The Sneaky Pint: Tresoro

Posted on January 30, 2020 / by The Drunken Poet

Paddy Quinlan was a stowaway on a Spanish pirate ship called “La Espada Sangrienta”, the year was
1790, and while his adventures to this point had been both hair raising and life threatening, it most
certainly was about to take a turn. He’d been found by the ships cook three weeks prior, hiding in a sack
of flour. Paddy was only 7 years old and they’d barely noticed the food he’d been taking each night, but
the jig was up when Francisco’s sweaty, hairy face peered down on his pasty frame cowering in the sack.
He was soon put to work in the galley; plucking chickens, peeling potatoes and picking weevils out of the
flour. Only when Francisco passed out each night with a belly full of Mahon Gin, did he get some rest.
Paddy would curl up under the staircase and though they were sailing round Cape Horn and the seas
were rough enough to make a seasoned sailor fearful, he’d fall straight to sleep from pure exhaustion.
He soon found an ally in Manuel, the Captain’s cabin boy, who was about the same age. Manuel would
bring cubes of sugar from the Captain’s pantry and Paddy would give Manuel a few slices of morcilla
when he could. One night at eleven bells, Manuel woke Paddy, pressed his finger to his lips for silence,
and led him down through the ship to the Captain’s quarters. The Captain was snoring at a thousand
decibels. His lantern swung from side to side with the roll of the ship, throwing sickening shadows up
against the walls. On the dining table was a large map. The two boys crawled over to the table on hands
and knees. Their two heads slowly peaking over the edge. As their eyes took it in, the realisation of what
they were looking at began to sink in. “Tresoro”, hissed Manuel. Paddy didn’t always understand
Manuel, but he knew exactly what he was saying this time. They slowly backed their way out of the
room and retreated to their space under the stairs. The two boys swore each other to secrecy and
decided a watch and wait tactic was their best course of action.
Two days later a ship was spotted on the horizon and the pirates took off in pursuit, hoisting all the sail
they could. It was a passenger ship, so their luck could be in. After a day and a half of fierce sailing, with
all eyes trained hungrily on the ship, they got close enough to fire a shot over her bow. The passenger
ship ran up the white flag and heaved to. As the pirates gave up a cheer, Manuel found Paddy in the
kitchen and pulled him aside. “This be our chance.” Paddy nodded. Most of the crew, including the
Captain were boarding the passenger ship, Francisco was literally three sheets to the wind and the coast
was pretty much clear. The fat Italian bosun was their only obstacle, but luckily for our heroes he was
easily distracted by food, so Paddy pinched a cupcake and gave it to him, and that was enough to give
them their chance.
Manuel snuck into the Captain’s cabin while Paddy kept watch. He was out in a second. “I can’t find!”
Manuel was distraught. Paddy abandoned his watch and helped in the search. They looked everywhere;
turned the cabin upside down, but still nothing. They were running out of time and this was confirmed
when they heard boots on the deck above. The pirates were back! Paddy jumped up with a start and his
head hit a crysral decanter off the shelf. The smashing glass made an enormous racket. They heard the
pirates stop moving above them and then start to run downstairs. Manuel grabbed at Paddy’s shirt to
get them out of there, but Paddy was frozen to the spot, staring at something between his feet. The
map! It must’ve been in the decanter. Manuel ran to the door and bolted it. Paddy picked up the map
and shoved it into a jar. Manuel was already at the window about to dive. Paddy didn’t have time to tell
him that he couldn’t swim. The pirates were pounding at the door trying to break it down. He looked back at the window; Manuel was gone. Without thinking about what would happen next, Paddy jumped,
the jar with the map tucked inside his shirt.
At this point you’re probably wondering what on earth this has to do with The Drunken Poet? Valid
question. Not much, as it happens, it’s just that The Sneaky Pint was being told this story on a steamy
(and smoky) Wednesday night at a table outside the Poet, but just as José, who’d had a little too much
Sangria at the Wednesday Night Markets, got to this point in the story, his Uber arrived and he had to
leave. So if you’re reading this José, (and given that the readership of the Sneaky Pint is in the single
figures it’s a long shot) could you please come back to the Poet and tell me how the story ends?