Balto's Treasure Island, Part Two: The Journey Begins

If the squire was excitable, he was certainly efficient too. Within the week he told us he had found a ship and crew, right down to the cook. Mother, who said that she was of no mind to go on a sea voyage, made arrangements to stay with a friend of hers until we returned and the inn had been rebuilt.

I'll never forget the conversation we had the night before I left. We were in the parlor at the home of her friend, on seats facing each other by the fire. Our host, an old Raven named Ebony, had gone to sleep long before, but Mother and I stayed up. She prodding the fire restlessly with an iron poker, sending sparks drifting up the chimney. The smell of burning logs filled the room with an aroma that made me long for the parlor of the inn. Finally I broke the silence. “Mother?” I asked. “What's bothering you?”

Her shoulders lifted as she drew a deep breath, then sagged as she let it out. “I still can't believe I'm letting you go on this voyage,” she said. “I keep thinking you'll end up disappearing like your father.”

I sighed too. Mother never seemed to lose that emptiness in her heart where my father had once been. In quiet moments, I often caught her withdrawing into herself like water flowing down into an empty well. I too often felt lacking because I had never really known my father. And over the years, I had learned there was one way to, if only for a while, ease that emptiness in us both. “Tell me about him,” I requested.

She smiled peacefully as if she could feel him there beside her. “He was the finest man I ever met,” she said. “Wolf or dog, there was no one quite like him. He was gentle, and never spoke roughly or raised his voice to me. Yet in that gentleness there was great strength, more than any dog or any other kind of creature. He never backed down, even when I gave him the look I use on unruly sailors." She smiled wryly, adding, "And I did use it once or twice to test him, to see if he was good enough, someone I could respect as he said a wife should respect her husband, for I knew early on that he would one day ask to marry me. He proved he was more than worthy of it, and I did respect him. Even when I doubted him, I submitted to his wishes, and he never once proved false.”

She grew silent then, and her head drooped down so that I thought she had fallen asleep. Then she lifted her chin a little and raised the gold locket that she kept around her neck. She opened it, and I could see the picture within, of the two of them standing together. He was wearing a fine suit, she a beautiful white dress, as white as her own fur. “He gave this to me as an engagement gift,” she murmured, “And the portrait was painted not long after we were wed. He said that as long as I lived, he would never part from me, and if he ever did, he would return.” Her voice grew sad. “He repeated that promise often, last of all when he went on that voyage.” She was silent then, and I thought she might start to weep. I got to my feet and walked to her, putting a paw on hers. With father gone, I was the man of the family now, and young as I was, I had to comfort my mother as best I could.

“He'll be back,” I whispered. “If he was as good as you say, he'd never go back on a promise.” As she looked up I made eye contact and held her gaze. “He will come back,” I repeated, “And so will I. I promise, Mother.”

As we rode a coach down to the harbor the next day, the squire told us over the clatter of carriage wheels and horses' hooves on cobblestones that he had secured a schooner called the Aurora. He had hired an experienced sea captain named Orde, and a cook named Steele. “Silver to his friends,” he added with a hint of a chuckle. “Much finer metal. He was in the navy once, I understand.”

“Once?” Muk asked.

Squire Trelawney nodded. “Yes, he was wounded in a battle long ago when he was just a lad – and he still kept at it for several years! Imagine! Now he runs a tavern near the harbor called the Spy-Glass, but you should have seen him jump at the chance to be back at sea. He even helped me get the whole crew together from scratch.”

I must admit my mind wasn’t on the conversation. And when we got out at the harbor, I practically forgot everyone with me altogether. I was enraptured by the sights around me. Ships from every nation, with flags and banners fluttering like a festival attended by sailors of every imaginable kind. Some sang as they worked on deck while others scrambled around the rigging like spiders. The wind swept in from the sea, carrying the aroma of tar, salt, and most of all adventure.

I was yanked from my bliss by the squire’s paw tapping me on the shoulder. “Now, Balto,” he told me as he pointed to a nearby street, “Run down that street until you get to the Spy-Glass tavern. Duck inside and tell Mr. Silver that all is ready.”

“Yes, sir!”

The Spy Glass tavern was easy enough to find; a weathered signpost displayed a beautifully polished telescope right out front. Going inside, I found the place was packed. A parrot screeched at me from a T-shaped post by the door as I entered, its orange beak a sharp contrast to its bright green feathers. But my attention was quickly taken from him by the customers. Dogs of every breed were there, along with all the other typical tavern-goers: wolverines, weasels, one or two foxes, and even a grizzly bear seated at a table in the corner. But to my surprise there were also badgers, geese, ravens, and other types of people who normally didn’t come to such places. I surmised that this place must be well-kept if it managed to draw such dignified guests.

As I always did whenever I went to a place that served food, I lifted my nose and took a whiff of the air. Salt, tar, and various beverages mingled with the tantalizing aromas of steak, pork, fish, and a hint of grain for the birds. There was even a whiff of fresh fruit.

Scanning the crowd, I caught sight of a tall black and white dog coming out of the kitchen. He had a surprisingly muscular build and chiseled features for a cook, but the apron he wore and the scent of food coming off of him told me this must be Mr. Silver. I ran up to him. “Mr. Silver, sir?” I asked.

He turned to me with a somewhat foreboding air. “Yes?” he asked.

Seeing him head-on, I made a startling discovery. This dog had only one leg! He leaned on a crutch, and his left leg ended at the hip. One leg! I remembered, Billy Bones’ words echoing through my mind like a ghostly moan. Beware a sailor with one leg.

“Y-y-your leg!” I stammered, unable to control my tongue. “Your leg’s gone!”

His eyes flashed. “What?!” he roared, whirling around with the fury of a hailstorm. “Alright, who took my leg?! Nobody leaves this tavern until...” he stopped and looked at me with a darkly amused expression. “Say, come to think of it, boy, that leg was taken off by a cannonball out at sea ‘bout twenty years ago. Bit late to be looking for it now, don’t you think?”

The crowd in the Spy Glass roared with laughter. I looked at the floor. “Sorry,” I apologized.

“No need to be sorry,” he replied. “I lost that leg in the king’s service.”

“God bless King George!” chorused the diners.

I couldn’t help smiling as I looked at them, but then I noticed sight that made my blood run cold. In the corner sat a black dog missing two fingers.

“It’s Black Dog!” I cried, pointing. “He was with the pirates!”

Silver’s face twisted into an expression of rage. “What, in my house?!” he roared.

Black Dog bolted for the door. Silver pointed to a fox close by it. “You, Tom! After him fast. I can’t keep up on this timber!”

The fox named Tom ran after Black Dog, and Silver sat down.

“So,” he asked gruffly, “Did you come here to talk about my leg, or do you have something important?”

Still a bit uneasy, I swallowed my fear and told him, “The Aurora is ready to sail, sir. Squire Trelawney requests your presence on board at once.”

Mr. Silver laughed and clapped me on the shoulder, his mood seeming to brighten instantly. “Well, then, let’s not waste his time, eh?” And with that one hand he spun me around and we marched out the door, him stopping by the parrot's perch on the way. The parrot immediately climbed onto his outstretched hand, which he raised to guide the bird to his shoulder. It flapped off in alarm, though, as Tom came barreling back to meet us just outside the door.

“Sorry, sir,” he panted. “I lost him in a crowd. He got away.”

“Blast,” muttered Silver. “And now he’s robbed me to boot. Drank three measures of rum he never paid for. Ah, no matter. The wicked always gets caught in the end, and ye may lay to that. Tom, head on in and have a drink on the house.”

“Wait,” I asked as the fox went inside. “What about your tavern?”

“Oh, I already have someone to take care of things. Now where- ah, there he is. Me ol' shipmate,