frequented by Riff pirates.

These villains operated from all kinds of craft in the regionof Cape Bojador and would often attack becalmed sailing

ships. Our anxiety increased that evening when a large

fishing boat appeared against the setting sun and gradually

bore down upon us. The crew, a most unsavoury looking

bunch, beckoned us to draw near. Perhaps they were

entirely innocent fishermen and they may have needed

medical assistance, but we couldn't be too sure and were

reluctant to take any chances. There were no distress

signals flying from the yards and they persisted in waving

and jeering at us. Simon altered course to put the ghost shiprunning across the wind; this increased our speed but the

fishing boat continued to gain on us. If attacked, we had no

means of protecting ourselves apart from a small hand

pistol that I had brought up from the cabin at the first sign

of danger. Then, to my astonishment, Kate grabbed a large

oar from the dinghy and walked forward to the bows. She

raised the blade to her shoulder and pointed the oar in the

direction of our pursuers. 'Fire the pistol' she hissed and, as

I did so, she rocked backwards as if her 'gun' had recoiled

from the blast!

Were they pirates? We never discovered, for the fishing

boat dropped slowly astern just as a dense fog started to roll



43

towards us. Despite the danger, we sailed headlong into its

silent embrace and continued at full speed. At dawn, the

mist cleared and towering above the clouds like the

Pyramids were the mountains of Gran Canaria. Gaping

crowds welcomed us to Las Palmas and a fleet of floating

shops or bumboats headed our way. Their owners jostled

for our attention and were a persistent nuisance as theyscrambled aboard and cluttered our decks with all kinds of

unwanted goods: dolls, clocks, carpets and so on.

Fortunately, shortly after our arrival, two large passenger

liners entered the harbour to refuel and the gang of hawkers

set off in pursuit of richer pickings.

I can't say that we enjoyed our stay in the Canary Islands

very much. It was always hot and dusty, and the port was a

hive of activity with ships coming and going all hours of

the day and night. But I remember two things that stillmake me smile. Shortly after our arrival, we hired a local

cook; food drenched in olive oil seemed preferable to

Simon's disasters. One evening, to our delight, the man

promised and delivered Yorkshire pudding from our steam-

filled galley. This was not a pile of fussy little cakes, but

the real thing, a large pudding to satisfy the hungriest

coalminer in South Yorkshire.

‘And now for the sauce,’ he announced proudly and

ladled a large quantity of thick yellow sludge over his

magnificent creation. ‘Bravo!’ he cried, ‘Yorkshire puddingand custard!’



44

A couple of days later, Simon was lying in his bunk for

an afternoon siesta. It was a very warm day and the

skylights were wide open to catch any small breeze from

the harbour. He had just dozed off when he felt something

brush lightly against his nose. It was a long bamboo pole

with a coat hanger tied at one end and it had mysteriously

entered the cabin through one of the skylights. For severalmoments, he watched this device with much curiosity as it

swept vaguely around the cabin knocking books of the

table and prodding into shelves. Then, to his dismay, it

hooked itself into the handle of his favourite mug, a present

from the sea captain in Maldon, and started to retreat

through the skylight. Jumping up in anguish from his bunk,

Simon seized the bamboo pole and gave it a short tug.

From the quayside above, he heard a cry and then a splash

as the 'fisherman' tumbled into the water between the dock

and the ship.



45

11. Through the Panama Canal

Now our great adventure had really begun. Three thousand

miles of Atlantic Ocean stretched before us all the way to

the Caribbean. As the ghost ship glided along with the trade

winds, our main problem was in coping with boredom. I

found that the best way of tackling this was to have aroutine and to make every small job last: splicing ropes,

filling and trimming lamps. washing down the decks, or

just cleaning the pans and dishes. At night, our worst

enemy was the desire to sleep whilst on watch. The four-

hour watches we had set ourselves were far too long, but

there was no other solution. It was so easy for the

helmsman to become hypnotised by the sound of water

swirling and hissing past the hull and let heavy eyelids

surrender to the joy of sleep. The others recited poetry or

sang to keep themselves awake: my solution, a ratherpainful one, was to keep a spike handy and prod myself

with it. Do you know, on a few nights, I thought I saw

someone sitting in the bows just as if they were keeping a

lookout as well? Occasionally I even heard them singing.

The others also experienced this, but I can only imagine it

was the moonlight on the sails or the wind in the shrouds.

We were often becalmed, but didn’t bother to use the

engine. What is the point of motoring for four hundred

miles in a stretch of three thousand? Also, we had no radio

to entertain us; to break the monotony, we would have an

occasional sing-along. The banjo was pleasant enough but



46

Simon's mouth organ could set my teeth on edge. He

always kept it above his bunk in a small wooden pocket

that was a perfect fit. Oh, how I was tempted to sling this

fearsome instrument over the side in pursuit of the alarm

clock. He was so much better at card tricks.

After sailing for a month, we worked out that we wereapproaching the island of Curacao. Once again, our lack of

navigation skills meant that we spent many hours scanning

an empty horizon. In desperation, we decided to head south

knowing that if we missed Curacao we couldn't fail to miss

South America. Indeed, we were heading towards

Venezuela and polishing up our Spanish when land

appeared on the horizon and it was Curacao. All I can

remember of our stay there was lying at anchor in the

shadow of an old fort used by Henry Morgan, the Welsh

pirate, and swimming in the clear blue waters of the bay.While we were there, however, we took the opportunity to

have our chronometer or clock checked as we were sure

that this was the cause of our poor navigation. You see,

latitude, your position north or south of the equator, is

fairly easy to measure using the height of the sun at noon.

Finding longitude, your position east or west of Greenwich,

requires an accurate time check. It’s calculated from the

time the sun takes to reach you from when it passed over

Greenwich. Well, that’s the general idea.

From Curacao, we continued towards Panama and, swept

along by huge following seas, covered six hundred miles in

four days. At this time our lives seemed full of small



47

mishaps. Simon cut his leg when he tripped over a skylight,

Kate developed toothache, and I fell overboard! I had gone

for’d one night to check the repair to the bowsprit as it

seemed to be lifting more than usual under the pressure of

the jib sail. There's an old seafaring saying 'one hand for

yourself and one hand for the ship', but I ignored it at my

peril. While I was sitting out on the bowsprit with myhands fully occupied, a freak sea struck the bows and,

before I could grasp anything, had swept me overboard. By

the time I struggled to reach the surface, the ghost ship was

sailing away and the distance between us was increasing

with every second. Then, to my great relief, I felt

something dragging against my shoulder. It was the log; a

line with a rotator that we towed behind the ship and which

turned a clock on the rail to record the distance we had

sailed. I just grabbed it and held on for dear life. The

spinning line burnt the flesh on my palms but I wouldn't letgo for all the pain it caused. There I clung, dragged along in

the wake of the ghost ship, hoping and praying that the line

wouldn't break. Thankfully, the others must have heard my

frantic cries and were soon out on deck. Simon brought the

boat head to wind whilst Kate threw me a lifebelt. After

what seemed an eternity, I was dragged aboard dripping

wet, exhausted and bleeding, but very glad to be alive.

As I sat huddled in blankets and drinking hot cocoa,

Simon asked Kate how she knew that I had fallen into thesea. Kate said that she didn’t; she had been fast asleep.

Simon, however, insisted that he heard her calling 'Man

overboard!' It was definitely a woman's voice from inside



48

the boat and who else could it have been but Kate?

Thereafter, I insisted that we trailed a large length of rope

behind the ship in case anyone else decided to take an

accidental swim. Despite repairs to the chronometer, we

still doubted its accuracy and blamed it for our failure to

calculate an accurate position. Consequently, we made yet

another uncertain landfall. Late, one afternoon, a mist-enshrouded and sinister coast appeared on our port bow,

and there was nothing for it but to creep along this coast

until we met a procession of cargo ships and liners making

for the Panama Canal.

Our main concern, at this stage of the journey, was that

we wouldn't have enough money to pay the canal fees. This

would mean retracing our steps and taking the longer, and

more dangerous, route around Cape Horn, or having to

abandon the voyage and return home. Fortunately, the feewas well within our budget. So began an incredible journey

through seven locks and forty miles of channels and lakes

with the help of a pilot in a smart uniform. This was a

journey that would normally take only seven hours. I say

normally because our's was a little unusual.

The speed at which the locks operated was unbelievable,

and by some miracle, our engine carried us from one

efficient lock to the next until we reached Gatun Lake. It

was here that our engine decided to pack up completely,and the rain started to bucket down. Our pilot's uniform

was reduced to a wet rag, yet to our delight he suggested

that we used the sails. I think he really enjoyed himself; he



49

threw off his jacket, hauled on the halyards and treated us

to a selection of sea shanties. We tacked across the fresh

water lakes, and scudded before rainsqualls along the

channels. Becalmed, we took afternoon tea, watched

pelicans swooping and diving into the water, and

entertained our pilot to a musical concert. Towards

evening, Simon jumped overboard into the shallows andtied the ghost ship to a small buoy. Climbing back aboard,

he noticed a log on the nearby shore roll over, flick a long

tail and slide gracefully into the water. For once, he was

totally at a loss for words.

We sailed into Balboa at the far end of the canal with no

more than a few pounds left to our name. Several fund-

raising suggestion were put forward at a cabin conference,

including the possibility of using the ghost ship to catch

fish again. We wondered, however, how the localfishermen would react to us when we set up stall in the

local market. It seemed as if we would have to search for

any kind of work that might be available. That evening,

without a word to anyone, Simon slipped ashore and with

him went our few remaining pounds. For several awful

moments we thought that he had deserted us, then Kate

noticed that the pack of cards was missing too. We spent

several anxious hours wondering whether we would see

him or our money again. In the early hours of the morning,

a cheerful face appeared in the hatchway. He had risked themoney on a game of cards and proudly spread his winnings

on the cabin table. It was a small fortune and we didn't ask



50

too many questions, but I often wondered what might have

happened to us if had he lost.

I should never have doubted his loyalty for one second;

we couldn't have asked for a better shipmate. Anyway, the

next stage of our journey was guaranteed; the ship received

a fresh coat of paint, a new jib sail, one hundred gallons of oil and enough provisions for three months. The Pacific

Ocean beckoned and we prepared for the final hurdle of our

voyage. I will never forget the pilot who took us through

the Canal and out of Balboa. When we reached the last

fairway buoy, he looked around the ghost ship, shook his

head sadly, and clambered reluctantly down into the pilot

boat. If he had asked to continue with us, we would have

agreed willingly. He was such a cheerful fellow and had

really enjoyed his sail with us. During our voyage, we met

many people like him; they longed to break away in searchof adventure, but they were hopelessly trapped in the

responsibilities of life and could never escape.



51

12. A secret in the Galapagos

There are hundreds of volcanoes in the Galapagos Islands

and, within one week of leaving Balboa, we were

completely lost and surrounded by dozens of them. A shark

had eaten our remaining log rotator, and you know about

our attempts at navigation, so things were looking ratherbleak. To add to our problems, we were becalmed.

Occasionally, sailing vessels were becalmed in this region

for over six months. In the crystal clear depths below the

ghost ship, sharks, dolphins, turtles and devilfish hovered

constantly. After only four days, we started to look

anxiously at each other and made plans to ration our

drinking water. A few people have survived by drinking

seawater, but most die.

Fortunately, a trade wind arose and we continued oursearch for Cristobal, the only inhabited island of the group.

Several landings were made on various islands, but these

were just ash heaps with no signs of civilisation. Then, to

the south, we saw a large island with several volcanoes and

broad green valleys. Closer in, low cliffs of lava and brown

sandy beaches became visible and surf could be heard

beating against the outer reef. By climbing up the shrouds

on the mast, Simon was able to direct us through a gap in

the reef and we entered a large bay which was just over a

mile wide. It seemed a good place to anchor and replenish

our dwindling water supply.



52

There was a derelict house on the shore and, close by, a

track led inland to the mountains. After cutting our way

through dense undergrowth and thick scrub, a large grassy

plain lay before us. In the distance, green hills rose upwards

to proud peaks and the fragrance of wild flowers was quite

overpowering. Here, we saw all kinds of animals: pigs,

goats, horses and dogs. Though they appeared harmlessenough and uninterested in the new visitors to their island,

we were careful not to disturb them. I remember seeing two

of the giant tortoises for which these islands are famous and

watching huge lizards scrambling among the lava boulders.

These were ferocious-looking but harmless iguanas.

Returning from the water spring, Kate spotted a small bird

about the size of a sparrow, which was using a cactus spine

to poke insects out the cracks in trees. It must have been

one of the few animal species on Earth to go hunting with a

weapon.

We also saw papayas, oranges, lemons and limes growing

wild, yet the island appeared uninhabited. Then, close to

the hut on the beach, I noticed a large wooden barrel

mounted on a pole surrounded by a pile of small wooden

boards and remembered a description of this barrel in a

guide to the islands. We were on Floreana and our ship lay

in Post Office Bay. And the Post Office? That was the

barrel on the pole in which outward-bound whalers once

left letters to be collected by homeward-bound ships, whichcalled at the island. Many of the ships had left their names

painted or carved on scraps of wood and we added the

name of the ghost ship to the pile. We also left a message



53

of greeting to the next ship that might call. I believe that the

barrel is still there today and is still in use.

Having found our position, and encouraged by our first

landing in the Galapagos, we sailed for Cristobal. Within a

day, we entered Wreck Bay and anchored off a rickety

landing stage. A crowd assembled to watch our arrival anda several men in a boat rowed out to greet us. These

included the owner of the island and a little wrinkled man

with a long white beard whom we nicknamed Santa. After

the usual greetings had been exchanged, and the ship's

papers cleared, we sat in the main cabin with a cool drink

and exchanged information in our clumsy French. Now,

although we had a good time on the island and were made

very welcome, I really want to tell you about the character

we called Santa. He was originally from County Mayo in

Ireland but hadn't spoken much English for over fifty years.He had run away to sea at the age of fifteen and, after

working all around the Pacific, settled in the Galapagos

where he worked as a carpenter. He lived with his wife in a

bamboo house on the beach, but had no children. He must

have been nearly eighty years of age.

We always enjoyed his company for he had so many

amusing tales to tell about people he had met in the islands.

Evenings at his beach hut were lively affairs and were

generally brought to an end by everyone singing rousingchoruses of The Wild Colonial Boy. Juanita, his wife, was

an excellent cook and was clearly delighted at our

enthusiasm for the dishes she prepared; they were simply



54

delicious. One morning, she went searching for a particular

herb on the cliffs above the beach. Though nearly as old as

her husband, she was very nimble and scrambled up to a

clump of plants in some rocks overlooking a sheer drop

into the bay. For some reason, she missed her footing,

slipped off the rocks and fell into the sea. By good fortune,

Kate, who was swimming nearby, saw her fall and went toher rescue. Juanita had been knocked unconscious and was

badly grazed, but with medical attention and a few days

rest, recovered from her injuries. Santa was particularly

grateful and was anxious to repay us in some way for

saving his wife's life. To be honest, it may have been our

appetites that caused her accident, but we were glad to

accept the offer of his carpentry skills and he made several

repairs to the ghost ship.

A week or so after the accident, he took me through thescrub behind the beach to where the crumbling skeleton of

a large sailing boat lay. We sat down on a nearby rock and

he told me an astonishing tale. He explained that for several

years he had been trying to finish the boat in order to return

to a small deserted coral island or atoll near Tahiti. Many

years earlier, Santa had sought refuge on the island during a

storm and took shelter in a small cave near the beach. Deep

inside the cave, he found a man clutching a rusty rifle and

guarding a pile of boxes. Well, to be more accurate, he

found what was left of him. After that, he was reluctant tostay there, especially with night falling, but he remained

long enough to open one of the boxes and find a bag of

gold coins. Later, he discovered that some South American



55

pirates were known to have landed on one of the islands in

order to hide their loot, but no one knew the exact island.

With no fresh water to be found, they must have sailed off

to search for some and left this man behind as a guard. For

some unknown reason, they never came back, and the man

had died of thirst.

Having buried the poor man and his boxes, Santa

eventually returned to the Galapagos, but entering Wreck

Bay, his boat was thrown against the coral reef and was

reduced to splinters. Diving down into the razor sharp coral

he managed to salvage some of the coins. For years, he

made plans to return to the island, but a serious injury had

thwarted his attempts to complete a second boat. He told

me that no one else knew of his find; he was sure that the

coins he had saved were still buried below a large rock near

the beach. Then he confessed that ever since the ghost shipand its crew had arrived, he had been thinking about asking

us to take him back to his treasure island. He knew exactly

which one it was from the hundreds of islands in the group.

He also knew the site of an excellent landing place - always

an important consideration in the Pacific. Well, I was quite

astonished by what he had revealed and didn't know what

to say. All I could do was promise to discuss it with my

travelling companions, and left him sitting there. That

evening we held a meeting aboard the ghost ship to discuss

the matter.

The beachcomber suddenly got to his feet. He looked

over the top of the embankment and noticed that the tide



56

was rising again over the mudflats. Having sat in complete

silence, his listeners were not sitting on an island in the

Blackwater, but around that table aboard the ghost ship.

They were reluctant to leave and wanted him to continue.

‘Did you go in search of the treasure?' asked Emma.

‘I think I'll keep you in suspense until tomorrow. Come

back about the same time and I'll tell you the rest of thestory.’

They marched back in single file along the embankment

path and discussed the beachcomber’s story.

‘We still don’t know how he lost the ghost ship,’

observed Ben, ‘Though I’m more interested in that lost

treasure.’

‘Perhaps they went with Santa and found it, and I bet

someone stole the ghost ship while they were away.’

‘Well, we'll find out tomorrow, if he's still there.’They walked on in silence until they reached the other

side of the island. Shimmering appeared to have tugged her

anchor from the mud and was moving away quite slowly

with the floodtide. A few minutes later and she would have

been drifting up the river towards Maldon. They waded out

quickly and scrambled aboard dripping wet and shivering.

‘How did that happen?’ puzzled Jake, ‘There was plenty

of anchor cable out when we moored earlier. Could

someone have pulled the anchor from the mud?

They anchored further out into the river for the night. Itwas Ben’s turn to cook the evening meal; he thought of

Simon on the ghost ship and lit the galley cooker very

carefully.



57

13. The decision

A slight drizzle and a cool breeze signalled a change in the

weather. After breakfast, Jake suggested they sailed down

to Stone to pick up some stores from the shop by the beach.

The anchor was weighed and in no time Shimmering was

cutting cleanly through the water, but their progress toStone was slow as they were sailing directly against the

incoming tide. Once clear of the island, they passed a line

of yachts moored close to the south shore and then headed

to a cluster of houses a mile or so further along. Here, at

Stone, they anchored and prepared to go ashore.

For several minutes, Ben could hear a low-pitched

growling sound coming from beneath the boat. This was

the anchor chain dragging around on the shingle as the boat

swung in the wind to face the tide. Jake explained that if the boat started to vibrate or shudder, it was a warning that

the anchor may have broken loose and was dragging along

the ground. In a strong onshore breeze, Stone was not a

good anchorage and there was always a chance of the

anchor dragging and wrapping its chain around one of the

many mooring buoys. It was best to moor at a vacant buoy

and hope that the owner didn't return too soon.

On Shimmering, a long line was tied to a post on the

foredeck; the other end was passed over the bows, along

one side of the hull, and back to the cockpit. Spliced to the

end of this line was a large hook. When approaching a



58

mooring, the helmsman could steer alongside the buoy,

lean out and attach the hook to the metal ring at the top of

the buoy. The buoy could then be hauled up to the bows

and made fast. This simple homemade gadget saved a great

deal of time and fuss. Ben watched another boat approach

the moorings. Someone at the sharp end armed with a

boathook guided the helmsman.'A bit more to port. Yes, that's right. No, I didn’t mean

go right! Go left! That's too much! Now we've missed it.

Well, let's go round again. Third time lucky eh?'

Shimmering’s hook saved a lot of confusion and bad

temper too. It was to prove invaluable a few days later.

Amongst their purchases from the shop was a mackerel

spinner. This was to be trawled behind Shimmering on runs

across the river. The red and silver spinner would rotate in

the wake and attract the attention of the mackerel thatwould mistake it for a small fish. They had visions of fresh

fish tumbling aboard by the dozen, but by the end of the

morning had caught only drifting seaweed and a few shells

dredged up from the mud. Jake had a little more luck with

his rod and line; a puffer fish, which looked so disgusting

that he released it to splash away to freedom in the murky

depths below the keel. They never caught a single fish with

the spinner, and they finally lost it when it snagged against

a wreck some weeks later. There were no mackerel to be

caught in the Blackwater anyway.

At high tide, they returned to Osea and were relieved to

see the beachcomber's small yacht still snug at anchor



59

across the river. The rain had cleared and patches of

sunlight were appearing on the distant hills. As they packed

a picnic, Emma remarked on the similarities between the

ghost ship and Shimmering. Both involved three travelling

companions and a chance meeting with a stranger who had

an unusual story to tell. Having anchored carefully, they

rowed ashore and set off along the beach to meet theirstranger and to hear the rest of his story.

The beachcomber was sitting by his enormous multi-

coloured umbrella and stitching a torn sail. He seemed

surprised to see them.

‘I didn't think you’d be back, but you're very welcome.’

Once again, mugs of tea were produced, and they shared

out their supplies. The small group sat on some oilskins

along the embankment and munched buttered teacakes

whilst gulls screeched overhead and hovered in the breezein the hope of cadging some crumbs.

‘Some say that gulls are the souls of drowned mariners,

but I think they're just greedy devils.’ He hurled some

crusts down the embankment and the gulls swooped to

snatch them from the mud and wheeled away. ‘Now where

did I leave off yesterday?’

‘You were having a meeting on board the ghost ship with

your sister and Simon.’

‘And you had to decide whether or not to go in search of

Santa's treasure island.’

The beachcomber smiled at their eager replies and

continued his story.



60

‘Well, we discussed the idea from every angle. We talked

about the ghost ship's unreliable engine and the dangerous

reefs surrounding small islands or atolls. We weighed the

chances of finding something with the risk of losing the

ship. In the end, a vote was taken and it went two to one

against making a search. I suppose that we had already

planned our voyage and decided to get on with it beforemore distractions got in the way. I felt sad for the old man

as he had waited all those years for someone he could really

trust. We had turned up out of the blue, shared his great

secret, and then turned it down.

The following day, we held a farewell party on the boat

for all the friends we had made during the visit to Cristobal.

What a feast we had: real turtle soup, delicious tropical

fish, boiled fowl and roast pork, sweet potatoes, taro root,

coconut pudding and rum. Santa received our decision withdisappointment, but cheered up after a while; perhaps the

rum helped. He said that he and Juanita were happy living

there, and that if he left the island, he might never return.

What would they do with all that money anyway? They had

no children to leave it to. It was his opinion that he was

never meant to have that treasure.

Now among the items that Santa had taken from the ghost

ship to repair was a large wicker basket. This was used for

transferring stores from the shore and for storing fruitduring the voyage. It rested on four short stumps but the

flat wooden base had started to crack so he had screwed an

extra piece of wood across it. On the morning of our



61

departure, Santa returned the basket with the help of two

young men in a canoe. After we had hauled it up to the

deck, he climbed aboard and tipped it upside down.

Engraved in the wooden base was a rough map of an island,

some figures, and some directions.

‘This is just in case you should change your mind,’ he

said, ‘but if you ever leave your ship make sure you removeit and take it with you. Not a copy, but this very map.’

He then shook hands with each one of us and stepped

down into the canoe. ‘I hope you'll come back to us again

some day,’ he called as the canoe pulled away from the

ship. Of course, we promised to return but never did.

An hour later, we set sail on the last leg of our journey.

The Galapagos Islands became a dim outline against the

blue sky and then disappeared over the horizon. For several

days, I occasionally stood at the ghost ship's rail lookingback at the wake and wondering if we had made the right

decision. But time passed, the treasure island and the

wooden map were gradually forgotten.



62

14. An end to the dream

We sailed before a steady southeast trade wind for twenty-

two days until we reached our goal, the South Sea Islands.

At the sight of the Marquesas Islands gliding towards us,

we toasted the health of the good ship that had carried usslowly but safely over all those thousands of miles. There is

so much that I could tell you about these and the other

islands we visited; goat hunting on Nukuhiva, pearl diving

in the Tuamotos; the curious lizard men on Moorea. But

above all, it was the magnificent scenery that I recall:

waterfalls cascading three thousand feet down to the sea,

deep bays with coral beaches, the fairy rings of atolls,

lagoons surrounded by graceful palms, dark green ferns and

velvet mossy banks.

Mind you, for all the beauty we discovered, the South

Seas is a place of tragedy and sadness too. There was

hardly an island we visited which had not had its share of

disaster or disease. The coral reefs surrounding many

islands were littered with the wrecks of ships, which had

come to grief during gales or had misjudged the narrow

entrances to atolls. One beautiful island, which was

originally discovered by Captain Bligh of the Bounty, held

a grim secret. A small passenger ship had gone aground on

the jagged coral of its outer reef. The passengers and crew

had taken to the boats but one capsized in the surf and its

occupants survived for less than two minutes in the shark-



63

infested waters. The other boat reached the shore but the

survivors were killed and eaten by the locals. In their haste

to leave the doomed ship, the crew had forgotten to release

a convict who was being taken to a prison settlement. This

wretched man watched the whole horrifying spectacle

through a skylight in the sloping deck as the ship settled on

the reef. He spent three days and nights trapped in thewreck wondering which of the cruel deaths he had

witnessed would be his. In the event, he was rescued by a

passing schooner and lived to tell the tale, but had gone

completely mad.

On we sailed until we reached the Tuamotus. I had

always looked forward to visiting these islands as I had

read about them as a boy, and one writer had claimed that

they were as near to paradise as anywhere else on earth.

Before our departure from England, I read of a man fromCornwall who spent seventeen years digging up a beach on

a deserted atoll. He was searching for some buried treasure,

but it was the wrong atoll. I sometimes wondered if we had

been given the map of the right one.

It was evening when we arrived off one of the islands

and, entering a lagoon, had difficulty locating the

anchorage. Simon spotted a thin spiral of smoke across the

lagoon, so we motored gently in its direction expecting the

usual friendly welcome from the locals. There was a housenear the beach but, of its occupants, there was no sign.

After we anchored, we lowered the ship's dinghy and got

ready for a trip ashore. Suddenly, Kate noticed two figures



64

emerge from the palm trees and walk down the beach to the

water’s edge. A lone voice pierced the silence and carried a

note of urgency across the still water.

‘Go away! Please don’t land! There are lepers here.’

We were later to discover that this small island's sole

inhabitants were a brother and sister. We had experienced

the tragic touch of the South Seas and were left with amemory that continued to haunt us for a long time.

After that, our journey lost some of its magic. We were

caught in a number of violent storms and just missed the

tail of a hurricane as it swept across the Tuamotus causing

untold havoc. On many of the islands, crops were

completely destroyed and hundreds were made homeless.

Exhausted by this ordeal, we sought refuge in the port of

Papeete on Tahiti. I can only remember this part of our

voyage with sadness for it was here that I lost the ghostship. One afternoon, whilst we were resting after a long

walk around the town, I was invited by a man on the

quayside to join him and his two friends for a drink in a

nearby bar. They seemed pleasant enough and knew a lot

about sailing boats. While we were chatting, one of the men

asked me if I wanted to sell the ghost ship and to name my

price. For a joke, I suggested a ridiculously high figure, but

he did not laugh. He asked me if I would take any less and I

shook my head.

‘Then I'll take her.’ he said.I had sold the ghost ship. Of course, I could have

withdrawn from the bargain, but I didn't, and to this day I

don't know why. Later, I sat alone in the bar wondering



65

how I would break the news to my two companions. I had a

bagful of money, but no ship. I had never been so miserable

in my life.

After an hour's aimless wandering around the dusty

streets of Papeete, I summoned the courage to tell the

others. I had devised a number of excuses to hide myshame. Wasn't it best to quit while we were enjoying the

voyage? We were getting short of money again. Now we

could sail on in the comfort of a liner and visit New

Zealand or Australia. We would invest our newfound

wealth in a far more magnificent craft than the plodding

ghost ship. Or we could .... I can only tell you that for the

rest of that day they hated me, but no more than I hated

myself. I believe they were heartbroken.

So we packed our few personal belongings and left theisland by a smoke-belching steamship. Our fellow

passengers gave us some very funny looks as we clambered

up the gangway with our scruffy sea bags and matching

brown-paper parcels. The stewards fussed around tidying

up our cabins whilst we, a once carefree band of savages,

prepared to dress correctly for dinner. I was cursing and

struggling with a collar and tie when, through the porthole,

I caught a brief glimpse of the ghost ship. She was rocking

up and down in the swell caused by the steamer’s

departure; she may have been waving farewell, but I thinkshe was just mocking at me. That night, disturbed by the

sound of the engines, I awoke and for a few moments I

thought it was my turn at the tiller.



66

Simon and Kate left us Tonga. They had decided to get

married and to live as far away from civilisation as

possible, but promised to sign on again as crew if I ever

found a replacement for the ghost ship. Over the next few

months, I searched a hundred or more ports for a boat to

replace her, but in the end had to admit defeat. My moneywas running low and I was forced to return home.

Sometimes, I used to think about that treasure map which

we had left behind. We had all been too busy packing to

give it a second thought.

But that wasn't the end of the story. I kept in touch with

Simon and Kate for many years. Then, one day, they wrote

to say that they had met someone who knew about our ship.

She had exchanged hands a few times and, after a period as

an island trader, had returned to England. A little later, Idiscovered this photograph in a yachting magazine; I'm

sure that's her passing a line of moored sailing barges.

Unfortunately, the magazine gave no information about the

photograph except that it had been taken somewhere on the

East Coast.

Over the years, I've searched for her in all the rivers and

havens in this part of England. I've worked my way from

Norfolk right down to the Medway. There are miles of

rivers and creeks and she could be anywhere. In fact, I mayhave passed her on the coast by night without knowing. I've

stopped searching for her now but I would have liked to see

her again.



67

The beachcomber rested; his story was at an end. The

three companions looked in turn at the faded magazine

photograph and, for a minute or two, no one spoke. Then

Emma asked him why he kept returning to the Blackwater.

‘Well, it's an interesting river and this is such a pleasant

spot to watch the different ships pass by. There is anotherreason and you will probably laugh, but I get an odd feeling

that the ghost ship is around here somewhere. Anyway, I'll

be moving along very soon, so let's forget about the past.

What are your plans for the future?'



68

15. The challenge

For the rest of the afternoon, they talked about places on

the river they could visit, and picked up a few tips on how

to repair sails. Jake and Emma went swimming out to the

beachcomber's small yacht and Ben made a sketch of the

hide. Then the sun, which had made a half-hearted andwatery appearance, started to sink behind a bank of low

clouds. It was time to be leaving. With reluctance, they said

farewell to the beachcomber and wished him good luck

with his search.

‘Look me up anytime you are passing this way, but

promise that you’ll keep this place a secret.’

Returning to the other side of the island, Ben remembered

the ball hidden in the bushes. A noisy energetic game of

beach football followed and only ended when the ball wasstruck high and wide into the river. The current carried it

away swiftly for someone else to find and enjoy. They

could have rowed after it in the dinghy, but were too tired

and had hardly enough energy left to get back to

Shimmering. Night was falling when they tied up the

dinghy and lit the anchor light. The kettle whistled

cheerfully on the galley stove and an interesting aroma

filled the cabin, not of sweet potatoes and taro root but of

toast, sausages and beans. Soon they were tucking into a

hot meal and discussing the day's events.



69

‘How could he have sold the boat without talking to the

others first?’

‘He must have been given a huge pile of money.’

‘Ah, but it didn't last all that long. There must have been

some other reason.’

While they were talking, Ben remembered the boatyard

owner’s words: ‘They're all for sale if the price is right.’Perhaps there was no such thing as a perfect boat. It would

be either too large for mooring fees or not large enough for

comfort, too light for heavy weather or too heavy to make a

fast passage, and so on. Eventually, the attraction of a new

boat would prove too great and the owner would start to

despise the craft that had once been his or her most

treasured possession. And then it would start all over again.

But what were the ghost ship's weaknesses? Apart from the

unreliable engine, the beachcomber hadn't mentioned any.

Whatever the problem, they all agreed that the journey tothe Pacific had been a great adventure even though it had

ended in disappointment.

From a rack above her bunk, Emma produced a chart of

the East Coast and, pushing the dishes aside, spread it out

across the table. With a pencil she picked out the various

rivers that the beachcomber had explored in his search.

Some, like the Blackwater, poured straight into the sea,

whereas others followed a winding path, or divided into

several smaller streams and creeks. On this coast, athorough search for a boat, even a large one, would take a

lot of time and patience. In some places, the riverbanks

were several miles from the nearest road or footpath and



70

could only be reached by water. Faced with the busy

shipping traffic on rivers such as the Medway or the

Thames, the crew of a small yacht would be fully occupied

in avoiding collisions, and would certainly be discouraged

from exploring every dock or jetty. They all agreed that to

search one river would be fun and it was at this point that

someone suggested they did just that. They knew theirchances of finding the ghost ship were very slim but the

challenge occupied their thoughts for the rest of the

evening.

‘If we have a search with a purpose like this,' said Jake,

‘It will help us to get to know the river better.’

‘And it will make the week more interesting than if we

just drift about,’ added Emma.

Reluctantly, Ben reminded them that their father had

limited their cruising grounds to the River Blackwater.Emma reached for a copy of Coote's East Coast Rivers, a

popular pilot book for the area, and turning to the chapter

on the Blackwater announced that, according to the book,

the river's entrance was considered to be at the Bench Head

buoy some 15 miles down river from Maldon.

‘We shall therefore limit our search to those waters west

of the Bench Head buoy,’ she announced solemnly.

In a way this was a rather cunning move for it extended

their territory to include the creeks around Tollesbury and

West Mersea on the northern shore. A further hunt in therack above her bunk produced a chart of the River

Blackwater and they were able to inspect the task in closer

detail.



71

‘Let’s miss out the small Goldhanger Creek above Osea,’

suggested Jake, ‘Because we know that one quite well and

there is nothing like the ghost ship anchored or moored

there. Mill Creek on the north bank of the river is quite

shallow but worth a look. After that, we’ll search

Tollesbury and West Mersea to the north, then Bradwelland Maylandsea to the south, and finally Maldon and

Heybridge to the west.'

From the chart, Ben could see that this involved a circular

route bringing them back to where their journey had

started.

‘It will be important to work with the tides,’ continued

Jake, whilst consulting a small set of tables, ‘And it looks

as if they’ll fit in neatly with our plans.’

He scribbled some figures down and then read out an

approximate timetable for their movements. It occupiedmost of the week and ended on the Thursday afternoon at

Heybridge.

‘Well that's the search plan sorted out,’ agreed Emma,

‘But do we know what we are looking for?’

Ben suggested that they made a list of all the things they

could remember from the beachcomber's account of the

voyage. For the next twenty minutes, they racked their

brains to recall any facts about the ghost ship that might

help them in their search. They finished up with a list,which was something like this:



72

A gaff-rigged cutter like Shimmering

At least 12 metres long

A stout mast and bowsprit

Built in Norway about 1930

Tan coloured sails

One or two skylights

Brass portholes and fittings

It wasn't much to go on, but at least the boat's length

would help them to reduce the number of possibilities.

They also had a guide to the types of sailing ships seen

around the East Coast which they thought might be of some

help. Night was falling on the river. The paraffin in the oil

lamp was running low and, as no one seemed eager enough

to refill it, they cleared away the dishes and got ready to

turn in.

‘Well, if we fall behind our timetable,’ said Jake yawningslowly, ‘At least Shimmering has a reliable motor to help us

catch up.'

If only he had known how wrong these words were to

prove in the days that were to follow.



73

16. The search begins

It was a miserable day. The clouds were heavy with rain

and it was blowing hard. The crew struggled up on deck in

oilskins and sea boots whilst Shimmering shook and tugged

violently at her anchor chain. The wind howled through the

rigging and rain pelted down on the cabin roof. In the midstof all this mayhem, they had to shout to be heard. Jake

seemed to enjoy the weather for he clung to the mast

singing cheerfully as he released halyards and removed ties

from the mainsail. Emma grinned encouragingly from the

bows and started to shorten the anchor chain. Ben felt

clumsy and awkward in the oilskin leggings. The rain was

driving against his face, running down his neck and soaking

the top of his jumper. Perhaps they had seen his discomfort

and were trying to cheer him up? It was having little effect.

Whilst he was trying to secure another line to the dinghy,Shimmering rolled suddenly and the small boat slammed

forward jamming his fingers painfully against the hull. He

sat miserably in the cockpit and sucked at his fingers to

relieve the pain. If they were off in search of a ghost, this

was a nightmare.

With her mainsail reefed and a single storm jib set,

Shimmering lurched away from the anchorage. She was

running before the wind but sailing directly into the flood

tide. With the tide and wind fighting each other in the

shallow waters of the estuary, short and lumpy seas kicked

up and jerked her into a violent motion. Ben's stomach



75

With Bradwell abeam to starboard, Jake nudged the tiller

over and they swung towards the northern shore. He

explained that they were heading for Tollesbury which lay

behind a wilderness of mudflats bordered by a low sea

wall. At the bows, Emma lowered a weighted and marked

line into the water and gave a 'thumbs up' sign. They were

passing over the Nass, a long shallow bank, and the lineshowed that they had enough water beneath the keel to do

so. On the other side of the bank, was a deep creek leading

to Tollesbury. Without a chart, you might pass by the bank

without ever realising the creek was there. A small island at

its entrance merged with the surrounding marshes and

mudflats and formed a barrier against the sea. A call from

Emma indicated that they had entered deeper water and

could turn safely into the narrow creek. Here, in the shelter

of the riverbank, the wind eased and the boat was carried

up the channel by the rising tide,

Tollesbury is a mysterious place. It sits at the head of a

small creek off the main channel overlooking a vast

expanse of mudflats and saltings. Close to the quayside

stand several old wooden buildings perched on tall piles as

a precaution against floods. Tollesbury was once home to

the crews of great sailing yachts of days gone by. The

wooden huts had housed sail lofts, boat builders, chandlers

and other businesses that served the needs of the yachts’

wealthy owners. Anyone who has visited Tollesbury willremember the saltings, a confusing network of muddy

channels meandering around marshes in which an armada

of small sailing boats hides. As the tide rises, the boats lift



76

until they appear to be sitting and bobbing on top of the

marshes. When the tide falls, they slowly disappear into the

mud leaving a forest of masts to mark their resting place.

Go to Tollesbury on a misty morning when the tide is

rising; it is sight not easily forgotten.

As soon as the tide was high enough, they searchedthrough the saltings on both sides of the creek. There were

many unusual sights to distract them from their task,

particularly those boats on which the owners lived. One had

several garden gnomes standing on guard by the gangway;

another had a clay gull perched on the galley chimney to

scare the real gulls away. At Tollesbury, they saw more

derelict and abandoned boats than anywhere else on the

river, though nothing to match what they had in mind.

Despite the rotten weather, they stuck to their task and only

left the creek when the tide had fallen so low that they werein danger of being stranded. The night was spent quietly at

anchor under the stars and close to the edge of the Nass

sandbank.

The following morning, they awoke to the sound of

fishing boats heading out to sea. These were packed with

day-trippers and their gear, and they could hear them

chatting excitedly above the noise of the engines. Although

the skies had cleared, the wind was rising again, and Ben

wondered if they would still be quite as cheerful afterlurching up and down for an hour or so. He had some

recent experience in these matters.



77

The task that day was to search the creeks and channels

off West Mersea. Approaching the moorings of a local

sailing club, they spoke to a helpful boatman who was able

to suggest quite a few boats that matched the general

description of the ghost ship. On closer inspection,

however, they had to be rejected; there was always some

feature or another that didn’t fit. The only sour note of theday occurred when they entered a channel above West

Mersea and passed over some oyster beds. Someone in a

rowing boat came out snarling and shouting at them to clear

off, so they scurried away.

It had been a tiring but enjoyable day and they returned to

their anchorage near the Nass. Jake was in half a mind to

continue to Bradwell on the opposite shore, but the tide was

pouring out of the river and he didn't want to waste their

small supply of engine fuel The fishing boats which haddisturbed them at dawn were heading back home and, as

each one passed, the crew of Shimmering waved cheerfully

at the passengers huddled in the stern. One or two waved

back, but the rest stared bleakly over the rail. Perhaps they

hadn't caught many fish? Or any fish.



79

appeared. These were long thin tree trunks or branches

pushed into the mud to mark the edge of a channel. Emma

wondered who went to the trouble to position these simple

marks and guessed that it may have been local fishermen.

Hidden behind Peewit Island, there were lines of moorings,

a quay and a marina. These were filled with all kinds of

craft but there was no sign of the ghost ship. The marinahad many fine yachts easily capable of a North Sea or

Channel crossing. It was Emma's opinion, however, that the

more expensive a boat, the less it was likely to be used.

Fine craft like these were also to be found in the boatyard

moored alongside Shimmering, but their owners rarely

appeared from one season to the next.

They followed the line of moorings through the creek and

out again into the main river. Ahead of them lay St

Lawrence Bay and Stone where they had bought theirstores. A couple of miles upstream, a large motor yacht

appeared to be stranded on a sand bank; Ben could just

make out two figures inspecting the hull. The pilot book

reported that, despite a green warning buoy, many yachts

sailed headlong into this sand bank whilst heading straight

up the middle of the river. The motor yacht was the latest

victim of The Spit. Ben would have liked to stop again at

Stone, but Jake knew that their timetable was a tight one.

They had to use this tide to reach Maylandsea Bay.

‘If she's anywhere on this river, I bet she'll be tuckedaway there,’ he said with some confidence.



80

A little later Emma plucked a boathook from the water.

‘We seem to lose and find one of these every year!’ she

cried, waving it triumphantly above her head. Ben

wondered if this was an omen that their fortunes were to

change?

The speed of the current increased rapidly as they passedbetween Osea Island and an imposing farmhouse

overlooking the south shore. Two creeks lay ahead to the

southwest and both were full of moored craft. They spent

little time exploring the smaller Mayland Creek: it was

packed with sailing dinghies, and any unusual boat would

have been easy to spot. The longer Lawling Creek looked

more promising; it meandered for a couple of miles in a

southerly direction and ended at a boatyard in Maylandsea

Bay. Many large cruising yachts swung at their moorings

along this arm of the river and it was here that Jake thoughtthey find the ghost ship. But, despite their earlier

optimism, they saw only two possibilities, and not very

convincing ones at that. Jake sketched them and made a

few notes about their rigging. Then, with all her sails set,

Shimmering tacked out of the creek in a fairly light wind.

Suddenly, struck by a freak gust, she heeled over to

starboard, and they narrowly avoided a collision with a

passing cabin cruiser. Crockery shot across the cabin and a

pint of milk poured over one of the bunks. It was all over in

a few seconds.‘My fault,’ admitted Emma, 'I was tired and not

concentrating. Let's call it a day and moor up at that buoy.'



81

Night was falling over the Blackwater. The river was silent,

and a few bright stars were just appearing in the evening sky.

With the evening meal cleared away, the three were ready to

turn in. Ben was just closing the curtains above his bunk, when

he remembered something he had completely forgotten all day.

‘Do you know?’ he said, ‘Early this morning, off Tollesbury, I

was woken up by the sound of a ship’s motor. When I looked

out, I saw one of those old fishing boats going past.’‘What?’ queried Jake, ‘One of the old ones on the beach near

the yard?’

‘Yes. It was quite misty at the time but I was able to read the

name. It was Ariel .’

‘It must have been another boat with the same name,’

suggested Emma, ‘I don’t think those old fishing boats are going

anywhere. They don’t look very seaworthy to me.’

Jake yawned. ‘I reckon that when we get back to Heybridge,

you’ll find them both asleep on the beach. And that’s where I’m

off to now, but not on the beach.’

‘Well,’ replied Ben, ‘The man who owns the boatyard was in

the wheelhouse.’



82

18. Under suspicion

‘Ahoy Shimmering!’

A loud voice shattered the silence of the mooring and

they awoke with a start. It was about half past one.

‘Come on,’ the voice commanded, ‘Out you come on

deck and hurry up.’Though confused and scared, the three dressed quickly

and climbed out of the entrance to the cabin. A powerful

floodlight from the police launch Alert shone in their faces.

‘Are there just the three of you?’ The three huddled

together and nodded.

‘Stay where you are while I come aboard.’ A police

office holding a loud hailer climbed down on to

Shimmering and towered above her crew.

‘Right, who are you and what are you doing here?’

Jake gave their names to the officer and told him that theywere just sailing around the river and staying in the creek

for the night.

‘Well, I think you’ve got some explaining to do,’

announced their uninvited visitor. ‘For one thing, you’ve

been observed rowing around the moorings and looking

inside various yachts.’

‘Yes,’ said Emma, ‘But there is a reason for that. You see

we are looking for a particular sailing boat and we need to

inspect them quite closely to make sure we get the right

one.’



83

‘I see,’ said the policeman, ‘And what is the name of this

boat, then?’ He was met with a wall of silence. ‘Come on,’

he insisted, ‘It must have a name.’

‘Well, we call it the ghost ship,’ said Ben, ‘But the

gentleman who lost it didn’t tell us its proper name. At

least, I don’t think he did.’

‘If someone has lost a boat they should report it to thepolice. Now, who is this man, and when and where did he

lose his boat?’

‘It’s rather difficult to explain.’ replied Emma

‘Oh, I bet it is but I suggest that you try.’

‘We don’t know his name,’ she continued, ‘ But we think

he lost it in Tahiti about twenty years ago.’

‘Are you having me on?’ said the officer, sounding quite

annoyed. ‘A ghost ship? A man from Tahiti? Listen, I think

I’ve heard enough of this nonsense. You better come

aboard our launch.’Looking rather sheepish, the three clambered aboard the

Alert while the policeman inspected Shimmering. They sat

down at a table in the main cabin and gradually pieced

together the story of their search while another officer took

notes. Throughout the interview, the boat’s radio was

crackling with messages; most of which seemed to be in

some kind of code.

Suddenly, the officer who had returned from searching

Shimmering said ‘Quiet, there’s something coming in.’

The radio continued to crackle with messages and then theyheard a voice announce:

‘ Alert return to base. Suspect apprehended.’



84

The policeman turned to the three and said, ‘You know, I

was beginning to find this tale of yours quite interesting,

but you’re in the clear so you can return to your boat. Just

be a little more careful about when and where you go

searching for ghost ships.’

Laughing, he handed them a bag of doughnuts as they

returned to Shimmering. Alert then sped off in the directionof Bradwell. Still confused, the three watched her disappear

into the darkness.

‘Well, what was all that about?’ asked Jake

‘Search me,’ replied Emma

‘These are delicious,’ said Ben, munching a doughnut; ‘I

thought policemen only ate them in lay-bys.’

A few weeks later, they discovered that, while they were

searching the river, the local police were watching them

very closely. For several weeks, valuable items had beenstolen from craft moored at various places along the river.

With so many unguarded and deserted boats to protect, the

police had decided to keep watch from inside the cabins of

selected yachts. And who should come along but the three

companions, sailing in and out of the creeks and weaving

between the lines of moored boats. Occasionally, they

would moor Shimmering and row over in the dinghy to one

of the moored yachts and peer over the rails or through the

portholes for clues. To the hidden detectives, however, it all

looked very suspicious, and their progress around the riverwas watched with increasing interest. Fortunately, the

culprit was arrested the very night that they were disturbed

by the police launch in Lawling Creek .



85

The thief was the owner of a hairdressing salon and a

small yacht that was very similar to Shimmering. He would

moor the yacht at the entrance to a creek and check that

there were no boat owners around. Armed with an empty

petrol can, he would row over in the darkness to a likely

looking craft and break in. On a couple of occasions, hewas challenged boarding a yacht, but produced the empty

can and said that he was only looking for a little fuel as his

tank had run dry and he had to get home. To most boat

owners, this would appear a reasonable excuse, particularly

when he assured them that he had every intention of

returning the borrowed petrol. Eventually, it was his yacht

that gave the game away. Several people remembered

having seen it in the vicinity of the burglaries. Watching

from inside moored boats, the police spotted it and caught

the thief as he left a boat carrying a small radar set. Hemight have got away with a can of petrol, but you don't

need radar to find your way across the Blackwater in the

moonlight.



86

19. Good news and bad

Despite a disturbed night, they continued with their plans.

Having dropped Jake off by the entrance to the Heybridge

Canal, Emma and Ben were to sail upriver and beach

Shimmering off the promenade at Maldon. Jake would

search the canal and rejoin them towards evening. Theirtask was to make enquiries around the different boatyards

and inspect the river opposite the promenade. They glided

past Mill Beach on the afternoon tide and lowered the sails.

‘Don't forget,’ reminded Jake, ‘Keep to the starboard side

of the channel and try not to cross the bows of any

approaching boats. If in doubt, run Shimmering gently into

the river bank and wait until everything is clear.’

Jake climbed off at the canal lock and the other two

continued the journey using the outboard motor. A winding

channel led them up to Maldon and a bustling quaysidefilled with sailing barges. These were not shapeless

containers carrying coal or sand and hauled along by tugs,

but fine tall sailing ships. When rail and road transport had

killed any competition from these old vessels, many had

been left to rot in rivers and creeks around the East Coast.

However, they were gradually being rescued and repaired

by companies or clubs and the results of this enthusiasm

made a proud display of masts, sails and rigging along the

quayside.

Emma and Ben moored close to a boat builder’s yard and

spoke to an old shipwright. Having heard their description



88

Ignoring the sloping deck, they sat inside the main cabin

listening eagerly to Jake's news.

‘I would have returned sooner, but I took a wrong

turning. The canal is crowded with boats and she's quite a

long way down the towpath. There's nobody aboard, and

she looks as if she's laid up. No wonder the beachcomber

never saw her from the river.’The other two wanted to set off immediately to look at

her, but by the time they reached the canal it would have

been pitch dark.

‘Let's leave with the tide early tomorrow morning,’

suggested Emma, ‘We can sail down and moor up by the

lock.'

And so, on a pleasant summer's morning, they found

themselves walking up the canal towpath to what they

hoped would prove to be the ghost ship. At first sight, therewas no doubt that this was the kind of boat that had taken

the beachcomber and his companions to the South Seas. It

fitted the description perfectly. Was this the bowsprit that

had served so often as a diving board? Could that be the

deck that had hosted the farewell feast at Cristobal? Where

had the ghost ship been since the beachcomber sold it so

casually in Tahiti? Who owned her now? So many

questions, but with no one around to answer them, they

wandered back along the towpath to the lockkeeper's

cottage by the entrance to the canal.

The lockkeeper was just replacing the telephone when

they knocked at the open door of his small cottage.



89

‘Why can't some of them buy a set of tide tables? That

was another person asking about high tide for next

weekend. Do you know, they even phone me on Christmas

Day to ask about the tides at Easter.’ He shook his head in

bewilderment. ‘Now, what can I do for you?’

Emma explained that they were interested in finding out

more about the gaff-rigged cutter they had seen in the canaland she described it in a little more detail.

'Oh yes,' beamed the lock-keeper, 'That’s the Norwegian

boat. She's been here sometime now. Not in a bad condition

considering her age and where she's been.’

'Could that have included the South Pacific?' asked

Emma.

'I’m sure it does, but you’ll need to speak to the owner.

He comes here most weekends to work on her. She was

built a few years after the war.’

’After the war?' repeated Jake‘That’s right,’ replied the lock-keeper, ‘The owner's

father built her around 1950.’

With this disappointing information, they sat silently on

the edge of the lock watching water from the canal seep

through the old timber lock gates.

‘I think that's the end of our search,’ said Jake sadly and

the two of them reluctantly agreed. ‘I can't think of any

other hiding places on this river.’

But there was something nagging away at the back of Ben's mind and it wouldn't rest.



90

20. A discovery

The three companions have never forgotten the events of

the next eighteen hours. They were an amazing mixture of

good luck and misfortune, and some facts seem too strange

to believe. Nevertheless, they are recorded here exactly as

the three remember them, though parts of their story mustremain unexplained.

While they were sitting by the side of the lock, Ben

wandered back to look at the sailing boat. He remembered

the beachcomber telling them that the ghost ship had once

been a pilot cutter; here in the canal, was a boat designed in

the same style. He studied the complex rigging and,

recalling the incident at Decoy Point with Shimmering,

wondered how the tall wooden mast could be lowered to

the deck. Then he realised that, without its mast, it wouldlook very similar to the abandoned fishing boats he had

boarded several days earlier in search of a bolt. Yet another

idea occurred to Ben. Could the fishing boats have once

been sailing ships but had their masts removed? Perhaps

the shipwright in Maldon had converted one of them? It

was only a hunch, but he returned to share his ideas with

Jake and Emma. They agreed that they had nothing to lose

by taking a look at the boats, for the beach where they lay

was only a short distance from the lock.

Apart from the burnt out hulk, only one boat was still

moored with its bows facing the shore; its weed-ridden hull



91

still dripping water from the morning tide. Of the second

boat, there was no sign. From the sea wall, Ben pointed to

the lone fishing boat but the other two shook their heads.

‘Oh, that's only Paradox,’ exclaimed Emma, ‘The boat

dad told you about in the van. She used to be out on a buoy

in the river and dad used to moor Shimmering alongside her

whenever he missed the tide.’They both agreed that there was a similarity between the

hulls of the fishing boat and the pilot cutter, but that was

where the likeness ended. Indeed, with her large ugly

wheelhouse, cargo hatch and working gear, she looked

anything but a sailing ship.

'I can't imagine,' said Jake, 'That boat ever had a mast let

alone any sails.'

Ben might have let the matter rest there, but Jake's

words jarred a memory.

‘But it does have a mast,’ he exclaimed, ‘I mean it didhave one once. You remember I told you about the man

who climbed into the hold and tried to remove a plate with

some numbers? I remember standing behind a large

wooden pillar and watching him. Now that must have been

the lower part of a mast. It could have been left there as a

support when the boat was converted.’

At this point Emma chipped in. ‘Yes. Don't you

remember the beachcomber's first trip when he used her as

a fishing boat? The mast fell down and had to be replaced

with a stronger one that passed down through the decks.’‘Come to think of it,’ said Ben, ‘I think the other fishing

boat had a similar wooden pillar below decks.’



92

‘Well,’ replied Emma, ‘Perhaps we should ask a few

questions about them in the boatyard here.’

Arthur, the yard owner, was unavailable, but the lady in

the office listened to their story with great interest. She

explained that the owners of large old boats occasionally

paid for a week’s mooring in cash but then ignored requestsfor further payments; letters from the yard were returned

unopened. Eventually, the boats were moored on the

muddy beach near the yard and, if no one turned up to

claim them, were sold. This is why the two fishing boats,

Ariel and Paradox, had ended up where they were. The

lady explained that, in marine law, a ship’s debts stayed

with it, which meant that anyone who wanted to buy Ariel

or Paradox would have to pay some large bills first.

Indeed, a third fishing boat on the beach had recently been

destroyed by vandals and was of no further value, but Ariel had been sold a couple of days earlier and was being

delivered to the new owner by Arthur.

While the other two went off to examine Paradox, Ben

remained in the office to collect some information about

Ariel . Despite a careful search of the files, there were no

documents regarding her ownership or past history; the file

for Paradox was just as empty. Then, from a long brown

envelope, the assistant drew a faded piece of paper.

‘Arthur found this old note tucked in the back of anempty chronometer box left aboard Ariel. He hoped it

would provide a clue as to who owned the boat, but it

didn’t.’



93

Ben studied the handwritten note. It was dated 18th

September 1948, and they could just decipher the words

‘To be repaired in Malden’. Both agreed that this wasn’t of

much help other than the writer couldn't spell Maldon. Ben

thanked the lady for her help and left the office to join the

others. He found Emma and Jake rummaging around in the

darkness of Paradox's hold.‘Was there anything about Ariel in the office?’ asked

Emma.

Ben shook his head. ‘No. They don't know who the

owner is or where the boat came from. There's only a note

that suggests she may have visited Maldon around

September 1948 to get the chronometer checked, but by

then the ghost ship would have been in the Pacific.’

Jake spoke. ‘This fishing boat has definitely been

converted from a sailing ship. The hold was once a part of the main cabin and, like the ghost ship, there are some

brass fittings aboard, but come and look at what we found

below the wheelhouse.'

They walked back through the hold to a cabin that

contained a couple of full-length bunks, a table and a small

galley.

‘Take a look at the wood fittings around the galley,’

suggested Emma.

Ben did and could see that they had been permanently

scorched with burn marks.‘That might have been the result of Simon's cooking,’ she

added, ‘But there's something else too. Look at that shelf

above the port bunk.’



94

She didn't have to say another word for as they gazed at a

small wooden box screwed to the shelf only one thing was

missing: Simon's mouth organ. They smiled at each other

as they inspected their discoveries. Perhaps they were

standing in the ghost ship after all, or perhaps it was just a

series of coincidences: there was no real way of knowing.

As they were leaving the yard, the helpful assistant called

to them from the office window.

‘I've found something which might interest you.’ She

held up a large black book of nautical tables. 'I kept

thinking about the spelling of Maldon in the note we found

on Ariel , the other fishing boat. Well, there is a place called

Malden according to this list of ports and islands. Look, it's

mentioned here in the index.'

‘But where is it?’ they asked.

She shook her head. 'It doesn't say exactly, it only givesthe latitude and longitude. Malden: Latitude 4 03 South,

Longitude 155 01 West. Now according to my reckoning,

that's an island somewhere in the South Pacific.’



95

21. High and dry

Encouraged by this piece of news, they agreed to take

another trip back to Osea Island. Once there, they could tell

their beachcombing friend what they had discovered. It

shouldn’t be too difficult to trace Ariel . They sat on the sea

wall and exchanged ideas on how things might turn out.‘If Ariel is the ghost ship, he might want to buy her back

again.’

‘And convert her back to a sailing ship.’

‘Maybe we could help him during the holidays?’

‘He may not have enough money to buy her.’

And so on. But, despite the incoming tide, Shimmering

was still aground at the entrance to the lock so there was

nothing more they could do except wait.

After a while, Emma and Ben decided to go for a strollaround the nearby fields. As they left, Ben shouted ‘Behave

yourselves!’ and Emma shot him a Brothers can be so

annoying look. When they returned, Jake had washed down

the decks using a long hose lying by the side of the lock.

Someone sitting on the sea wall had asked him questions

about Shimmering and about where they’d been sailing.

‘I just told him we’d been around the river and that we

were getting ready to return home. I didn’t like the look of

him much, but he was quite helpful and offered to coil the

hose while I went to switch off the tap and return the key to

the lock keeper.’ Ben asked Jake what he looked like.



97

had no effect and he thumped the top of the motor with

frustration.

‘It’s let us down,’ he groaned, ‘Just when we really need

it!’

Collier's Reach slipped gradually astern and they headed

slowly, very slowly, in the general direction of Osea.‘This calm won't last, there's usually some sea breeze

towards evening’ said Jake hopefully.

Several other yachts drifted lazily along in the ebb

stream. Emma tried to scull Shimmering by waggling the

rudder backwards and forwards, but it had little effect. Off

Decoy Point, they altered course and pointed the bows

towards the Stumble, the shallow stretch of water between

the island and the north shore. In the distance, at the far end

of the island, the beachcomber's small blue yacht was still

at anchor.‘This short cut behind Osea Island should save a little

time.’ explained Jake, but Emma looked at him anxiously.

‘What about the tide?’ she queried, ‘There are no other

boats using this route now.’

They carried on in silence and the gap between

Shimmering and the other yachts in the main channel

increased. After a few minutes, there was a slight stirring

on the surface of the water and the small flag at the

masthead began to lift and flutter.

‘Look! You were right,’ cried Ben.The sails filled with air and the sound of bubbles hissing

at the bows gradually increased as the boat gathered way.



98

With the boat heeling, they sailed on towards the island and

cheered the wind as it whipped past their faces.

Their delight was short-lived. Within a few hundred yards,

the twin keels had driven into a shallow bank of mud and

gravel and were firmly gripped in its clutches. With the

pressure of the tide swirling past her hull, Shimmering

swung around and slopped over at an angle. She wasstranded on a falling tide.

Jake plunged over the side and Ben followed. The cold

water came well over their waists, but they managed to

gain a foothold on the unseen bank and struggled to drag

the boat clear. They heaved and pulled, but she was stuck

fast. Within a few minutes, they had to abandon their

efforts, as she was no longer capable of floating. From the

gravel beneath their feet, Jake guessed that they were

aground on the causeway leading to Osea Island. Backaboard, they dried themselves and changed clothes whilst

Emma brought the dinghy alongside. There was hardly

enough room for the three of them in the small boat, but no

one was willing to remain behind, so they squeezed aboard

and started rowing in the direction of the island. It was a

slow and tiring business, but the swift current helped to

carry them some way down the beach.

Emma was first out of the dinghy and set off along the

shore with the two of them in close pursuit. They followeda rough path above the beach and skirted several small

coves. A few deserted farmhouses lay behind the trees on

their right, whilst, to their left, the remains of disused fish



99

traps beckoned from the shingle like stark black fingers.

Every so often, they disturbed groups of sea birds perched

along the sea wall and these fled across the estuary

protesting noisily at the unexpected invasion. The path

gradually became overrun with briars and nettles and was

impossible to follow, so they continued their journey on the

other side of the embankment until the beachcomber's hutcame into view.

The first thing they noticed was that the tarpaulin, which

had covered the roof and entrance to the hide, had

disappeared. They scrambled up the bank and looked

inside; all signs of occupation were gone. The fireplace

outside had been cleared away and the bricks lay piled on

the floor of the hide. Emma and Ben peered through the slit

that overlooked the beach, but there was no sign of the

beachcomber's yacht. Jake climbed on top of the hide andstared down the river. In the distance, the small blue yacht

was sailing away towards the entrance of the estuary. They

shouted loudly and waved from the top of the embankment,

but it was pointless. No voice could have carried over such

a distance, and the little boat continued on its journey.

‘He's gone and he won't be coming back,’ said Emma

‘And he's taken everything with him.’

‘Not everything.’ replied Ben, pointing to the roof of the

hide. There, furled and tucked in the timbers above their

heads, was a large and colourful umbrella.



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22. A brief phone call

Several miles to the north of London, dusk is descending

over a large country mansion. Though the building appears

deserted, in the study, someone is searching through a stack

of documents. The papers litter the heavy oak desk and

spill over onto the floor. Suddenly, the sound of a phoneringing disturbs the silence and the search.

‘Hello. Who’s that?’

‘Who do you think?’ The caller, a man, sounds tetchy

‘You were meant to phone me earlier.’

‘I had a few things to sort out.’

‘Well is everything ready?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good, but what about those kids?’

‘Just forget about them. They think they’re going home.’‘I don’t want any stupid mistakes this time.’

‘There won’t be.’

‘You said that the first time.’

‘What about my money?’

‘It’ll be here waiting for you.’

‘Right, I better get on with the job.’

‘Come straight back here afterwards.’

‘Yeah, I’ll see you later.’

Pausing briefly to replace the phone, the woman continues

searching for a document she knows she must find.



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23. Fire down below

Jake was right: Shimmering was aground close to the

causeway. A few feet either way and they might have

avoided the small bank of shingle on which she was now

forlornly trapped. They dragged the dinghy along slowly in

the few remaining inches of muddy water and secured it tothe stern. Any conversation was mixed with

disappointment. If only the motor hadn't packed up like

that. If only they had sailed to the south of the island. If

only. Two of the saddest words in any language.

‘Perhaps we shall meet him again one day,’ said Emma,

but didn't sound too confident.

Jake agreed and added, ‘What a pity we didn't get his real

address: To the Beachcomber, Summer Residence, Osea

Island, River Blackwater, Essex. We think we have found

the ghost ship.’Jake's sense of humour rarely failed to cheer them up, but

it didn't work on this occasion. Later, however, Emma

wrote a short note with a similar message, walked back

along the beach, and pinned it to the umbrella.

While Jake tinkered with the outboard motor, Ben sat on

the hatch and listed the things they had discovered about

Ariel . She was a fishing boat that may have been converted

from a sailing ship. She may have sailed the South Seas

with a chronometer problem: a clue that might yet prove to

be a simple spelling error. It didn't really add up to much

and the other two agreed.



102

‘Well, I think the search was good fun,’ said Emma, ‘And

we certainly know a lot more about the river than we did a

week ago.’

Jake gave a cry of triumph as he found the cause of the

engine failure. There was water in the petrol tank and he

wondered if their new friend by the lock had something to

do with that. Fortunately, there was a spare supply aboardand the engine would soon be running smoothly again.

Night fell and, from their perch on the causeway, they

hurled the anchor out on to the riverbed. It slid silently

under a layer of black ooze. To the East, a green beacon

stabbed away in the dark over The Spit. The only decision

that faced them now was when to leave the causeway. No

one wanted to spend another day on the mud so they chose

an early departure with the morning tide. For a while, they

sat in the cabin and played cards, then Emma set the alarmclock and they turned in. When Ben awoke, a few hours

later, he heard the sound of Jake hauling in the anchor

chain, and went up to join him.

‘You were both fast asleep when the alarm went off so I

left you there. I can manage alone if you want to go back

down again.’

Ben shook his head and gave him a hand with the wet,

slimy chain. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could

see the water rising slowly around the hull. A cold easterly

wind blew across the estuary and but he resisted thetemptation to return to his dry warm bunk and pulled on

another jumper. Soon, the noisy outboard motor broke the

silence of their deserted anchorage and, with a brief



103

shudder, Shimmering slipped off the bank and headed

upstream to Maldon. As they crept toward Collier's Reach,

a small figure emerged from the cabin.

‘Morning all.’ Disturbed by the noise from the engine,

Emma had come to join them in the cockpit. She smiled as

she recalled the song contest during the van journey to the

coast, and started to hum the sea shanty that she and herbrother had sung to drown their father's mournful choruses.

Way-hay and up she rises

Way-hay and up she rises

Patent blocks of different sizes .......

Suddenly, she froze and gripped Jake’s arm. ‘Patent

blocks ... that's it ... why didn't I think of it earlier?’ Then,

before the others had the slightest idea what she was talking

about, she tugged at his sleeve and pointed to the shore.'Quick! Pull over to Paradox before the tide sweeps us

further upstream.’

Jake eased the tiller and guided Shimmering across the

dark water to the beach where Paradox lay.

‘I'll need some light.’ Emma ducked below to get a lamp

from the cabin, ‘Just get close enough for me to hop

aboard. I'll only be gone a couple of minutes.’

Jake cut the engine and let Shimmering drift gently into

the shallows near the beach. A large and familiar shapeloomed up out of the darkness some yards ahead. It was

Paradox and Ben stepped up to the bows to fend her off as

they came alongside.



104

‘Now we can hear each other think,’ said Jake, ‘What’s

this all about?’

Sitting in the cockpit, Emma lit the lamp and repeated the

line about patent blocks. She had just started to explain

when they were distracted by a strong smell of burning.

Something was on fire and it wasn't the lamp; it seemed to

be coming from Paradox. They hauled themselves aboardthe old fishing boat. Smoke was billowing up from a

hatchway near the bows and a sharp crackling sound could

be heard from within the hull. One door of the wheelhouse

was flung open and an orange glow flickered around the

painted woodwork inside.

‘This boat’s on fire!’

‘We must get some help quickly.’

The nearby boats were deserted but Ben saw someone

standing on the jetty by the boatyard. A long plank of woodhad been left near the bows leading to the beach. Ben ran

down the plank and hurried to the boatyard. When he

reached the jetty, he hauled himself up using one of its

slime-covered posts as a support. Peering over the

planking, he froze at the sight of a large rat perching inches

from his face. Having inspected the new arrival, it scuttled

away and disappeared through a hole in the planks. The

jetty was empty but from somewhere across the other side

of the yard came the sound of running water. Ben walked in

the direction of the noise, which seemed to come from theback of a large boatshed. Turning a corner, he saw a man

crouching down and washing his hands under a tap at the

rear of the building.



105

‘Can you help?’ he asked, ‘There's a boat on fire near the

yard.’

The man was clearly startled by Ben's sudden appearance,

but recovered very quickly. 'Yeah, I'll phone the fire

brigade. You better shove off, OK?’

Then turning, he ran off in the direction of the office

overlooking the jetty. Ben certainly had no intention of ‘shoving off' and decided to follow the man, particularly as

he hadn't asked any questions about the fire or the name of

the boat. By the time he reached the office, however, the

man had disappeared. Ben looked for a light being switched

on and listened for a voice; the boatyard remained dark and

silent. Puzzled, he walked along the front of the office and

tried the door but it was locked.

In the darkness, at the back of the office, Ben noticed the

store that he had searched earlier in the week. Although itsmetal door was open, the store was deserted. He checked

behind the store, but there was no one there. Then, as he

turned back, he saw the man crossing the yard. He was

clutching a lump of wood as if he were about to give

someone a beating. To Ben’s horror, he realised that he

might be that someone and looked around in panic for a

way to escape. Before he could move, however, the man

had walked straight past him and into the store. He hadn’t

seen him at all. Ben decided to remain in the shadows and

hoped he wouldn’t be noticed. Behind him, a wire fence ranalong the rear of the boatyard; it was too high to climb.

Ahead lay the office and jetty, but these were in full view

of anyone inside the store. Ben remained by the side of the



106

store for several minutes, though it seemed like hours. Why

was the man taking so long to look for him in the store?

Surely, he must have seen that it was empty. Glancing up,

Ben noticed a small window at the side of the store and,

beneath the window, a large oil drum. He climbed up on

the drum as quietly as possible and peered inside.

Although the window was filthy and covered in

cobwebs, he could just see the man hiding behind the door.

He was breathing heavily and still clutching the wooden

post. From his shiny head and large moustache, Ben

recognised him as the man who had tried to remove the

metal plate from Paradox several days earlier. He was

hiding from Ben, but it was clear that he intended to use

that lump of wood on whoever might discover him.

Suddenly, from somewhere across the yard, he heard

Emma calling.‘Ben, where are you?’

She had come to see why he was taking so long and was

standing in the yard and looking around. With a finger on

his lips, Ben waved at her to join him and, for a second, she

appeared to do so. But then he realised that she hadn’t seen

him and was walking directly towards the store. What if

she stepped inside? There was no time to waste. He slipped

silently off the oil drum, and ran to the front of the store.

The metal door had a large handle and a sliding bolt.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the handle, slammed thedoor shut, and slid the bolt home.



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24. Search’s end

The cabin beneath the wheelhouse was filled with smoke,

but the fire seemed to be coming from the hold. Coughing

and choking in the fumes, the crew of Shimmering grabbed

some old towels that were lying in the galley, soaked them

with water, and wrapped them around their faces. Thenthey went down into the hold to investigate. Flames licked

around the base of the wooden mast and the hull reeked of

charred timbers. Despite the dense smoke, Ben thought he

could see sparks shooting up through a gaping hole in the

main deck. The smoke cleared briefly and he could see that

the hatch covers above the hold had been removed

deliberately so that the night breeze would fan the fames

below; flames that were creeping steadily in their direction.

‘Let’s get out of here before it gets any worse,’ he yelled

and turned to make a hurried exit.Jake held him back and shouted. 'No! Let's try to put it

out before it takes hold.'

Before it takes hold! Ben thought Jake was mad, as it

seemed that the ship was already engulfed in flames. Jake

and Emma grabbed some buckets and scrambled up the

steps leading to the wheelhouse. As Ben followed them, he

remembered there was a hand pump near the hatch with a

length of hosepipe attached to it. It was a pump to clear the

bilges. He worked the handle up and down and, within

seconds, a stream of filthy water gushed out of the pipe.

Perhaps Paradox's leaky old timbers were to save her?

With the pipe leading over the hatchway, he worked the



108

pump like a demon. Meanwhile, Jake and Emma filled their

buckets from the ship's side and threw the contents on to

the flames rising from the hold. Within a few minutes, the

bilges started to dry out and the pump stopped working; it

looked as if they were fighting a losing battle.

'We must get to the heart of the fire!' shouted Jake,

carrying a bucket into the wheelhouse.Ben grabbed Emma's bucket and ran after him. Down

below, they saw that their attempts to contain the fire had

been quite successful and the smoke was starting to clear.

At the far end of the hold, however, a small bonfire was

raging. It looked as if the hatch boards, the covers, some

rope and stores had been piled up and set alight. All they

had done was to dampen the flames licking from this angry

inferno. Ben noticed that one of the hatch boards was the

main source of the blaze and decided to try and shift it.

Though heavy, he managed to lift it clear and was about tothrow it to the side of the hold when something caught his

attention. Illuminated by the light of the flames, he thought

he saw a figure moving through the smoke towards him.

Could the man he had locked up in the storeroom have

escaped? Then, as he went to throw the burning hatch

board, something gripped his arm and he dropped the board

to one side. He swung around to see who had grabbed him,

but there was no one there. Not a living soul. Whatever the

cause, it may have saved their lives.

Then Emma appeared through the smoke in the hatchway

above. 'Ben! A basket of blocks.' she cried. 'Can you see a

basket of blocks?’



109

How these would help to fight the blaze, he couldn't

imagine, but he looked around in every direction. By the

light of the flames, he could see a large wicker basket lying

on its side with several wooden blocks spilled out across

the deck and almost reduced to ashes. The basket lay

behind the fire but the heat was too intense for a closer

inspection.‘I can see it,’ he cried, ‘But I can’t get near it.’

Within seconds, a large metal hook thudded down on the

deck beside him. It was Shimmering’s mooring hook and

line.

‘Try to grab it with that,’ yelled Emma.

Ben threw the hook in the direction of the basket and,

after several unsuccessful attempts, caught it and dragged it

clear of the fire. Emma was still peering down through the

hatchway, her eyes streaming from the smoke. ‘Now pass

up your buckets using the hook,’ she called.

The buckets disappeared up through the hatchway on the

mooring hook to be filled with water and returned. For the

next ten minutes, they worked hard to rescue the old ship

and the fire was gradually brought under control. The air

was thick with the acrid smell of burnt pitch, which had

melted and dripped down from the seams above. Beams

were charred and smouldering, and blistered paint peeled

from every plank. That the ship was badly damaged, there

was no doubt, but they had managed to save her. As thesmoke cleared, several red metal containers could be seen

piled up to the side of the hold. They were marked Petrol -

Highly Inflammable. Ben remembered trying to cast aside



110

the burning hatch board and silently thanked whoever, or

whatever, had stopped him from doing so. If the flames had

reached the metal cans, the boat would have exploded.

Exhausted and filthy, they slumped down on deck by the

door of the wheelhouse. Their faces were streaked with

sweat and soot, and their clothing scorched. After a fewminutes, Ben remembered the man locked in the store and

describe the events in the yard to Jake.

‘It sounds like an insurance fraud to me,’ said Jake, ‘The

owner gets someone to set the boat alight, claims it was an

accident, and picks up the insurance money.'

‘But why did walrus-face try to remove the metal plate

earlier?’

‘It must have had the ship's registered number on it. With

two similar boats next to each other, he probably took it to

check with the owner that he had the right target.’Then, as they sat wondering what to do next, they heard

Emma was calling up to them from the hold below. With

some reluctance, they dragged themselves to their feet and

went down the steps to join her. She was leaning over the

wicker basket that Ben had rescued. It was upside-down

and she held a lamp over its wooden base. ‘Do you

remember that Dad had seen a crate or basket of blocks on

one of the fishing boats? Well, out there on the river, it

suddenly occurred to me that it might be the basket that

was used to ferry stores to the ghost ship; the one that thePacific Islander repaired. Just take a look at this!'



111

Puzzled, they looked down to where she was pointing.

There, in the flickering light of the lamp, they saw a map

with names and figures, carefully engraved almost thirty

years earlier by an old man in the Galapagos. An old man

who wanted to share a secret with people he could trust.

The first rays of the morning sun pierced the smoke still

rising from the ashes and someone appeared in the entranceto the wheelhouse. They had found the ghost ship and were

about to share their discovery.



112

24. A final surprise

A familiar face appeared on the steps above; to their delight

it was the beachcomber. ‘She's a bit different from when I

last saw her, but it's the old ghost ship alright.’

‘And look,’ said Emma, ‘Here's your treasure map to

prove it. But what brought you back this way? We didn'tthink that we would ever see you again.’

‘I saw you waving from the island as I was heading down

river. Then I remembered that I’d left my umbrella behind

but the tide was too strong to turn back. I lay at anchor off

Stone for the night and returned to collect it on the flood

tide early this morning. That's when I saw the note you had

left, so I continued up the river to look for you. But what on

earth has happened down here?’

While Emma and Ben described the events of the last few

hours, Jake went ashore to phone the police. When hereturned, they were still explaining to the beachcomber

how they had pieced together the various clues.

‘Did you check on my prisoner?’ asked Ben.

‘Oh yes,’ replied Jake. ‘He had tried to escape through

the small window at the back of the store, but he got stuck

half way and is still there now. I won't repeat what he

called me when I refused to release him!’

In the daylight, the four of them explored the ship. The

beachcomber was obviously delighted to see her again,

though saddened by her wretched condition.



113

‘I've passed this beach many times, but never imagined

that one of the fishing boats might be the ghost ship. The

name Paradox didn't mean anything to me.’

‘We though that another fishing boat called Ariel might

have been the ghost ship,’ added Emma, ‘The lady in the

boatyard said it had visited Malden in the South Pacific.’

‘Or Maldon on the Blackwater,’ added Jake with a grin.The beachcomber hunted around the cupboards and

drawers in the wheelhouse until he found a large

screwdriver, then he beckoned them to follow him back

down into the hold.

‘Let's take it off the basket. I don't think anyone will miss

it.’

‘Or deserve it,’ added Ben.

The beachcomber removed the copper screws holding the

wooden base to the basket. When it was released, they

brushed away the dirt and tried to decipher the words andnumbers carved on its surface. Nobody took any notice of

what was lying on the original base of the basket. It was

only when they turned the map over and saw six circular

green stains in the dark wood that they glanced back at the

basket. There, to their astonishment, in a layer of thick dust

and rotting wood, lay half a dozen large coins.

‘So that’s why he wanted us to take his map if we ever

left the ghost ship. It was meant to be a surprise. He put the

coins here when he repaired the basket. They must have

come from the treasure trove on his secret island.’‘Pieces of eight!’ gasped Ben.

‘No, pieces of eight would be silver; these are gold.’



114

They passed the coins around, turning them over and

studying them carefully. On one side there was a coat of

arms and the word 'Hispaniola'; on the reverse, a king and

queen stared coldly across at each other.

‘Do you think they came from a Spanish galleon?’

‘Possibly, but just think of the men who fought and

probably killed each other to possess them.’‘And now they are yours again.’ said Emma.

The beachcomber turned the coins over slowly. No one

spoke, but they guessed he was wondering what he and his

companions might have done if they had known that the

coins were concealed in the basket. Then he looked up at

them and smiled.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I want you to have them. They're no use to

me. They would only collect dust on a shelf at home. But

they are probably worth something. You deserve them and

it's the best way that I can thank you.’ He handed themeach two coins and continued. ‘It's so easy to fill your life

with dreams yet end up in a rut having done nothing about

them; the years can thunder by. Perhaps the coins you are

holding may give you the chance to escape, to travel, to see

the world or to do whatever you set your heart on. But

remember that money isn't everything; I had to learn that

the hard way. You must have the courage to follow your

dreams.’

And that's about as good a place as any to finish thisstory. Their suspicions that the fire was deliberate were

right. The owner had arranged it in order to collect the

insurance on a boat that was of no further interest to her.



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She had employed an accomplice to do the job; both were

arrested and charged with various offences including arson.

The third fishing boat had been destroyed earlier through

their botched plans. Naturally, no insurance was paid and

Paradox eventually passed into the hands of the yard. She

remained on the beach by the sea wall for two seasons.

Arthur placed a large 'For Sale' sign over the wheelhouse,but she attracted little or no interest from passers-by. Twice

a day, the tides brought life to her timbers then lowered her

gently into the mud again. But, just when it seemed that she

was to be towed away and scuttled in the deep waters of the

North Sea, someone bought her. The mast was restored, the

ugly wheelhouse removed, and the hull repaired and

repainted. And then, one night, she sailed away from the

river and has never returned.

The crew of Shimmering kept in contact with thebeachcomber for a few years until the day a large flat parcel

arrived in the post. With it came a formal letter from a

solicitor regretting that their friend had died. In his will, he

had directed that the enclosed be sent to them. The

solicitor’s letter described the contents of the package as

'One simple wooden engraving without a frame. Of no

apparent value.'

And what of the three companions today? Well, they

often talk of finding a larger boat and going to look for thattreasure. They may go one day, but time is passing swiftly

as their busy lives unfold. But how about you? You could

take up the search instead. Why not? There’s rather more



truth in this tale than you realise. You know the route and

the map of the atoll looks genuine enough. Unfortunately,

the oceans are rising and the atoll may soon disappear, so

there’s no time to lose. Start to plan your voyage now and

we can talk about the money later. Don’t forget, you’ll need

to pack plenty of shark repellent and a metal detector. Try

not to damage the coral, and, if you can remember, leave amessage in that old barrel on Post Office Bay.

sailing mystery: search for a ghost ship by tony crowley

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