by John Drake
De Cordoba hung his head, heaved a sigh, and asked God and his king to forgive him. Most of his powder and shot was used up. His guns were so hot that the carriages were smoking. His men were exhausted. They were in no condition to fight two ships, especially if it came to close quarters, since the men of two ships must surely outnumber his one.
With utmost reluctance, De Cordoba therefore hauled out of the fight and ran before the wind. From his point of view, it was an un-heroic decision but a wise one.
But to Flint and his men, it was joy. It was relief. It was repeal, redemption and resurrection! They cheered and yelled with delight to see the Spaniard go. And other cheers came across the water from the schooner. This broke the first wave of delight. With El Tigre growing smaller with every minute, the schooner swung out her cutter and manned it, and the cutter pulled briskly across to Betsy.
When this happened, Flint, and those left standing of his crew lined the shot-broken sides of their ship and wondered if they'd been rescued or simply taken by a different enemy.
They were glad to see the Spaniards go, of course, for the Spaniards would've hanged the lot of them without so much as a trial. But what did the schooner want? Who were her people? They flew the black flag, like Betsy did, but what did that matter? It wasn't like one of King George's ships coming to the aid of another. Flint frowned and bit his lip, and considered the oncoming cutter. He'd never go to help another ship; not him! He'd take his Bible oath on it! But there was nothing to do but wait, for even the cutter was faster by far than the half-ruined Betsy, and soon it bumped and ground alongside, and men were scrambling aboard by the main chains.
The first of them was a tall man with a mane of fair hair starting out from under his hat. He had long limbs and an active, alert face. He had the air of a man used to authority. He shook his head at the damage done to the ship.
Flint stepped forward and the fair-haired man looked him over.
"English? Français? Portugês?" he said.
* * *
Chapter 13
10th June 1752
Aboard Walrus
The Savannah River
Billy Bones was the happiest man on board as Walrus worked her way downriver and out past Tybee Island. He chucked and smiled, and he kicked the men to their duties in the most good-hearted way, punching their heads cordially and with humour.
"Haul away, you buggers!" he cried to the waisters running with a line to raise the mainsail. "Pull, you whores' abortions!" he bellowed at the boat's crew labouring to get out a kedge anchor for warping the ship when the wind failed. He laughed and beamed and showed the mettle of his wit by flicking men's ears with the tip of a rope's end and tripping the unwary down hatchways. And all the lower deck nudged and winked, and thanked their lucky stars that Mr Bones was in so jolly a mood.
The cause of all this happiness was that Billy had just spent a week ashore, galloping every tart he could get his leg across, and drinking himself roaring drunk every night. Best of all, he had enjoyed a most delightful, and profitable, prizefight with a sergeant from the garrison who was reckoned the best exponent of fisticuffs in all the American colonies. A huge crowd had gathered to witness the encounter, which took place at night, by torchlight, on the West Common by the bay.
After only twenty-five rounds of bare-knuckle fighting, the sergeant was showing signs of wear, while Billy Bones was just nicely settling down to work. Taking advantage of the slackening of his opponent's attack, Billy Bones put him down with a cross-buttock, and began industriously to kick him in the kidneys, until he was hauled off by a band of soldiers who broke through the ring to rescue their man.
When the beaters-out had cleared the ring with cudgels', and the fight resumed, the sergeant having been revived with cold water and brought up to scratch, the military man found that his heart wasn't really in it any longer, and Billy Bones polished him off in four or five easy rounds. Later, Billy still had the appetite for three bottles of French wine and a hoggish portion of pork and corn, and he still had the strength to give the redoubtable Mrs Polly Porter one of the most vigorous servicings she'd known in all her professional experience. Indeed, it was the talk of Savannah that Mrs Porter was unable to receive customers for three days afterwards.
Besides all this, Billy Bones was merry because Captain Flint was merry, and that long-nosed, yellow-haired sod, John Silver, was not. Billy had seen the black girl that Flint brought aboard, and had whistled to himself at the look of her and the shape of her. Billy didn't like black girls normally, and would pay over the odds for a white girl, or at the very least a mestiza. But this one, by God, was different. She had a figure like a sand-glass and the prettiest little face, and the most enormous eyes, and the shiniest hair that Billy Bones had ever seen. And all the lower deck thought so too.
Billy turned this over in his mind, since, in the normal way of things, it was bad luck to bring a woman on board - any woman, let alone one like this. But Flint was captain, along with that swab John Silver - even Billy Bones had to admit the truth of the double command - and the crew would take their lead from the captain as long as he brought home the goods. So… the girl being Flint's property, no man dared oppose her being on board, and it was beyond all imagining that anyone would even think of laying a hand on her. Billy Bones alone would see to that, never mind Flint.
So Walrus rounded Tybee Island and forged out into the open sea, and the wind came on to blow, and Billy summoned all hands to shorten sail. The thundering rumble of feet on the planks and the yelling of the boatswain's mates brought Flint up on deck, and he smiled his wide smile at Billy Bones. This simple instant of approval from the man whose slave he was provided the capping joy for Billy Bones. His simple, brutal heart soared to the heavens and all around him was happiness to the far horizons.
Meanwhile, beneath his feet was the living, straining timber of a fine ship, and above him the topmen leapt to their work among the crackling roaring sails, and above them the gulls wheeled and turned and cried. On deck men were hauling on the braces to trim the mainyard and the well-greased blocks hummed and clacked with the strain. From forrard the salt spray came up like mist from the plunging bow, and the smell of the sea and the freshness and newness of it was all around.
Every seaman knows the thrill of that moment of setting out, with the land falling astern and the whole world opening ahead, and Billy Bones knew it no less than any other. It was the very heart and soul of why men went to sea, and gloried over the miserable landsmen who stayed ashore and never knew such wonders.
Flint came to stand by Billy Bones, alongside the helmsman at the tiller. He studied the set of the sails and then the compass in its binnacle.
"Well enough, Mr Bones," he proclaimed. "What course, helmsman?"
"A point north o' southeast, Cap'n."
"Well enough," repeated Flint. Billy Bones could see the satisfaction on his captain's face.
He grinned to himself, for he knew exactly what was making Flint so sweet. Billy Bones thought what he'd like to give that little piece of black mischief, if only he could get his hands on her, and never a doubt but that the Cap'n was giving her just the same. Billy Bones imagined the high, jutting breasts and the swell of her black rump from the slender waist, and he cursed hard and silently to himself, and wished mightily that it was himself doing the work and not Flint.
"Ah, John!" said Flint, as the hulking figure of Silver emerged from the quarterdeck hatchway. "Come and keep me company. I feel the need for honest conversation."
"Aye-aye, sir!" said Silver with that eternal cheerfulness that turned Billy Bones's stomach. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't the Cap'n have honest conversation with Billy Bones? Weren't he an honest man?
And so the happy moment was broken, and Billy Bones suffered the bitter jealousy of a child whose best friend has been taken away by another. For Billy Bones loved Flint. He loved him as a son loves his father or a patriot loves his country. He was sunk in awe for Flint's cleverness and
his quickness and his terrible ability to strike fear into the hearts of men. And since Billy Bones's admiration of Flint was without end, he didn't mind that Flint treated him like a donkey, because such a man would do that to anyone.
What Billy Bones did mind, was the easy equality with which Flint treated John Silver. As far as Billy Bones could see, there wasn't anything that Silver did that merited this, and Billy Bones sneered. But he turned his head away to do it, and walked to the rail and stared into the sea, that his expression might not be noticed.
"Now where have you been these days past, John?" said Flint.
"Enjoying my shore leave, Cap'n," said Silver. "And doing it in those ways that the tradition of our trade requires!"
Flint laughed. "And myself busy all the while, in action against Neal the Irishman, making the best of our business."
"And yourself the best man of us to do it," said Silver. They both laughed and Billy Bones ground his teeth to see the friendship between them, and the obvious pleasure that each took in the other's company. But then there was a stirring and a whispering and a curious murmuring among the hands.
"Bugger… me… tight!" said the helmsman, each word forced out between gritted teeth. Billy Bones turned to see the cause of this.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" he said, turning piously to religion in the extremity of his emotion, for he saw that Flint's black girl had come up on deck and was standing, holding on to a rack of belaying pins on the weather side to keep her footing, which she couldn't do without hanging on, what with her being a landsman… lands woman, rather.
She had her hair bound up in a silk handkerchief of deep scarlet, and she was dressed in a shirt and a pair of white duck slops, secured round the waist with a black leather belt. The clothes had belonged to one of the ship's boys: a scrawny, undersized twelve-year-old, and had been given to her on Flint's orders as being nearest to her size. But the result was a tightness around the behind, and bare legs from just above the knees, and a want of buttons around the neck that left more velvet-black skin gleaming in the sunshine than was entirely wise.
She was nervous with the motion of the ship. Billy saw that she'd be casting up her accounts before long, like any green sailor. Then he looked around and saw that there wasn't one man on deck who wasn't staring pop-eyed at her, and those below were being called up by their mates so as not to miss the treat.
For that matter, Billy felt his own desires stiffening, and that was after a glutting, unrestrained debauch ashore that normally left him contented for weeks. Billy Bones entirely revised his opinion of black girls and looked at Flint out of the corner of his eye. By Satan! The captain was a man, and no mistake. He saw the satisfaction on Flint's face at the crew's reaction to his little prize.
"Selena, my dear!" called Flint. "Come aft!" Billy could see that she didn't know where aft was, but Flint beckoned and she half walked, half staggered along the deck to join him. And then Billy Bones saw the most surprising and wonderful thing: Silver was scowling. Silver's beaky nose was out of joint. Someone had shoved a pint of mustard up his arse, and Billy Bones could see who it was. A dull grin broke across his greasy face. He followed everything that happened next with utmost attention.
"Selena," said Flint, making introductions as if he were on a flagship and she were a duchess, "may I present my quartermaster and good companion, Mr John Silver."
Billy Bones saw the fine lips twist and the nose flare and the hands go to the hips.
"Huh!" she said, and Billy Bones held his breath. Skin, salt, bugger and burn him if this didn't look ripe! The little bitch was facing down Long John Silver like he was a foremast hand caught thieving from his mates; while Silver, by heaven, couldn't meet her eye. Billy actually saw Long John blush and blink and look from Flint to the girl and back again. Billy snorted with glee, and hastily made a show of clearing his throat and going to the rail to spit tobacco juice from the plug he kept eternally working in his mouth. But he came back sharpish to watch the next round of the contest.
"Why, what's this, John?" said Flint.
"We've met," said the girl.
"Aye," said Flint, "in Savannah."
"Yes," said the girl, "in Charley Neal's liquor shop." She looked at Flint. "Your friend thought I was something that I am not."
Billy Bones whistled silently to himself. She was powerful uppity for a nigger-woman. But then he remembered who her protector was.
"If that was the way of it, miss," said Silver, "then I'm right sorry, and I take my Bible oath on it." He turned anxiously to Flint, who was looking on in amusement. "A word in your private ear, Joe," he said, but Flint let go a blast of laughter. He slapped his thigh and petted his squawking parrot, and took off his hat and fanned himself. Then he held his sides and started all over again. Once Flint started laughing, it was hard for him to stop.
"Why, John," he said, between gasps, "don't tell me we both chased the same hind, and I was the faster?"
"No!" said the girl.
"No!" said Silver.
"No?" said Flint.
"We'd best talk, Joe," said Silver. "A woman is the worst luck that's possible to bring aboard a ship."
Billy saw the fun drain out of Flint in double quick time. Flint's eyes went wide and round and white, which was a dangerous sign.
"Now, would that be you, John Silver, questioning me?"
"Aye," said Silver.
"So!" said Flint.
They stared at one another as if no other person was within miles. The moment was intensely painful to each. Their friendship was still at its height. Then Flint shook himself and forced a smile, and tried another laugh - though not a very good one - and clapped Silver on the shoulder.
"John, John, shipmate," he said, "let's not you and I quarrel."
"Never at my choosing," said Silver, making his own best effort to force things back the way they'd been before.
"Then why ever?" said Flint, and smiled almost naturally.
"But we must talk, Cap'n," said Silver, glancing at Selena, and Flint's eyes grew round again, but he held his course.
"Aye," said Flint, "what can't be cured must be endured, as the doctors say." And he looked at Billy Bones and Selena. "My dear," he said, "this gentleman is Mr Bones, my first mate." She looked at him in a way that would have got her the back of Billy Bones's hand under other circumstances. "And, Mr Bones, this lady is my ward, Selena. I hand her into your personal safe-keeping, Mr Bones, and will inquire of you should any man treat her with less than proper respect."
"Aye-aye, sir!" said Billy Bones. Ward indeed. But if that's what Flint said, then so it should be. "You can leave the hands to me, Cap'n," he added.
"Oh, I do, Mr Bones. Indeed I do," said Flint. "And now, John, let's settle this matter over a glass of rum, like good companions, eh?"
"With all my heart, Cap'n," said Silver, and the two of them went below. Billy Bones's spirits fell when he saw that, but he perked up later when a raging and a hollering of voices could be heard coming up from Flint's cabin. Billy guessed the stern windows must be thrown open for the fresh air, since the sound was coming up over the taffrail. He would dearly have liked to get himself and his ears astern to hear what was being said, but he dared not. In any case the little madam was wandering round the deck among the men, and his presence was badly needed beside her.
She was still hanging on to whatever came to hand, bracing herself against the heaving deck which she hadn't yet come to terms with, but she didn't seem one bit afraid, and she wasn't going to be sick after all. She stared at every ordinary item of the schooner's gear as if it was all brand new and she didn't know a jibboom from a jackstay. In due time, the wheels of Billy Bones's mind turned, and he managed to calculate that this was indeed the case, what with plantation slaves not being bred up to the ways of the sea.
The trouble was that Billy knew he must either follow her round like a nursemaid, or at least take a turn about the ship to warn the hands what would happen to them should they not mind their
manners. So he had to abandon the fascinations of eavesdropping just at the very moment when he was learning to relish them.
Round the ship he went, as fast as he could, to give the crew their orders in the hope that he could get back to the stern without delay. But to his surprise he found that the men were not interested in the juicy bit of tail that was parading itself round the deck, because another piece of news had sped round the ship ahead of him. All the crew wanted to hear about was the split between Flint and Silver. And there was a dimension to this that had hitherto escaped Billy Bones's understanding, for he'd been too busy rejoicing at Silver's fall from the post of Flint's chief favourite.
"Which are you for, Mr Bones?" said Mad Pew, way down below where he had a little cabin - dark, close and lantern- lit - for his sailmaking gear. There was no other person present, but Pew looked around as if for hidden listeners in the shadows, and he nipped Billy Bones's arm with hard sinewy fingers in the way he had when talking, which made men's flesh creep. Billy guessed that Pew was frightened, but it was hard to read Mad Pew's expression when he was disturbed in any way, for on those occasions such a twitch jumped in the corner of his eye that it was impossible to notice much else about him.
"Haul off, you bloody lubber!" said Billy Bones, shuddering and shaking off the thin, strong hand. "What the buggeration d'you mean, 'which one'?"
"Flint," said Pew, "or Sil-ver?" His Welsh voice made two sounds out of the name.
"Bladderwash!" snarled Billy Bones, "You fucking mad bastard!" And he read Pew the rule book concerning black girls aboard ship, and went stamping on his way. But the next person he met was Israel Hands, the gunner, coming out of the magazine, and Israel Hands was not mad, nor a fool, nor anything other than a prime seaman.
"Bad business, Billy," said Hands, with a deadly serious look on his face.
"What is?" said Billy Bones, staunchly managing not to grasp the point.
