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, Captain Flint.”

“C-Captain Flint?” I asked.

“Aye,” he grinned, pointing to the bird as it came down again on his finger. Returning Flint to his shoulder, he clapped me on the back. “So, you must be the cabin boy, huh?”

I nodded.

“Well, that’s fine. I started off as one myself when I was a pup.”

I began to smile a little. In the tavern Silver had seemed a little grim, but out in the sun and the fresh air he was much more friendly. I felt like we’d been best friends all our lives – or all my life, rather, since he looked to be about thirty years old.

We strolled down to the docks, where Mother stood by a small boat, which was occupied by a tan-yellow dog. She walked up and placed a paw on my shoulder.

“I still can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” she told me.

“Mother,” I protested, sensing that she was about to go into a mushy goodbye, “I’m thirteen. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” she replied, “But it’s not easy for me to let you do this.”

“Mother, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

She pulled me into a hug. “Just promise me that for once you won’t be like your father. Don’t disappear on me.”

“I won’t,” I promised, hugging her back. As I stood there, I tried not to think about the good chance that I might not be able to keep that promise. The reality that this might be the last time I ever saw her was there like an unwanted guest. But after a moment, I broke the hug and climbed down into the boat. “Goodbye, Mother.”

She nodded her goodbye, probably not speaking lest her voice should crack.

Mr. Silver climbed into the boat with surprising ease for a cripple and sat down facing the dog at the oars. I untied the rope and, moving carefully so I wouldn’t tip the boat, sat beside the cook.

As we maneuvered around the ships in port, Mr. Silver turned to me. “So, your mother’s a wolf?” he asked.

I nodded. “And a good one, too,” I added out of a habitual response to the way most dogs looked at wolves.

If I hadn’t been so preoccupied I might have noticed his slight scowl. “What about your father?”

“Husky,” I replied. “He disappeared a long time ago.”

“Probably found…” the yellow dog started to say, but a look from Mr. Silver stopped him.

After a moment, the husky patted me on the shoulder. “I never really knew my pa either,” he admitted. “Haven’t known many wolves, for that matter.”

“We get a lot of bad press,” I muttered.

Silver’s face softened. “Ah, don’t let it get to you, lad. You’re smart as paint, I can see that well enough. Now, here’s something to take your mind off your worries.” He lifted a paw and pointed out into the harbor, to a ship perched on the edge of the mass. “There she is, the Aurora herself!”

I stared in awe. A sleek two-masted schooner, sails billowing in the wind. Figures bustled around the deck or scurried through the rigging. She looked like a bird ready to take off!

As soon as we had climbed aboard, we were met by a black-and-white dog. Unlike Steele, this one was just a bit smaller and had much more black than white. I surmised from the trim uniform he wore that this was the captain.

“Well,” he noted, “You’re the last ones aboard. Balto Hawkins and Mr. Silver, and the one behind you is Kaltag, correct?”

“That’s right, Captain Orde,” I nodded. I was a bit surprised that the captain had called Silver by his nickname, but decided not to ask why.

The husky shook his head. “I’m not the captain, only the first mate. Mr. Silver, report to the galley and see that all is ready for departure. Kaltag, haul up that boat and see it's secure, then make yourself useful up on deck. Balto, you’re coming with me.”

As I parted ways with Mr. Silver, I fell into step behind the first mate. Well, maybe “step” isn’t the right word. “Stumble,” is a lot more like it. The waves moving the boat were small ones, but the deck pitched and shifted in a way that would definitely take some getting used to. “I, uh, don’t think I caught your name,” I told him as he walked along the deck with total ease.

“That’s because I didn’t throw it,” he retorted. “My name is Togo. You will address me as sir or Mr. Togo at all times on this voyage, understood?”

I nodded even though I was behind him. “Yes sir.”

I was so focused on keeping my footing that I never saw the furry form until I walked right into it. I fell backward with a thump as a huge wolverine stumbled one step, regained his footing, and turned to glare at me with an expression I hadn’t seen since my last nightmare. “Watch where you’re going, runt,” he growled deep in his throat.

I gulped. One thing you learn early on if you live long enough around shipyards: never upset a wolverine. They combine a skunk's bad odor with a grizzly's aggression, they're never in a good mood, and they’re not at all skittish about ripping off creatures' limbs - or heads - if they get mad.

“Mr. Scroup!” bellowed a call from two directions at once. One was from Mr. Togo. The other came from behind me. To my surprise, it was Long John Silver!

“I will tolerate no quarreling on board this ship!” barked Togo. “And if the captain hears of any such thing, you’ll be sent to the brig and put ashore at the first port we pass.”

Scroup scowled at Mr. Togo, then turned to glance at Silver out of the corner of one eye. “No harm done,” he rumbled, and stomped away muttering to himself.

Togo looked to Silver. “What happened to the galley?” he asked.

“Everything’s fine,” the husky assured him, “So I thought I’d come up to see the castoff.”

Togo nodded agreeably. “Very well,” he replied. “Carry on.”

Just then there was a shout from somewhere past my one-legged friend, and we looked to see a large weasel hanging over the deck by one leg, which had somehow become caught in a rope from the rigging.

“Oh, blast…” muttered Togo, but Silver stopped him.

“Nothing important, sir. I’ll see to it. You and the pup see to your business.”

Togo nodded firmly. “Thank you, Silver.”

As Steele went to see to the release the tangled sailor, Mr. Togo led me to a small group on the foredeck. The squire and Doctor Boris, complete with Muk and Luk, stood with a dog who had mostly dark tan fur and some white under his chin. The dog wore a three-cornered hat and a crisp blue coat that smelled so strongly of starch, I imagine it could have stood at attention with no one in it. He looked down at me with an expression like he was measuring me. “Balto Hawkins, I believe,” he said with a crisp British accent.

I nodded. “And you must be Captain Orde?”

“Correct on the first try.” He stuck out a paw, which I hesitantly took. After a quick, firm shake, he turned to the first mate. “All ready to cast off, Mr. Togo?” he asked.

Mr. Togo glanced back across the ship to where Silver and two other crewmen had just released the weasel and were signaling to us. “Everything’s ready, sir,” he replied.

Captain Orde drew himself up and bellowed out to all crewmen in earshot, “Anchors away!”

The shout was passed on, and in seconds the sailors were bustling about hauling up the anchor, making fresh adjustments to the sails, and doing about a dozen other things I couldn’t begin to understand. Within a minute of Orde’s shout, the Aurora was moving clear of the harbor, bound for adventure.

I looked out to the front and laughed as I took it all in: the waves breaking against our bow, the dolphins skipping across the water, the sunlight sparkling on the surface of the deep. The air seemed alive with the smell of places to be seen, possibilities to discover, adventures to be had. And most of all, treasure to be found!

I was broken out of my trance by a paw on my shoulder. “Lad, I want a word with you and the others in my cabin for a few minutes, and then you’ll be assigned to your duties.”

I followed Captain Orde and the rest of the group through a door and into the captain’s quarters. The furnishings were extraordinary! A globe sat on a table, cabinets lined one wall, and the bed was as good as any we’d had at the Admiral Benbow. Even the boards were engraved with designs of various things at sea.

Orde didn’t seem to be terribly interested in surroundings at the moment. “Mr. Trelawney, Doctor Livesey, we have a problem at hand.”

“What sort of problem?” inquired the squire.

“To begin with, there’s the crew. Quite frankly I don’t like them, or trust them.”

“And vhy not?” asked Doctor Boris.

“They’re too coordinated,” he answered. This surprised me. Wouldn’t he want an efficient crew?

“They were hired supposedly from all corners of the country, if not the earth, but a rank amateur can see they’ve sailed together before. Except for this lad here and the other one who came aboard at the port, they’re nearly all already on a nickname basis.”

“Several members recommended friends to join the crew,” countered the squire, clearly displeased at the criticism. “Is that your complaint?”

“Only the first.” Captain Orde cleared his throat. “You hired me under sealed orders to sail wherever you asked without question. I still don’t know where this ship is heading. But all the rest of the crew seems to know perfectly well. I don’t consider that very reasonable, do you?”

Muk and Luk stared at each other, then looked at me. I looked at the doctor and the squire. They looked at each other. “No,” admitted the squire.

“Vhere do they say ve are headed?” asked Boris.

“For treasure,” answered the captain.

The effect was instantaneous. “How could they know that?” cried Muk, voicing all our thoughts.

I looked at the squire, and I wasn’t alone. The Saint Bernard backed away. “I… I might have said a word or two…” he admitted.

“Perfect,” I muttered.

“Alright,” scowled Doctor Boris. “Captain, this is true. Ve are searching for treasure, the treasure of Captain Flint.”

Togo put a hand over his face. “This is not a blessed thing.”

“Indeed.” Orde’s expression was grim. “But now the damage is done, so we’d best take steps to minimize the risk.”

“What do you suggest?” asked Squire Trelawney.

“Well, to begin with, I assume you have a map.”

I nodded and took the oilcloth package out of my boot, where I had tucked it for safekeeping. “Here.”

“Very well,” said the captain, taking it from my paw. He tapped it in one paw like a constable with a club. “We shall keep it safely locked away here in the cabin. I’ll lock it away after you’ve left so no one risks dropping any clues.” Here he gave a serious look at the squire, who shifted uncomfortably.

“We’d better do something about the weapons too,” added Togo.

“Quite correct,” agreed Orde. He strode to a door by the cabinets and rapped on it. “I’ve inspected the ship, and there’s a private hold, probably a hiding place in case of pirate attacks, which can only be accessed from here. If you’ll have my advice on this, remove the weapons and munitions from the main hold and put them in there where we can control them. Perhaps we can’t stop them from starting a mutiny, but we can be prepared to stop them with less trouble if they do.”

“You expect them to rebel?” asked the squire.

“No, but I want to prepare for it. If I expected them to mutiny, I would resign my commission and ask that you find another captain,” Orde replied.

We exchanged a look. “We’d better do as you say, I suppose,” said the squire.

Togo nodded. “We’d better have those we can trust to do it,” he advised. “Might I suggest we keep the task to ourselves?”

Captain Orde nodded his approval. “Excellent suggestion.” He sized up each of us in turn. “You two, I suppose, haven’t done a great deal of heavy labor in your lives,” he noted, pointing to the squire and the doctor. “But I expect between the two of you, you ought to be able to do your bit. Balto, have you much experience?”

“I’ve carried trunks and bags before at my mother’s inn,” I replied.

“Good. You should be quite helpful. And that other lad who signed on at the docks…”

“James,” supplied Mr. Togo.

“Yes, James. It’s deucedly hard to tell how strong he is what with those baggy clothes he wears, but we ought to be able to trust him at the very least. And eight of us ought to be able to move the guns and ammunition from the hold in about half an hour.”

Orde’s plan took a little longer than he predicted. The crates of guns and swords were heavy, and as he had anticipated neither the squire nor the doctor were very helpful. He and Mr. Togo, however, put in more than their share of the work, laboring as if they were part of the crew.

As for me, I found it difficult to maneuver the heavy load. I was helped by James, although he apparently wasn’t that strong either. He was one of the oddest dogs I’d ever met. To start off with, the captain had been putting it mildly when he said his clothes were baggy. They would have probably been big on a grown man, much less on someone who was slightly smaller than even me. And he always wore a red cloth tied around his head and covering his ears, along with a patch over his right eye. His left eye was surrounded by black fur as if to match the one covered up. As for his odor, I didn’t know what to make of that. It vaguely reminded me of the time Mother had come out of the kitchen after supervising some chimney sweeps – a strange mix dog fur and soot. There was something just slightly off about the dog fur, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. It was almost as if he had two completely different scents.

I tried to make conversation with him as we struggled to haul some small kegs of gunpowder up the stairs. “So,” I grunted, “Ever done this kind of thing before?” I was working hard to keep my balance with two of the barrels, each about the size of two buckets, under my arms.

He shook his head, wobbling as he carried one against his chest with both arms. “No,” he admitted, almost toppling as the ship lurched. “Have you?”

“I have,” I told him just as the ship shifted again and knocked me flat on my face. “Just not on a ship,” I added ruefully as I struggled to my feet. “But there's always a first time.”

The good news was, moving the weapons proved to be little trouble. The bad news was, everything else was a lot of trouble. I used to think work at the inn was tough, but it was nothing compared to being a cabin boy. When I was below decks, I worked in the kitchen scouring pots and pans or serving food to rowdy sailors. Up on deck, Orde had me scrub the deck until it was “clean enough to eat off of,” or work with the sailors when the sails had to be adjusted. This was not what I had in mind when I dreamed of adventure on the high seas.

But it wasn't all bad. Orde was firm, but not unfair. While some of the other sailors seemed derisive of me for my age and breeding, he didn't look down on me for either. I noticed he didn't work me (or James, I see now) as hard as the others on board, although I was kept busy enough to feel soreness in my muscles at the end of each day, and an increasing hardness in them at the beginning. Being a sailor was turning me into a dog stronger than most my age. In the kitchen, Silver was as hard a boss as Orde. But he kept a huge barrel, so big I could have happily used it for a kennel, full of apples, and he let everyone eat from it as often as they wanted.

Then one day, while I was scrubbing the deck, something happened that would change the whole voyage, and my whole life. I was on my hands and knees with a coarse brush, trying to make the deck “clean enough to eat off of,” when I became aware of the captain's boots right in front of me.

“Balto,” he greeted.

I stood up and pushed my hands against my back. “Yes, Captain?”

He eyed the deck I’d been scrubbing. “You’ve done enough here. Why don’t you go relieve James of his watch? He’s been on double-shifts since Nikki got scurvy.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.” I ran to put the mop and bucket away, then hurried to the rigging. I had always wanted to climb up into the crow’s nest. Lookout seemed like the best job on the ship. Well, maybe next to being captain. I could see James watching the sea through a telescope, his expansive shirt billowing in the wind like an extra sail on the mast. He was looking out to sea in my direction, but it seemed I was literally beneath his notice.

Grinning to myself, I decided to have a little fun with this mystery sailor. I jumped from the rigging to the crossbar of the mast and crawled along it until I reached some rigging on the other side. I grabbed onto that and resumed climbing, coming up to the nest behind James. He was still staring off into the distance, oblivious to my arrival. Reaching out a paw, I grabbed his bandanna and yanked it free from his head. “Avast!” I yelled in my best pirate voice. “We’re taking the ship!”

My pirate voice was pretty bad, I have to admit, but James gasped and spun around as if Flint himself were attacking. I probably looked just as surprised when I saw what was under that cloth.

To be continued.

Don't you just hate that?