by John Drake
"Now that we're jolly companions all," said Silver, addressing the whole ship, "we must elect a captain according to tradition. So will any brother step up and give a name?"
"Long John!" cried a dozen voices. "Cap'n Silver!"
"No, lads!" cried Silver. "It can't be. The captain must be a gentleman of the quarterdeck that can guide the ship over the ocean." Here he looked steadily at Flint, and Flint was as utterly dumbfounded as ever he'd been in all his life.
Is the fool handing over command to me? he thought. Impossible! But Long John continued.
"And every man here knows I ain't no navigator!"
"Bugger that!" cried a voice. "We'll have no cap'n than Long John. Where's the man that could face him? Where's the man that's half the seaman he is?"
"Aye!" they roared. They cheered and they cheered for Long John, and waved their swords and muskets to the skies. But Silver shook his head and raised his hands for silence.
"No! And there's an end on it, say I. My vote goes for Cap'n Flint - a true gentleman, bred up in King George's navy, no less. So what say you, lads, to Cap'n Flint?"
They said very little at first, even those who'd come over from Betsy - especially those who'd come over from Betsy, for they knew what to expect from Flint. But Silver talked them round. He was a fine speech-maker, and all by native wit with never a drop of book-learning nor any example set to him by teachers. It was all sincere and from himself.
As for Flint, he watched all this as if from a box in a theatre and with such amazement, and such surprise and such disbelief as could hardly be contained within the body of a single man.
Silver was giving up command - which Flint could not believe. Silver was handing it to Flint on a plate - which Flint could not believe. Silver was doing this, whom Flint could see was possessed of all the natural gifts of leadership. Silver was doing this, whom the men wanted and whom they had called for. It was beyond understanding. Flint's mind cringed as it was dragged towards an invisible frontier, beyond which men acted for the common good, and not just for themselves.
Every day he spent with Silver, Flint came closer to that mystic line.
* * *
Chapter 16
30th May 1749
Night Elizabeth's longboat
The South Atlantic
The two mids sat silent at the dark stern of the longboat, now sweetly heeling under her canvas - gaff and jib-sail - with half the men asleep, the rest dozing. Hastings had the tiller, the sky was bright with stars, the night was cool and comfortable, the seas were easy and the round-bowed longboat was a good, dry, sea-keeping vessel. Under other circumstances, those aboard of her would have been a merry company, but not now. Hastings and Povey in particular were not merry. They were watching the bright stars as if their lives depended on them, which they did.
"There!" said Povey. "There's one setting now -" he pointed "- see?"
"Yes," said Hastings, and gave a touch on the tiller to steer towards it. "Tell me again," said Hastings, who'd never paid half as much attention to his lessons as he should have.
"We're steering west" said Povey. "Sunrise and sunset gives us east and west by day, and the stars set in the west at night, yes?"
"Yes."
"And better than that, we've got the northern trades blowing northwest - or close to that - which couldn't be better for a westerly passage."
"But why are we steering west?" said Hastings.
Povey sighed. "'Cos my best guess is that we're somewhere in the latitude of the Windward Islands, and if we're lucky we might make Barbados, which is British, and which lies to the east of 'em."
Hastings frowned mightily, trying to remember which king owned which islands.
"The Windward Islands…" he said. "They're French, aren't they?"
"Yes," said Povey. "At least, I think so."
"Not Spanish?"
"No."
"Good! We'll take our chance with the Frogs, but not the heathen Dagoes."
The two mids sat silent for a while, then Povey returned to the question which took precedence over all other questions. At least he had the sense to whisper.
"So how long do you think the water will last?"
"They gave us one water-butt. That's about one hundred gallons when it's full."
"Yes, but how long will it last?"
"And there's twenty-three of us…"
"So how long will it last?"
"I don't know! Can you tell me how long till we reach the Windward Islands?"
"Well…" Povey frowned and thought mightily. He looked at the boat's wake, sliding past. "Well… we're running at about four or five knots wouldn't you say?"
"Yes."
"Say a hundred miles a day?"
"Yes."
"So… well… it depends how far we have to go."
Hastings couldn't bring himself to ask Povey how far that was, because he feared that Povey didn't know. For his part, Povey was immensely relieved that he was not asked, because indeed he did not know.
Instinctively, Povey glanced astern. He looked at the dark waters. There was nothing following them, nothing coming after them. There was nothing at all… except death by thirst.
* * *
Chapter 17
16th February 1750
Aboard Walrus
The Atlantic
The partnership of Flint and Silver soon took an enormous prize, and it was entirely due to Flint's skill that Walrus was in the right place at the right time, out in the open Atlantic.
He'd explained the way of it to Silver, previously, with a chart spread out over a table in the master's day cabin. Walrus was charging along under all plain sail, in a steady blow, and Flint and Silver and one or two others were crammed into the cabin for a council of war. Flint's fingers flicked over the chart table, pointing and stabbing. Precisely, Flint set his fingertip upon the port city of San Felipe, which lay on the eastward side of the island of Nuestro Santissimo Salvador, facing homeward towards Spain.
"Latitude fifteen degrees, three minutes and thirty seconds," he said. "Longitude fifty-five degrees almost exactly." He frowned. "If we can trust this Dago chart."
"Looks a good 'un to me, Cap'n," said Billy Bones, squinting hard at the chart and rubbing his chin. He pointed a thick finger: "Soundings, bearings an' all. Set out fair an' shipshape."
Silver frowned and peered at the neat, intricate penmanship, but all he could understand were the tritons and conches that the Spanish cartographer had used to illuminate the margins and name-plate of the map. A thick, heavy headache oppressed him, as always when he tried to get an understanding of these fearful concepts of latitude and longitude.
"It's a rich, fat island with a steady trade with Cadiz," said Flint. "And there's a stone fort and a pair of frigates to guard the town."
"So we can't cruise offshore, for fear of meeting superior force," said Billy Bones.
"Aye," said the company, including Long John. That much was obvious.
"Indeed," said Flint, tracing his finger along the latitude of San Felipe and following it far out into the Atlantic. "And therefore, we shall cruise along this line, out beyond the horizon from the port, awaiting a ship coming westward, running her latitude down to make landfall."
The pain in Long John's head became very great. His eyes watered and the chart swam before him.
"Beach and bone me, if I'll ever understand it!" said Long John, for he made no secret of his limitations in this matter. The others looked at one another and Flint sneered instinctively and thought to stab with sarcasm, but the words came out oddly, for him.
"What's ailing you, John?" said he. "It is but a trick, this navigation. A trick such as this old bird might learn." He tickled his parrot, and pulled at her feathers, causing her to squawk. "Why, this poor creature cusses in five languages, which is more than most men can do." He looked fiercely at the bird, and shook it.
"Grrrr!" he said
"Mierda! Coñol Tu m'emmerdes!" screeched the bird. Everyo
ne laughed, and Flint - who never cussed at all - shrugged in embarrassment.
"There, there," he said, calming the parrot. "Poor creature was taught that by ignorant men. It's a trick, that's all, just like this mystery of navigation, which is not a thing to be compared with the gift to put heart into men and lead them forward against the enemy." Flint smiled. "That's the mark of a real man and one whom we admire."
"Aye!" said the rest, for it was not only a handsome compliment but a true statement of Silver's worth. Billy Bones and Israel Hands exchanged a brief glance of amazement, for they'd never before heard Flint say a good word about anyone. Come to that, Flint was puzzled himself. It was the first time he'd ever met a man whom he liked and respected.
As for Silver, he grinned and nodded, and the pain went out of his headache. He smiled and shook Flint's hand in gratitude - to the further amazement of Mr Bones and Mr Hands - and then reached up to stroke the parrot where it swayed and bobbed on Flint's shoulder.
"Ah, you're a fine 'un an' all, ain't you, shipmate?" he said, and the bird nuzzled his hand and gently nipped it with its great hooked beak - the beak that could crack Brazil nuts to splinters.
"Why, John," said Flint, "it appears you have a friend. Are you a rival for its affections?"
"Not I, Joe!" said Silver. "Not for the bird nor nothing else."
Wonder was surpassing wonder for Billy Bones and Israel Hands, not least because the parrot was feared by the entire crew, and the last man that had dared to touch it - when they were alone in the maintop and he'd attempted to wring its neck - was Black Dog, who was now missing two fingers off his left hand.
Meanwhile the result of Flint's unique and tremendous act of kindness was that much of Silver's ludicrous guilt over navigation faded away. Never again did he worry quite so much about charts and quadrants and latitude - at least, not while his friendship with Flint lasted, and for that Long John was deeply grateful.
More tangibly, Flint's simple plan - the thousand-times repeated ploy of the pirate or cruising frigate - worked well. On 16th February Walrus swooped down upon the three-masted Spanish West Indiaman, Doña Inez de Villafranca, giving a broadside of chain-shot into her rigging to tear down spars and sails and paralyse the crew, like the prey of a striking spider.
From the start, Capitan Jose Martin Ramirez knew that his ship was lost. He'd left Spain escorted by two splendid frigates, heavily armed and manned to guard the cargo under hatches in Doha Inez. Having been separated from these ships by foul weather, he'd been chewing his knuckles for a week in fear of precisely what had now come down upon him. But he was no coward and he fired a musket into the packed mass of savages swarming over the wreckage-strewn rail of his ship, and then he used the long barrel to drive his men into line, like a sergeant of grenadiers dressing the line with a halberd. Then he faced the enemy.
"Para Dios, España, et Las Señorasl" he cried - for God, Spain and the ladies! There were six women aboard: wives or betrothed of gentlemen in Santiago. Three of them were virgins, and for any one of the six, he was prepared to give his life, rather than see them despoiled. Unfortunately, not all Capitan Ramirez's men shared this noble sentiment. Some were already wavering, even before the shock of battle.
There came a roar of small arms, and the front rank of the pirates disappeared in smoke, while leaden bullets thumped into the Spanish defenders.
"Fuego!" roared Capitan Ramirez, then, "Santiago! Santiago!" the ancient and holy battle cry of the Christian knights who drove the Moors from Spain. There was a thundering volley from his men, then Ramirez was casting aside his musket and charging, sword in hand, to die with honour if need be.
In the event, he spitted one man - straight through the mouth and out the back of his head - killing him instantly; and he left a lifelong scar on Billy Bones's cheek. But then Bones sunk his cutlass deep into Ramirez's shoulder, hard by the side of his neck, and the brave Spaniard went down spouting bright, frothy blood in all directions.
After that there was some screaming and stampeding and some modest butchery before the thoroughly beaten crew were allowed to throw down their arms and beg for quarter. Long John granted it, and to make sure they got it, he went round with a belaying pin, cracking heads among Walrus's people until they left off cutting throats.
Flint watched him in amazement. He'd have skinned and gutted them. He'd have dug their eyes out. He'd have boiled them. He'd have sliced the skin off their pricks. He'd have… He paused and wiped the sweat from his eyes and the slobber from his mouth. Flint knew that Silver's ways made a whole crew and a sound crew, even if he didn't understand why.
"Break open the hatches, lads!" roared Silver. "Guard the prisoners, and out with the rum and the wine, and the cheese and the pickles!"
Half a dozen of the crew, told off for that purpose, herded the prisoners to the fo'c'sle and the rest roared with delight.
"Three cheers for Long John!" cried a voice.
"Aye!" they roared and cheered lustily.
"Three cheers for the cap'n!" cried Billy Bones lustily.
"Aye!" they cried, and gave Flint his three, equally loud.
They waved blades in the air and fired off the few firearms left loaded. They embraced their messmates and danced hornpipes. They staggered about, tripping over the clutter of fallen gear and staggering as the vessel rolled heavily under the movement of so many men.
Then they set to with a will, with crowbars and hammers and axes. Off came the hatches and men scrambled to investigate the catch. Down below they broke into the captain's cabin, with its books and carpets and images of saints, and they smashed open everything that was locked or shut. Bales of cloth came up from the hold and were cut into festoons of bright colour. The brandy and wine was found, as were hams and fresh eggs.
Then - best of the best and wonder of wonders - great, iron-bound strong boxes were discovered and smashed open to reveal Spanish silver dollars in countless glittering, clinking, shining profusion. Spanish dollars! The famous Ocho Reales that passed in circulation throughout the known world as a sovereign standard of currency.
"Dollars!" yelled the mob.
"Pieces of eight!"
"Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!"
They bawled out the words over and over, and ever after it was a talisman and a watchword among them to say it:
"Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!"
Even the parrot learned the words and every last man was brimming with joy. It was an enormous, fabulous treasure, and they were wild with excitement.
But the biggest roar came when some serious axe-work broke open a sealed cabin on the cable tier, where half-a- dozen terrified Spanish women were hidden. One poor creature, believing all she'd been told about pirates, took her own life on the spot with a little pistol kept for this purpose. She fired straight into the centre of her forehead, spattering blood, brains and bone-fragments upon her companions. The rest, shrieking hysterically, were dragged up on deck to a reception of howling, slavering lust.
But Silver found a still-loaded gun and fired into the air. He knocked men down with the butt, and called upon them all to remember the articles they'd signed.
"No woman that ain't willing!" he bawled. "You've money enough, now, for every whore in the Indies!"
But all he got was an angry, foul-mouthed, spittle-drenched bellowing from a monster denied its meat. Even Long John's leadership had its limits, and he had now gone beyond them.
"Bugger you, John!" they cried. "Haul off, you bastard, before we split you!"
BANG! BANG! Flint fired his own pistols into the air, and loaded with furious speed, and sprang forward and stood beside Long John, between the crew and the women.
"Who shall be first?" cried Flint, and levelled into the mob. "What no-seaman lubber will stand forward and deny our articles?"
Where Flint led, Billy Bones followed, and the three most feared men of Walrus's crew were now standing shoulder to shoulder. Israel Hands hesitated, t
hen crept in beside Long John. And that was the end of the matter.
"Get 'em below and out of sight!" hissed Flint to Billy Bones, who promptly drove the women down the nearest ladder with blows from the flat of his blood-smeared cutlass. It was rough work, but Billy had no Spanish and the women no English. And it was better than repeated violent rape by over one hundred men.
"Now then, lads?" said Silver, turning the subject as hard and fast as he could. "Who'll lend a hand to get the dollars across to the old Walrus? " They growled nastily, still baulked in their lust, and Silver nudged Flint with his elbow, and said in a loud stage-whisper, "I'd say there's five hundred there for every man of us. What's your tally, Cap'n?"
"At the very least," said Flint, and stooping forward he snatched a handful of coins from an open chest and flung them at the men. That brought a small cheer and a struggle for the coins, and a merciful shift in the wind of the men's attentions.
"See 'em scrabble, John?" said Flint softly, as the men dived for the chests and fought and bit for the biggest share. They cursed and bellowed and dug. "Hogs to the trough," Flint added.
"Aye," said Silver. "They lives for the moment, mostly, like all sailormen." Then he caught Flint's eye and winked. "Thank'ee, messmate," he said. "For a while there, I didn't know who I might count on, but articles is articles."
"Indeed," said Flint, shifting uneasily under his gaze.
"Didn't know for sure you was with me," said Silver, "judging from some o' the tales that's told." Silver looked again at Flint, for some of the details of Flint's past doings were circulating aboard Walrus and it was no secret that he'd led a most ghastly and bloody mutiny on his secret island.
