by John Drake
"Billy-boy?" cried Silver, when they came to Billy Bones's little corner. But he found only a length of chain. He looked around.
"Where's he gone?" said Israel Hands.
"Bah!" said Silver. "Who knows. At least he ain't chained up here, a-waitin' for the flames."
He pressed on to the magazine - a small compartment sealed off from the rest of the ship. Its pine planks were dark and smouldering and giving up their resin in bubbling beads. It was very hot down here. Silver could smell his hair singeing, and the smoke stabbed his eyes.
"God help us!" said Israel Hands.
"Where's the powder, Mr Gunner?" said Silver.
"There, Cap'n." "Ah!"
Silver lurched forward, bracing his hip against the side of the magazine and reaching for the first powder keg, where it lay stacked on top of a line of water-butts.
"Back off, Mr Gunner," said Silver. "Get yourself to the companionway and hand this up to Mr Merry!"
Silver couldn't walk with the thirty-pound keg, not with one leg, so he rolled it towards Israel Hands. It was very hot to the touch, especially the copper bands that encircled it.
"Oof!" said Israel Hands, and heaved the keg up towards George Merry.
"Here," said Merry, "this ain't no instruments!"
Israel Hands's reply was so violently profane, so ferociously obscene, and bellowed in so menacing a voice, that George Merry - though not the sharpest man aboard - instantly understood that further discussion was inappropriate, no matter what he might be handed. He took the keg without a word, and passed it to Black Dog, who gave it to the team loading the skiff.
The second keg came out as quick as the first, but the rest came slower and slower, as Silver's arms tired and the heat and smoke grew unbearable. Israel Hands was shielded by the magazine, and George Merry was halfway up a ladder, but Silver was directly in line with the flames. By the tenth keg, the heat was singeing the cloth of his coat, and the magazine planks were smoking, getting ready to burst into flame.
"Leave it, Long John!" said Israel Hands. "If there's one loose grain on them kegs, they'll blow!"
"No," gasped Silver. "Job's nearly done," and he rolled number eleven and reached for number twelve. This was far back and almost out of reach.
"For Christ's sake, John," said Israel Hands, "leave the bugger!"
"No!"
Silver went back for the last keg. Only he, of all aboard, could have reached it. For any smaller man it was out of reach, back against the ship's hull, and even he had to stretch. A hiss of steam rose as sweat dropped off his chin and on to the copper bands of the cask. He flinched as a tribe of rats scampered past, across the water-butts. The fur was burnt off their backs and their tails were blistered.
"John! Give it up!" said Israel Hands.
"Cap'n?" said George Merry. "Walrus is making sail!"
"Uh!" said Silver. The heat was burning his exposed skin, the nearby flames were roaring in his ears, and his coat and stockings were smouldering. The final keg was nearly too hot to touch. He turned, and stooped to roll it to Israel Hands… and dropped it… and fell flat as he reached for it. Then he grabbed it once more and embraced it and crawled forward with it.
"Walrus is bearing down on us, Cap'n," said George Merry.
"Here!" said Silver. "This is a hot 'un. Heave it straight over the side."
"Ouch!" said Israel Hands at the feel of the keg.
"George Merry? You hear that?" he said.
"Straight over the side!" said Merry. "Aye-aye, sir."
"Ahhhh!" cried Silver, as smoke poured from his coat. Any material other than wool would have burned. But wool saved him.
"Get him out!" cried Israel Hands. "George Merry, lend a hand!"
Silver was exhausted. His limbs ached. He was crawling and unable to stand. Israel Hands and George Merry cleared the last keg, and heaved Silver up and away, and got him back on deck and threw off his coat, and poured a bucket of water on him to cool him down.
"Thank you, lads," said Silver, and gasped and spluttered. "Another one," he said, "right over me head," and "Aaaah!" as the water cascaded over his shoulders. They gave him his crutch and stood him up, and he saw the awe-struck respect in their eyes. But the ship was well and truly lost. More than a third of Lion, from the taffrail to the mizzenmast, was blazing.
"Allllll hands!" cried Silver, and they turned to face him. The pump fell idle, the bucket-chain stopped, the unloading of stores came to an end. The busy teamwork ceased and the flames thundered unchecked.
"Lads," said Silver, "the game's up. But well done every man of you, for I'm proud of you!" They grinned and called back to him, but he raised a hand for silence. "In a trice we'll be over the side, but first - as jolly companions one and all - I calls upon you to give three cheers for the old ship. Three cheers for Lion," he cried. "Hip-hip…"
Lion had been Silver's first command, and he'd have loved her anyway, even if she hadn't been so beautiful. So he'd spoken from the heart when he called for three cheers, not knowing that he was following the lead of many captains before him, and many after, in honouring his ship as he lost her. Likewise, there was hard practical sense in lifting men's spirits at such a time. Any decent captain hopes to keep his men together as a crew, and not as a broken mob.
"Now, lads," said Silver, "steady as can be… them as can swim, shall go over the side, and them as can't shall man the boats, and shall do it like British tars: old 'uns last, and young 'uns first. And now…" he paused and forced himself to speak the dreadful words: "Abandon ship!"
Even then he wasn't done. He went among them with a cheerful word for all as they set to work heaving over the side anything that would float: gratings, hatch covers, spare masts, and all the rolled-up hammocks that could be found. Then, just twenty of the seventy-one aboard went over the rail and swam, or clung to whatever they could grasp, and struck out for the shore with the current behind them.
With over fifty-one men and three boys still aboard, it took two trips of the jolly-boat and three of the skiff to get everyone ashore, with Silver the last man over the side, and the fire now raging forrard of the mainmast.
As the skiff pulled away from Lion, Silver sat in the stern sheets and glanced at Walrus. She'd proved to be no threat at all. The wind had failed her. She had no steerage way and her sails hung like washing on a line. She was harmless, just a cable's length off, and gently wallowing in the water. He put his glass to his eye and looked her over, from stem to stern… and nearly leapt out of the boat at the sight of Selena struggling in Flint's arms.
* * *
Chapter 52
9th September 1752
In the forenoon watch (c. 11.30 a.m. shore time)
The southern anchorage
Flint studied Lion through his glass. She was well ablaze but bustling with activity. They'd got a pump rigged and buckets dipping over the side on lines, and they seemed to be discharging cargo into their boats. He didn't like that. Not at all.
Walrus was idle as a floating log. She couldn't move. The charges of canister he'd hoped to spray into Silver's men were sleeping in the iron cradle of their guns. What a pity. What a damned, bloody, infernal shame!
It got worse. Lion's crew went over the side and into the boats. Steadily and efficiently Silver got his whole crew ashore, right under Flint's nose and just out of cannon shot.
"So what are you going to do, Captain?" said Selena, standing beside him on the quarterdeck. "Looks to me like Long John's got the better of you."
"What?" he snapped. "How in the Devil's name do you calculate that?"
"He's given your ship a beating. He's killed half your men, and he's got the island and the treasure." She sneered, "And I thought you were the clever one." She was baiting him out of hatred, and the desire to hit back after being the victim for so long. More important, Walrus was much nearer the shore than she'd been when at anchor, and Selena was feeling ready for a swim again. She was feeling bold because she could hop over the rail in an ins
tant and it was Long John ashore now, not Flint. The only problem was the ship's guns and their hundreds of musket balls.
Flint's eyes went round and white. The parrot or Billy Bones would have seen the danger signs. But they weren't there. She'd hit the mark. She'd hit it right in the centre.
When the sun rose that morning, there'd been a full crew aboard Walrus. There'd been seventy-three men. Now there were just thirty-one able-bodied men aboard, the rest were either enjoying Mr Cowdray's attentions or were dead. Flint had killed at least four of them himself, which he now rather regretted because he was left with nowhere near enough men to fight Silver's seventy-one for possession of the island.
"Bitch!" he said, and raised a hand to strike. But she jumped back, and turned and leapt up on one of the guns, and would have been over the side… if Flint hadn't caught her. She struggled fiercely and he - of necessity - held her close and dragged her away from the ship's side.
The struggle had a strange effect on him. An unexpected effect, since it was the first time he'd had close physical contact with a woman since certain highly unsatisfactory experiments with Portsmouth whores in his early youth.
"Well," he said, clutching her to him, his lips half an inch from hers, "I think we'll keep you nice and tight, my girl. I think we'll get the carpenter to mend my door and pop you back inside." He smiled, and risked a tiny kiss. Earlier thoughts of strangulation and throat-slitting, which had then seemed so appealing, were now replaced by other desires entirely.
The skiff grounded. The crew leapt out and hauled her up on to the beach. Long John got out, struggling as ever with the soft sand, and his crutch digging itself into holes.
"Look, Cap'n," said Israel Hands, "I think she may be burning herself out." Silver looked back at Lion. He stared at her for a while, judging the progress of the flames. Everything aft of the mainmast was gone, but it looked as if the fire was not advancing any further forrard, and might even be dying out.
"Aye," he said. "There's a bit of the bow that might survive. But we shan't sail the seas in that." He looked at Israel Hands and the others. "What did we save? How much did we get ashore?"
"Plenty of pork and biscuit, Cap'n," said Israel Hands. "And rum too, and most of the ship's small arms and shot." He grinned. "And a great deal of powder!" There was a roar of laughter at that. "And much more besides: all the charts and suchlike, and a couple o' compasses."
Israel Hands turned and glanced towards the woods and hills. "And we got this old island too!" he said. "I been here before, Cap'n, along of Flint, and - why - there's water and there's fruits and other things to eat, and there's goats too. There's even a blockhouse somewhere."
"Ahoy!" cried a voice. "Look what we got!" It was the boatswain, Sarney Sawyer, leading a group of men coming towards them from the jolly-boat. Sawyer was carrying something and the others were prodding a man forward with their cutlasses. It was Billy Bones, festooned with cork floats and clearly in mortal terror.
"We found the swab in the water, Cap'n," said Sawyer. "He says he went over the side when the ship burnt. But the bugger's got out of his irons somehow. And where did he get the cork, an' all?"
There was an ugly roar from Silver's men and calls for a rope and a good tree with a strong branch.
"Silence!" said Silver, and struggled towards Billy Bones, who wouldn't meet his eye. "What's this, Billy?" said Silver, grabbing hold of the cork and netting. But Billy Bones said nothing. "This weren't made in an instant, were it, Billy-boy?" said Silver. "It looks like a thing of purpose. Something prepared in advance of need." He frowned and put his head on one side. "And how did you get out of them irons, Billy? And how did the bloody ship take fire?"
It took every ounce of Silver's strength, leadership and powers of persuasion to save Billy Bones's life. Without that, Billy would have been lucky if he'd got it quick rather than slow. And the only reason Silver bothered was the old, old reason.
"He's the only blasted quadrant-monger of our whole blasted crew!" said Silver. "We're on this island for ever if we ain't got him.''''
So Billy Bones lived. And so did another member of Flint's crew.
"It's the parrot, Cap'n. It must've flown ashore. Been shot about something wicked." Sarney Sawyer held out the bedraggled bird, bleeding from a number of small wounds, and missing feathers from its wings. He put a hand round the bird's neck. "Shall I pull it, Cap'n? 'T'ain't no bloody use, and it was Flint's own bird, damn him!"
"No!" said Silver. "I've just pardoned a far worse bugger than this poor bird, which is only a creature, and which ain't to be held to account for what Flint did." He took off his hat and put the bird in it, just as Flint had done when it needed a nest. "There, my pretty," he said. "We'll find you some fruit and seeds to eat, and a little drink of water."
Silver smiled. He'd always admired the parrot and he'd always been the only man other than Flint who could touch it without losing fingers.
"No, Cap'n Flint," he said to the parrot, "we shan't pull your neck - not you, my pretty bird!"
Later that evening, just as a wind got up in the anchorage, Flint himself came ashore - or rather, not quite ashore. He came in Walrus's cutter, with a swivel mounted in the bow, and oars double-banked for speed and the crew ready to pull clear on the first sign of any danger. He came waving a flag. He came for a parlay and stopped just out of musket shot: far enough to be safe, and close enough for a shouted conversation.
"What is it, Joe?" cried Silver, with his men around him, armed and ready. "What have you got to say to me?"
"Not much, John," said Flint, and smiled. "And is that Billy Bones there, standing among you. Why, Mr Bones, have you changed sides?" Billy Bones broke free of the men holding his arms and ran forward. He ran till he was up to his waist in water, and dared go no further.
"Let him go," said Silver. "He ain't going to swim and Flint ain't going to fetch him!"
And Flint didn't, despite Billy's desperate plea that he was Flint's man for ever and only following Flint's orders.
"So what is it, Joe Flint?" said Silver.
"It's a promise," said Flint. "One to keep you warm at nights."
"Which is?"
"Which is this… Looks like you've got the island, and I've got the ship."
"Aye!"
"Oh! And I've got your black girl, too, who stays with me of her own free will, having entirely lost patience with a one- legged cripple that cannot meet a woman's needs." Flint laughed. "Do you understand me, John?"
"Bastard!" said Silver.
"No," said Israel Hands quietly and laid a hand on Silver's arm. "It's hoss-feathers, Cap'n. All hands knows the moll were yourn when you was on board of Walrus. And that day when we pulled across to speak to Parson, she'd have jumped in and swum to you on the instant but for them bloody swivels!" He looked at Flint, standing laughing in the bows of the cutter. "And as for that bugger… who's ever seen him poke a woman?"
"Hmm," said Silver, and thought of what Selena had said about Flint. He raised his voice, good and loud, for all to hear.
"Won't do, Joe!" he cried, shaking his head calmly. "That girl knows a man when she sees one - and you ain't no man. Do you understand me, Joe?"
For an instant Silver thought of telling everything. It would win a roaring laugh: the tale of Flint's fiddling while peeping through holes in bulkheads! It would stab Flint to the heart. It might even lose him his crew and his ship. But if Flint were pushed too far, he'd want his vengeance and might take it out on Selena. Silver couldn't risk that. Not for all the treasure in the island.
Silver was right. He'd judged the matter nicely. Flint blinked. He sat down, and shut up. The riposte had been devastating. He knew exactly what Silver was talking about, and the bounce went out of him and the fright shot up his spine: fright and hideous embarrassment. In his vanity, he'd never dreamed anyone knew. Not Selena, not anyone, and certainly not Silver. He'd always been so careful.
"Pull for the ship!" he said. "Pull with all your might!"
But Flint recovered fast. Just before the boat pulled too far out for his voice to carry, he stood up, and called back in a final farewell message.
"I'll be back, John, with a full crew to skin the hides off every man of you, sparing none, and that over a red-hot, roasting fire!"
* * *
Chapter 53
12th September 1752
The forenoon watch
Aboard Walrus
The South Atlantic
Selena knew now that Flint was mad. But mad in his own special way.
Just as he'd promised, the door to his cabin was mended and herself locked in. But once the ship was properly under way, and the island out of sight, he'd let her out and welcomed her back on deck, and given her every kindly consideration, just like the first time she'd been brought aboard, and he called her "My dear" and "Madam" and "My Nubian princess".
She could see he wasn't the same man though, for he would fly into tempers as he'd never done before, and was highly dangerous when he did so - dangerous to the men, that is, not to her. She thought that perhaps this was because of the headaches he was suffering from the wound in his head, and which Mr Cowdray had had to close up again where Flint had popped the stitches. And perhaps he missed the parrot, although he never spoke of it.
Fortunately the crew were even more afraid of him now than they'd been before, since he was unpredictable, and old certainties had had to be thrown over the side. And this was just perfect as far as Selena was concerned. Indeed, she hoped that they sizzled and fried in fear of Flint, because it meant that they behaved themselves better towards her. There were no more hungry leers from the men, nor dirty words from the boys. It was all "Yes, Miss Selena" and "No, Miss Selena" and she could go where she liked on the ship and never worry.
