Flint and Silver

by John Drake

  "Them as was killed…"

  "Stow it, Henry!" said Fraser. "No call to talk about that."

  "Aye," said Taylor and Evans.

  "Various ways," said Flint, shaking his head mournfully. "But strangulation mainly."

  "And?" said Howard, unable to leave the thing alone.

  "Oh, bless you, Henry," said Flint, with every appearance of kindly concern, "I'm not sure you'd really want to know. But nasty ways, and silent ways." He appeared to notice for the first time that none of the others were eating or drinking.

  "Why, lads," said he, "is none of you hungry? There's work to be done on the morrow. Eat hearty! Drink deep!"

  But the merry mood was gone and a dread and fear of the powers of darkness had fallen on the wretched six. Seafaring men have been superstitious since time began, and more susceptible than most to tales of supernatural horrors. After all, they were innocent of education, they lived rough and dangerous lives, they were constantly at risk of death from the anger of the sea, and added to that they really did see things beyond the ken of landsmen. So even at the best of times they believed in mermaids and sea-serpents, ghosts and spirits and the lost souls of drowned mariners calling to them out of the bodies of sea gulls. And that was safe at their own mess tables with the grog going round.

  Flint saw the terror in their eyes and, yet again, he nearly spoiled it by laughing. But he kept a straight face as they huddled together and drew their weapons and fumbled with them. Howard spilt the priming of his pistols by checking it, and then could barely reload because of his trembling fingers.

  Evans cut his thumb trying the edge of his knife, and Fraser and Taylor put an arm around each other, seeking comfort, while Skillit chewed his thumb and whimpered like a child.

  "Howard'll take the first watch," said Flint. "Two turns of the half-hour glass, Henry." And he pointed towards where their boat lay, out in the darkness fifty yards away and invisible in the deep black gloom. "You'll find the glass in the boat, Henry, so up-anchor and fetch it, like the good fellow you are!"

  Howard swallowed and stared into the dark, imagining what might be out there, waiting to snatch him away with its claws, the instant he set foot outside the firelight.

  "At the double now, Henry!" said Flint firmly. "There's nothing there, lad. Not that I can see… though you're a younger man than me and may have sharper eyes."

  Howard gave a moan and stared between his knees at the sand, and never moved. Neither did Evans, when he was told, nor Fraser nor Taylor, nor Skillit nor Cameron either, and all the threats and cajoling of their captain could not make them go. They sat in stark terror, biting their lower lips and looking away when spoken to. Flint cursed them thoroughly, then got up himself.

  "Why, you cowardly lubbers," he said. "Will you make me go myself? Damn you for a set of yellow-bellied codfish!" He shook his head sadly. "I'd wager a thousand pounds there's nothing out there just now, for it was always in the small hours before dawn that they used to come, whatever they were, so I shouldn't wonder if we aren't safe for hours yet."

  So he grumbled and sighed and finally strode off, to a sudden and pathetic chorus:

  "Don't go, Cap'n!"

  "Please, Cap'n!"

  "Don't let them buggers come!"

  "Don't leave us alone…"

  "Bah!" he said, and ignored them, and vanished into the dark, leaving only the sound of his trudging feet behind him.

  Soon even that stopped, and then the night was silent. The six men strained their eyes to see where Flint had gone. They saw nothing. They heard nothing. Seconds stretched into long minutes.

  "Where's he gone?" said Taylor.

  "He could've been there and back ten times by now," said Howard.

  "P'raps he's lost his way?" said Fraser.

  "P'raps something's got hold of… got him… got hold… got…"

  Evans couldn't bring himself to say it: not fully, not quite, for fear that the saying of it would somehow conjure up the things he feared.

  "Shut your trap!" said Skillit. "There ain't nothing wrong. Cap'n's missed his way, that's all. I'll give a holler." He drew breath and let go with a mast-head bellow:

  "AHOY THERE! FLINT, AHOY!"

  Silence. Nothing answered. Only the insects and the booming surf. But then…

  "What's that?" said Taylor suddenly.

  "What?" said Howard.

  "There!" said Taylor. He pointed a trembling finger.

  "I can't hear nothing," said Cameron.

  "Nor can't I," said Evans.

  "Nor…" began Fraser, then, "Gawdamighty!" he said. "I hear it!" He heard it all right, for coming towards them was a heavy, shuffling, dragging sound and harsh, slow breathing as if of some beast. It was faint and some way off, but it was distinct, and every man of them could hear it.

  "Who knows a prayer?" said Taylor, who'd had a church- going mother.

  "Fuck that!" said Howard. "Pistols, boys!"

  There was a feverish trembling and drawing and clicking of firelocks being made ready. But the noise stopped, almost as if the thing had heard them, and for several agonising minutes the six men stretched out their arms, a heavy sea-service pistol in each fist, aiming at the place where they thought the sound had come from. And then there came a low moan from another direction entirely, a ghastly sound like a creature in the extremity of pain. They spun round and aimed afresh. But the sound ceased abruptly… only to come back from another place.

  "Beach and bugger me!" said Taylor. "There's more than one o' the sods."

  "Back to back, mates," said Howard, "so's they shan't take us by the stern."

  "Aye!" said the others.

  That was good sense and a comforting opportunity to huddle physically up against one another. They felt better like that and cheered up immensely, until the hideous groaning came again from a third and quite new direction.

  "All around us," said Fraser.

  "What are they?" said Evans.

  "I don't want to know!" said Howard. "Just keep the buggers off!"

  He was shivering in fright, and when another long-drawn howl came out of the night he jumped and let fly. His two pistols split the night with their flashing and roaring as Howard fired aimlessly. And his mates fired too, in senseless imitation.

  Then there was a fearful scrambling for cartridges, and a weeping and snivelling and a gibbering as the wretched creatures fumbled and elbowed each other and spilt powder and dropped bullets in a pitiful rush to reload… before the things beyond the firelight could fall upon them.

  "Ahoy!" came a voice. "Belay that firing! Who gave the word to fire?"

  "Cap'n Flint!" cried Howard.

  "It's the cap'n!" cried Fraser.

  "Thank God!" cried Taylor.

  "Sweet Jesus!" cried Cameron.

  "We're saved!" cried Evans.

  Flint's familiar figure loomed out of the darkness with a sand-glass in his hand.

  "Who gave the word to draw firelocks?" he said sternly. "D'you not realise you could've shot me as I walked towards you?" But they fawned upon him, these tough, hard, throat- cutting pirates; they clung to Flint's legs like children, they seized his hands, they grovelled like dogs, they all but jumped up into his arms.

  "They was here, Cap'n," they said.

  "Shoals o' the buggers."

  "Bearing down upon us, they was."

  "Coming to grapple an' board."

  "By thunder!" said Flint. "And me not fifty paces off, and I never heard a sound. That ain't natural, lads!"

  "Why was you gone so long, Cap'n?"

  "What?" said Flint. "I went straight to the boat and back again!"

  "Shite!" said Evans. "That ain't natural neither, Cap'n, 'cos you was gone for ages."

  "'Tain't natural," they echoed, and Flint plumped himself down beside them and scratched his head.

  "Well, shipmates," he said, "there's things afoot that no man can fathom, and that's a fact. But we're all true hearts aboard this ship, and jolly companions all, and we
shan't be made afraid of that which hasn't the courage to face us man to man." And he leaned forward and put a hand on Howard's shoulder. "Isn't that so, Henry?"

  "Aye," said Howard in a tiny voice.

  "And you, Peter Evans," said Flint. "And you, Rob Taylor, and you, Iain Fraser. I say that if they never came to grips, then they're more afraid of you than you were of them!"

  He said it with such conviction, and so boldly, that the men cheered up wonderfully and their fears ran away. In all truth, Joe Flint had the makings of a very fine officer inside of him… along with all the other ingredients.

  "So here's my orders," said Flint, all brisk and businesslike. "Howard, you take the first watch, followed by Taylor, then Fraser, then Evans." He handed over the sand-glass. "And now you, Peter, pile wood on the fire to keep it blazing, while you, Iain, make sure all the pistols are properly primed and loaded, and you, Rob - like the sensible man you are - put your head down and go to sleep, which is what I shall do myself."

  With that, Flint laid himself down beside the fire, having first placed his hat as a nest for his parrot. Then, pulling his coat collar up around his ears, he closed his eyes, and gave every appearance of going to sleep.

  Greatly comforted, and grinning weakly at one another, his men did as they'd been told. After that, what with the heavy work they'd been doing all day, and what with the quantities of rum they'd been encouraged to drink, within ten minutes only Howard was awake, nodding over his sand-glass and shuddering with the need constantly to haul himself out of the seductive pit of slumber. The rest were curled up snoring like happy hogs. And so - it seemed - was Flint.

  Howard did his best, he really did. He nodded and started. He stood up and took a turn about the fire. He counted stars and made patterns in the sand between his legs. He gritted his teeth. He even said nursery rhymes in his head, to keep himself awake. But in the end, he slumped over in unwakeable sleep.

  "Aaaaaah!" screamed a voice. "Aaaaaall hands! All hands on deck!"

  Howard struggled up towards consciousness, sick and thickheaded from last night's drink. He tried to roll out of his hammock, and found that this could not be done while lying on a bed of soft sand. So he got up on one elbow and looked about him.

  The fire was grey ash and black embers. The sun was climbing over the trees and the two ships lay at anchor in the bay. Flint and Fraser were getting up from sleep and Taylor was bawling and howling from some way off, near the edge of the forest. He was staring at a still figure laid face down in the sand.

  "All hands!" cried Taylor again. "It's Peter! They've done for him!" There was a rush towards Evans's body. Flint was first and turned him over. Poor Peter Evans, youngest of all the crew, who'd been abandoned at birth then raised and sent to sea by Coram's foundling hospital. Poor Peter Evans: a kindly soul who'd wished good on all the world - right up to the innocent age of fourteen when he'd knifed his first man.

  "Ugh!" said Flint. "The devils!"

  Howard leaned forward for a look at Evans's face over Flint's shoulder. He gasped and a cold fear rolled up his legs like icy water. He'd seen death in a hundred forms, and normally it didn't shock him. But this was different. Peter Evans lay with his eyes bulging out of a swollen face, and a thin length of plaited bark round his neck, biting tight into the flesh and made fast at the back where he'd have been unable to reach.

  "Stap my heart!" said Flint in a fury. "Just like before. This was the way it started last time." He cursed violently and stared at the jungle as if he'd pierce it with his eyes to find the killers. Then his face turned nasty and he glared at the five remaining men.

  "Which of you lubbers had the watch?" he cried. A great shame fell upon Howard and his expression gave him away. "You, Henry Howard?" said Flint, incredulously. "I'd have thought better! Under King George it'd be a thousand lashes or the yardarm. But I've need of every man. So your own conscience must be judge and jury."

  Howard was sunk in wretchedness and self-reproach. He tortured himself with guilt and took the entire responsibility upon himself. He groaned and sighed. He wrung his hands and wept and hung his head. In his innocence he thought that nothing could be worse than this. But he was wrong.

  * * *

  Chapter 35

  5th September 1752

  First watch (c. 10 p.m. shore time)

  Aboard Lion

  The southern anchorage

  "That was pistol-fire, Mr Hands!" said Silver, staring out into the dark. "A measured volley. All of 'em giving fire together, as if to the word of command."

  "Aye, Cap'n," said Israel Hands.

  "Aye, Cap'n," said Sarney Sawyer the boatswain. "Shall I order the boats away, so's we can go ashore to see what's going forward?"

  "No!" said Silver. "You gave oath. All of you did."

  "Oh," said Sawyer.

  "Aye," said Silver. "Remember? Lion and Walrus to guard each other, so none shall interfere with the burying? Whoever puts boats into the water starts a war, and I ain't starting no war in the dark!"

  "Cap'n," said Israel Hands, who'd been thinking, "them pistol shots… It was at least a dozen rounds. But just the one volley, then no more." He hesitated, then showed considerable moral fibre by voicing the horror that was in every man's mind. "D'you think," he said, "d'you think… they was attacked, Cap'n? Attacked and overwhelmed?" The thought was appalling, for it might mean the loss - to some unknown third party - of all their precious goods.

  "No!" said Silver, and slammed shut the big telescope he'd been peering through. Lion was heeled well over, with every last one of her crew up on deck, lining the shoreward rail or up in the rigging, staring at the shore where the burial party's bonfire was still blazing. But there was nothing else to see, nor to hear other than the island's endless, booming surf.

  "Why not, Cap'n?" said Israel Hands. "Beggin' your pardon."

  "Aye!" said the crew and clustered closer.

  "Listen to me, lads," said Silver. He drew breath to speak, for he had much to tell them, and much to persuade them of.

  The gunshots had cleared his mind. They'd sent his imagination down fresh tracks. He could finally see what was happening. There had still been some respect for Flint in his mind. Withered and wretched as it was, it was still there - the ghost of their friendship - and it had stopped him taking the final step of reasoning, the one that explained everything. All he had to do now was pass on these thoughts to the men, and hope they'd follow him to the same conclusions.

  "Lads, we're in a pickle of shit here, and no mistake," he said. "But I'll take my 'davy that the goods is still ashore, exactly where Flint put 'em, and not carried off somewhere by bugger-knows-who!"

  "Ah," they said, and grinned at one another in the darkness. That was better!

  "An' I'll tell you for why," said Silver. "Silence, now, on the lower deck! All hands fall silent and listen."

  They fell silent. They listened. Seventy-one men and three boys strained their ears together. But there was nothing to hear. The night was calm. The island was asleep, the sea was asleep. Only a few little noises carried over the still waters: odd sounds from Walrus anchored two cable-lengths from Lion - a man's voice indistinctly heard, the faint, hollow clunk of some piece of ship's gear. Just that. Nothing else besides the sound of the surf.

  "There!" said Silver. "So even if Walrus was bent on breaking oath and starting a fight, how could she have lowered her boats and put ashore a storming party without us hearing? Them buggers would've been heard in Portsmouth, whooping and hollering as they went over the side!"

  "Aye," said the crew, "go on, Cap'n!"

  "Same goes for an attack by men from inside of the island - even believing there are any, which them as what's been there says there ain't! I asks you, every man of you… who knows of a battle without cheering and screaming and the clash of steel?"

  "Aye!" said the crew, immensely encouraged. They nudged one another and grinned and nodded their heads. Silver's natural gift for oratory was not only liberating them from an
awful fright, it was rebuilding his place as their natural leader.

  "No, lads," he said, shaking his head, "it weren't no attack. And nor weren't it no fight among them ashore." He jabbed his thumb towards the still-glowing distant campfire. "For then we'd have heard them popping off, left and right, one by one, as each man marked his enemy…not one volley all together!"

  "No!" said the crew.

  "So," said Silver, "I say what I said before: it's some trick of Flint's." He shook his head. "I don't know what it is…" He looked round, paused for effect. "But I'll tell you what it's for!"

  "What?" they said, with round eyes and open mouths.

  Here it came. This was the moment. Silver raised his voice.

  "Why, lads, can you not see? It's so Flint can keep the goods for himself!"

  A deep moan came from the dark mass of men. They'd followed Silver into Lion of their own free will, but they'd all been dazzled by Flint. Everyone had been dazzled by Flint. Silver had been dazzled by him, for Flint was a dazzling man.

  Of the one hundred and forty-seven men who had voted on burying the goods, not a single one had voted against, other than Long John Silver.

  The shame of their own stupidity fell heavy upon the crew. That and a self-pitying sense of betrayal and loss. It wasn't only Billy Bones who'd admired Flint. Fortunately, there was now - in reaction - a growing, growling, hatred of the man.

  Aye, thought Silver, instantly spotting this, ain't it just a shame that he's a villain? And better still, he felt the power that was coming in on the floodtide, full, rich and strong into his own hands.

  "Now then, lads," he said, "draw closer yet, for there's much to do if we're to come up smelling of roses rather than dog-dung." He turned to Israel Hands. "Mr Gunner," he said.

  "Aye-aye, Cap'n!"

  "Where's your Spanish nine? For she's the best gun in the ship."

  "In the hold, Cap'n, wrapped in grease and sacking."

  "With her carriage and all her gear?"

  "Laid beside her, Cap'n."

  "So how many men do you need to hoist her up and mount her?"

  "Oof," said Israel Hands, "she's a nine-foot, twenty-six- hundredweight gun."