by John Drake
For thirty long days, Hastings and Povey had acted like men, and brave men at that. They'd taken command, made decisions, overcome threats and never wavered in doing their duty. They had, in addition, thoroughly absorbed the lower deck's morbid dread of Spain. After all they had endured, the kind words of this lady proved more than they could bear… for George Hastings was just fourteen years old and David Povey was twelve. They began to tremble and shake.
Dona Alicia looked at the tall but desperately thin Hastings, who'd sprouted, as some boys do, without filling out to a man's strength. And she looked at the childlike Povey. However grand she might be, she was a woman, and she was touched to the heart.
"My brave boys," she said, stepping forward to embrace them. This broke the last of their reserve and the midshipmen were reduced to tears.
Don Felipe motioned to the maids to leave the room, and quietly went out after them.
Within three months Hastings and Povey were back in London, their promotion assured, Society at their feet. Henceforward, both would be driven by a grim determination to see Joseph Flint pursued, captured and hanged.
* * *
Chapter 25
1st July 1752
Aboard Walrus
The Southwest Atlantic
"Diem adimere aegritudinem hominibus!" said Mr Cowdray, as the latest dressing came off Long John's stump. "D'you know your Horace, Mr Silver?"
"No," gasped Long John, teeth and fists clenched in anticipation of the pain that came with any handling of his wound. Even now Jobo was hanging on to one of his arms while Israel Hands held the other. Long John had thrown himself clear out of the hammock during previous dressing changes, what with his fighting and screaming.
"In other words," said Cowdray, '"Time heals all wounds'!" And with that he deftly removed the last of the long-tailed ligaments that hung out of Long John's stump. This wretched remnant of a powerful limb looked like the fat end of a leg of lamb on a butcher's hook, only paler. But there was no trace of inflammation, and granular scar tissue was forming, fresh and healthy, over the raw end, with the bone well covered and invisibly buried within.
" Venienti occurrite morbo, as Persius has it," said Cowdray. "Which is to say: 'Meet the disease in its first stage' - as indeed we have, and so effected a cure."
Cowdray was blathering on in Latin because he was delighted with this beautiful stump, and proud of his undoubted feat in saving Silver's life despite his appalling injury. As he chattered and applied a fresh dressing, Silver found to his surprise that there was no pain in Cowdray's attentions. This was a first. Silver finally began to believe that he might recover.
When Cowdray was done, he washed his hands in a bowl, rolled down his sleeves and came and smiled at his patient.
"Well, sir!" said he, unconsciously adopting the manners he'd used so long ago to respectable patients in his private practice: merchants, aldermen, even noblemen. "It is my pleasure to be able to promise you a good recovery, and it is in my mind to have you up and about for the fresh air. What d'you think of that, sir?"
"Aye," said Israel Hands, "the lads'd like that. What say you, Long John?"
Long John hesitated. Even the bravest of men are worn down by constant pain, and he was afraid of being hurt if they moved him. Cowdray recognised this at once.
"Mr Hands," said he, "bring another two men so we can hoist him up in his hammock without jolting or disturbing him. And be so good as to have all made ready above."
Hands frowned. He was not accustomed to taking orders from a sawbones. He looked instinctively to Long John.
"Aye," said Silver weakly.
So up he went in his hammock, still sickly and dizzy, but with no pain as four men shouldered a spar with the hammock slung beneath it and got him up on deck with the wonderful agility that sailormen have for shifting awkward loads. And it was worth the effort. Long John's spirits soared. The air was sweet and clean on the quarterdeck after weeks of hot confinement below decks. He could smell the salt breeze and see the fullness of the sails as they drove the ship on. He could see the gulls that hung in her wake.
Best of all, the men cheered as he appeared on deck. They crowded round him, laughing and joking and offering him fruits and grog. Tears came to Long John's eyes and he was perilously close to breaking into sobs at the sincerity of a greeting which was motivated purely by the pleasure of seeing him. Even Flint's followers were cheering. Just for that instant, the whole ship was united in happiness.
Then, as Jobo and Israel Hands made fast the hammock to a cradle rigged at the taffrail, Selena and Flint joined the crowd. Both were smiling and Long John wondered what might have passed between them. The thought was a dark cloud over the sun - and a solid bank of thunder was coming up astern of it.
"John!" cried Flint. "Here's yourself come up on deck to see us at last! How are you, shipmate?" Flint noticed Long John's eyes flicking between Selena and himself. He smiled his wolf-head smile and tickled the green plumage of his parrot. "Selena and I were just discussing my plan to bury our goods on that old island I've told you about."
Flint paused to enjoy the anger swelling in the face of his helpless enemy. "D'you remember that old plan of mine, John?" He smiled and smiled. "Ah yes," he said, "I see by the look of you that you do. Doubtless you'll be delighted to learn that Mr Bones and I are taking this ship to the island for that very purpose."
"God damn you for a bloody rogue!" said Silver, too weak to make an argument, too tired to muster the words, and almost too sick to care.
Flint stared. He saw the effect of his words and almost took a step forward. But he didn't. After all, he'd aimed to wound, and he'd hit the mark. He'd hit it fair and square. Silver groaned at his own weakness and his jaw trembled in self-pity. But then Flint's shot rebounded. There was a surly murmur from the men. Faces scowled and brows furrowed. None of them were entirely sure what was going on, but they could see that it upset the hero of the hour, and they didn't like it.
"Don't you mind, Long John!" said one.
"Long John!" said another. "He's the boy!"
There was something close to a cheer. Better still, Selena left Flint and came and stood by Silver. She didn't say anything, but she put a hand on his shoulder, just to show that she was now with him facing Flint, rather than the other way around, and that encouraged Silver so wonderfully that it became Flint's turn to scowl.
A week later, Silver's recovery was so far advanced, and his strength so much restored, that Mr Cowdray took a risk and brought forward a moment that in lesser men would have been delayed for months.
Long John was standing upright. He was upright, but he sweated and trembled and the ship heaved beneath him. As she rolled, he, who'd never been seasick since a child, shuddered with nausea. He retched and gasped, though the breeze was steady and the seas calm, and Walrus rode the waves like the thoroughbred she was.
All around they yelled and roared and urged him on.
"With a will, John!"
"Come on, shipmate!"
"Handsomely now, Long John!"
"Step out, John!"
"You show 'em, John!"
Long John saw that even Flint was there, and seemed sincere in his encouragement. Certainly Billy Bones and the rest of Flint's faction were intermingled with Long John's men, clapping and stamping and whistling as honest as could be.
Long John held his breath. He found his moment of courage and shook off Mr Cowdray's arm from one side and Jobo's from the other. He braced his back against the weather bulwark by the main shrouds and threw himself forward with the new crutch under his right arm. It was as brave a step as any he'd ever taken… and thump, scrape, thump, scrape - two staggering steps with the shock jarring up the long shaft to his armpit as the wooden tip struck the deck. Two one-legged steps and two sickening plunges forward, and then he was falling into the arms of the men crowded around the mainmast.
"Hurrah for Long John!" they cried. "Three cheers for Long John Silver!" They were all around him,
shaking his hand and wishing him well. Cowdray took hold of him again and Selena shoved Jobo aside to throw her arm around him too. He felt the warmth and softness of her body, and breathed in the smell of her as she pressed close.
"Give us a hornpipe, John!" cried a voice, and the others roared their agreement.
"I'll race the best of you to the truck of the main t'gallant presently!" said Long John. Or rather, he tried to say it, but the effort was too great and the best he managed was a thin smile and a slurred mumbling.
"Come now, sir!" said Cowdray. "Enough for today." He looked among the merry crowd of Walrus's crew. "Where's the carpenter?" he said, and Black Dog stepped forward. "Well enough," said Cowdray, looking at Long John's brand-new crutch, shining white with the freshness of its carving. "But it's a little too long. Take an inch off it and we'll try again tomorrow." He turned back to Long John. "Is it padded well enough, Mr Silver?"
"No," gasped Long John.
"More padding then," said Cowdray. "And now, Mr Silver, back to your hammock with you, sir. You have done magnificently to be up and stepping out this early in your recovery, but you must rest now." So they took him aft again and helped him into his hammock, now rigged with its own shade against the sun, and with a cask for a table, and a chair for those to sit upon who came to keep him company.
Once he was settled, Cowdray and Jobo left and the rest of the crew went to their duties. This was because - aboard Walrus - things had always been done man-o'-war fashion, since neither Flint, nor Billy Bones, nor Long John could abide idling. To Long John's delight, Selena stayed and sat by him. She sat close by his head so he could easily speak with her. And he felt better, laid in his hammock. The sick weakness was fading and, having been upright after so long laid on his back, he felt more of a man. He looked at the lovely dark eyes and the swell of her breasts against her shirt, and her backside against her breeches.
Shiver me timbers! he thought. Haven't one-legged men fathered children before now? Why should I be different? And I've money in the bank besides.
"Why must you fight with Flint?" she said, breaking his chain of thought.
"What do you mean, girl?" he said. But he knew.
"The other day, when you came up on deck for the first time," she said, "you made a fight with Flint. Why did you do that?"
"Make your own damn mind up," he sighed. "There's him and there's me. You just choose, my girl, and meanwhile this ship is on course for Flint's blasted island and whatever he plans to do when he gets us there."
"Why don't you want Flint to put the goods ashore?" She frowned in genuine puzzlement. "Why are you always twisting the captain's words and making trouble? Always arguing and hollering."
"I weren't hollering!"
"Maybe so, but you did make a fight."
"Aye, because what's the point of burying the gold when there's banks awaiting and hungry for it? What's wrong with Charley Neal? He ain't just a receiver that buys stolen pots. He knows names in Charleston, and New York, and even London. And he's honest too. That's my way. A word to Charley and I stows a little here, a little there, and never too much in one place."
"Yes!" she said. "And all you've got is paper. Just paper and writings."
"God pluck and draw me!" said Long John. "Don't you never mock papers and writings! Papers make laws and pardons and sentences to be hanged by the neck. Papers is power, girl!"
"Says you."
"Stap me vitals! Lend an ear for the love of Jesus, will you now?"
"Well?"
"Flint says, 'Bury the gold so it's out of the ship and we shan't have to fear for it.' Ain't that what he says?"
"Yes."
"And he says, 'Then we beat up an' down for more, and then we bury that too, and when we've made our pile, we'll have one great divvy-out among ourselves and go our ways.' Ain't that what he says?"
"That's what he says."
"Well, have you ever heard of a gentleman of fortune that don't spend his gelt as fast as he gets it?"
"You don't."
"Damnation, girl. I'm different. I never chose this life."
"Flint's different too."
"Not like that, he ain't! He lives for the thrill of the moment. He's got some bloody-handed plan of his own, I stake my 'davy on it, and half the blockhead crew is bewitched by him." Long John looked the girl in the eye to try to read her mind. "And you along with 'em, girl!"
"Captain Flint's a gentleman."
"Shite and corruption!" cried Long John, near the end of his patience. "Not that again!"
"He's a gentleman!"
"No he ain't!"
"Well, he is to me, which is more than some!"
Long John dropped his eyes and cursed more horribly still.
He remembered Charley Neal's liquor store, and how he'd behaved, and the nonsensical thought ran through his mind that he'd give his other leg to change it.
As for Flint's plan to bury the goods, if he couldn't convince Selena how wrong it was - her that was sharp as a needle and ready to listen - then what chance did he have with a parcel of foremast hands with brains like wooden blocks, and ears flapping to take in whatever Flint told them. He sighed.
God help every living soul aboard, he thought, for I can't see the way.
* * *
Chapter 26
15th July 1752
Aboard Walrus
The Southwest Atlantic
Long John smiled and took the pistols from Israel Hands.
They were fond favourites of his: a matched pair by Freeman of London, whose name was engraved on the lock plates. Long John held them lovingly to his bosom and polished them with the cuff of his shirt. They were handsomely mounted: the escutcheon, the side-plates, and the fierce oval masks in the heavy butts, were all of hallmarked silver. The barrels were browned, the locks were blued and they were sharp and fast-acting. They were eighteen-bores, taking a twenty-bore ball for easy fit.
"Ah, John," said Israel Hands, "now you're a gentleman o' fortune again, I stake my 'davy." He was genuinely pleased to see Long John up and about at last and now complaining about the nakedness of going unarmed.
"Shiver me timbers!" said Long John. "How've I gone all these weeks without a pair of barking irons in me belt?" He shook his head.
"Here's powder and shot," said Israel Hands. "The flints are already screwed in place."
"Israel," said Long John, "you're the finest gunner as ever touched off a piece, I do declare." The two men laughed and Long John nipped his crutch firmly against his body with his elbow, and with some difficulty managed to load and prime with powder from a horn, ball from a pouch, and some scraps of old newspaper for wadding.
"Ahhh," said Long John, and sticking one pistol carefully into his belt at half-cock, he levelled the other at the horizon, far away over the bulwark, and squeezed the trigger.
The pistol boomed and jumped in his hand.
"Avast there," cried Billy Bones from his station beside the helmsman. "Who the buggeryandamnation's letting off without leave?"
"It's me, Billy-my-chicken," cried Long John, and the men laughed. Only Flint called Billy Bones by that name. The colour drained from Billy Bones's face and his big fists clenched like the roots of an oak tree. He took a step towards Long John, and all present held their breath. But Billy Bones looked at Long John's haggard face, still bearing the marks of his weakness, and he looked at the way Long John was propped up on one leg and a bit of an old spar; and he remembered everything that Long John had been… and Billy Bones sneered.
"Stand easy, me hearties!" he cried. "'Tis only the old cripple, playing with his pops. He'd better mind he don't blow the good leg off, a-pulling the other barker out of his belt."
That was a sparking sally of wit by Billy Bones's standards. The men laughed and Billy Bones turned smiling back to his duties… and never saw the angel of death that came shrieking down for his soul, and never knew that he would live on for many years more… only thanks to Israel Hands: a man that he'd never lik
ed. For Israel saw the shame and rage in Long John's face and clapped a hand on the butt of the second pistol as Long John tried to draw it.
"Belay!" he hissed. "Back y'r topsail, John! Not now. For one thing we've signed articles and you'd swing for the bugger…" Israel Hands paused, for he'd another reason for keeping Long John alive. "And you ain't the only one as don't like Flint's plan for a-burying of the goods. Them as is loyal to you, why, we'll need you when we drop anchor at the island. We need you fighting fit, not… not…" he blinked and stuttered and fell foul of his own words, and served only to remind Long John of his loss.
"Look at me," said Silver, "I was a better man than him before this…" He stared down at where his leg should have been. "He's felt the toe of my boot, has Mr Billy Bones, and if I had my legs now I'd meet him hand to hand, like a gentleman of fortune, and according to articles."
"Aye, John," said Israel Hands, happy to think of better times, "you was the one for that, ever since England's time." He swallowed hard and delivered the kindly lie that he so much wanted to believe: "And you'll be yourself again, shipmate." He gripped the big man's arm and looked up into his face, willing him to go on.
"Aye," said Silver, wanting in his turn to believe. "If you say so, shipmate."
"That I do!" said Israel Hands.
And since it was plain truth that he wasn't the only man aboard that looked to Long John for leadership, for the moment Long John was content to bide his time and to eat hearty and drink deep and gather his strength, which was all to the good when, eight days later, Walrus ran into the warnings of such a storm as only the tropics can deliver.
The ship rolled deeply and her sails hung like dirty brown washing. The oozing swell lifted her smoothly up, and softly down. There was no wind and the sun was going down steaming red on a hot and oily sea. There hadn't been a whisper of wind for two days and even leather-faced, seasoned seamen were sickened with the ghastly motion. But now, something was coming. Even Flint's parrot could tell that a storm was in the making, somewhere under the horizon.
