by John Drake
CRRRUNCH! The gun ground into the lee bulwark.
Already there was one man with a smashed leg, and the gun — having tasted blood — was clearly out for more. All hands were on deck with rolled hammocks, trying to get them under the gun's trucks to catch it and stop it. And all the while the gale was howling, the ship plunging, and themselves wrapped in hampering winter gear: fur hats, mittens and greatcoats with tarred waterproofs on top.
Flint was leading the hunt for the maddened gun. The crew looked to him for leadership in the matter, for he had two legs.
"Get below, Cap'n!" cried Billy Bones to Long John. "Ain't no place for a man what's lost a pin!" He wasn't mocking. He was concerned.
Silver marvelled at the change in Billy Bones, even as another thunderclap roared and lightning flashed, and hailstones came down like grapeshot that battered and bounced and made the decks yet more dangerous than already they were. Wedging his crutch under his arm, Silver clung on to a lifeline and looked at Billy Bones: alive and alert in this deadly danger; and roused from the solemn sadness that had been his when first he came aboard behind his master.
Meanwhile Walrus plunged her sharp prow deep into a wave, driven by the colossal pressure on her remaining sails, and green water rolled from bow to stern, just as Flint hurled himself in the path of the gun and got a sodden mass of hammock under the fat oaken wheels, and stopped the gun… only for the wave to sluice and lift and heave… and free the gun once more, and Flint staggered back, clear, by inches, as the gun charged forward like a bull.
He fell into the arms of Israel Hands and Mr Joe, who were hanging to lifelines, and he laughed and caught Silver's eye, for if Billy Bones was changed, Flint was changed marvellously. He laughed in the icy wet. It was fresh and clean. It was ruthless and simple. And there was a man's job to be done.
Flint leapt again, snatching a hammock from Israel Hands. Any other man would have gone to his death under the grinding wheels of the gun as the ship's motion set it off again. But not Flint. He was too quick. He caught it just as it boomed against the mainmast, smashing the stand of pikes that surrounded it, and he jammed the hammock under its wheels, and all hands fell on with lines to lash and secure the gun to the mast, and Flint stood back, gasping and panting… and happy.
"John! John!" he cried, clapping Silver on the shoulder, beaming a radiant smile.
And Silver cherished the warm belief that this was indeed a new dawn of old times. As for Billy Bones, he grinned from ear to ear, and was profoundly happy even on a bounding deck, soaking wet, and frozen to the marrow.
"Well done, Joe!" said Silver, with a full heart: not that any of this speech was heard, not with the heavens in fury and the wind roaring at the wild sea.
"Huh!" said Flint, in the comradeship of the moment, and saw so much that was good around him, and so little that was bad… Just two problems, of which the lesser was ignorance on their present position; Flint didn't know where he was within a hundred miles.
Later, in the master's cabin, Flint explained this to the ship's navigating officers: Warrington, Billy Bones and Mr Joe. Likewise Silver, who was no navigator nor ever would be but was captain… at least for the moment. The five men stood close together in the small cabin, peering down at a chart, under the light of swinging lanterns. The ship groaned and creaked around them, and the elements beat in anger on the planks above their heads, but at least they could hear one another's voices.
"So where are we, Joe?" said Silver. Flint frowned.
"Our course should have been south to the latitude of the Canaries or Cape Verde Islands, then westward to seek the trade winds to carry us across the Atlantic."
"Aye!" they said. They all knew that, even Silver. It was every mariner's route to the Americas.
"But…" said Flint "… first we were blown northwest for days, and now southeast — which is no bad thing in itself — but we're running before the wind, going two hundred miles a day or more — and even that's a guess, for the last time we hove the log, we lost it!"
They nodded. There'd been no measurement of the ship's speed for days, nor sight of the sun or stars.
"So," said Flint, pointing down at the chart, "we could be off Portugal, or Spain, or even North Africa!"
"But what's your guess, Joe?" said Silver, and reached up to pet the big green parrot that sat on his shoulder again, now that he was out of the storm. Flint looked at the bird that had once been his, such that he could stroke her without fear of losing fingers to the savage beak. But not any more. They'd parted badly. Which reminded him of the second problem: the greater one, the problem that bore equally on Flint and on Silver.
"I'm done with you both!" she'd said once she was awake: not angry or shouting, for she was more disgusted than anything else; disgusted that she'd been snatched away like a piece of property… like a slave. It hurt all the more for her steady, measured voice: "Matthew Blackstone was a kind man," she'd said. "Better than either of you, and I was making my own way, by my own choice! I was paid a fortune in Drury Lane to make people happy! What do I want with you bloody-handed animals!'" The last word hurled with shrivelling contempt, right in their faces: an ugly thing for men to hear from the woman they've been dreaming about for month upon lonely month, she being the one above all others who stabs the heart with longing…
And when they'd explained there was no turning back — not with hangings awaiting in England, and the wind driving them on — then she really did lose her temper and every man aboard heard what she said.
It had been bad, very bad, for both men. And yet it united them.
"Joe?" said Silver. "Where are we?"
Flint said nothing, but Warrington and Billy Bones scratched their heads and screwed up their faces in concentration.
"I think we're in the latitude of the Canaries," said Warrington.
"Maybe nearer the Cape Verde Islands," said Billy Bones.
"I think the Cape Verde Islands," said Flint, and the matter was settled.
"So what do we do?" said Silver.
"Lie to!" said Flint. "It doesn't matter what's to loo'ard: whether it be Portugal, Spain or Africa. If we hold this course, we'll be driven ashore and drowned upon it just the same! So… we'll come about, as close to the wind as she'll bear, so she's making little or no headway, and so ride out the storm."
"Begging your pardon, Mr Flint," said Warrington, "not too close to the wind. I was in a ship once that made sternway laying to, and so lost her rudder!"
Flint smiled and smiled. He smiled right into Warrington's face at this statement of the blindingly obvious.
"Oh!" said Warrington, and gulped. "Not that you'd do that, Mr Flint. Not you."
"Not I," said Flint and they all laughed.
So Walrus came about, and met the wind fine on her bow, yards braced back as far as they'd go, and heeled over mightily, which eased her motion and stopped the hideous rolling, and enabled the topmen to strike the ruins of the topsails and bend fresh sails to the yards. It even allowed the cook to light his fire again for hot food — a great comfort to the topmen when they came off watch.
Moreover it allowed John Silver to call the council of all hands that he'd been wanting ever since the ship left England, and hadn't had the chance to do. So once Walrus was steady into the wind, and all made secure as could be, he brought the men together on the lower deck, leaving only the helmsmen and lookouts on deck, under Mr Joe as officer of the watch, and all those not present having appointed trusted messmates to vote for them.
Except that Mr Joe didn't stay on deck. Once he was sure that the ship was safe — for the while — he went below by the aftermost hatchway.
"Shipmates, brothers and gentleman o' fortune," said Silver, as nearly standing as a man of his height could do under the low deckhead. The men looked back at him, crammed tight together and taking it all in: the black flag draped over a barrelhead in front of Silver, and the Book of Articles placed upon it, with pen and ink standing by. The ship's officers sat on stool
s and chairs on either side of Silver; and the green bird perched on his shoulder.
"We're a mixed company aboard this ship," said Silver, looking round.
"Aye!" they said.
"There's some what's sailed with me."
"Aye!"
"There's some what's sailed with Joe Flint."
"Aye!"
"Some what came aboard in Upper Barbados, and some in London."
"Aye!"
"There's those among us who've fought one another as enemies!"
"Aye!
"And even some as received sentence of death from their brothers."
Few but Billy Bones knew what this meant, and he groaned at the thought of it.
It was the old Silver. All truth. Nothing hidden. He wasn't the man he'd once been. Not any more, for he was changed. But there was much good left, including his instinctive oratory. It was measured, it was poetic, it was religious. Silver was binding them together, because they weren't the old band of Walruses: not any more. Men had come and gone. There were twenty aboard that joined in London alone, having heard tales of buried treasure. They were all prime seamen. They were already a crew. But they weren't brothers. Not yet. That was a thing of the spirit.
Mr Joe crept down a companionway towards the stern cabin. The rumble and growl of voices from the council, sounding behind him, even over the creaking grumble of the ship's timbers working in the storm. It was hard to keep his footing. The deck was heavily sloped.
He reached the door. He rapped with his knuckles. "Who is it?" she said.
"Me, ma'am… Mr Joe…" A brief pause, then the door opened, and Mr Joe gulped at the sight of her, for she was very lovely. Lovely but frowning. "What do you want?" "I want to ask you something." She looked at him and saw that he meant no harm. "Come in…" she said.
Silver reached the climax. He raised the book and read the articles aloud. The good old articles, re-drafted on fresh pages, with clean white paper beneath for signatures. He put down the book.
"So who will become a brother?" he said. "Who will be first to step forward and make his mark?" There was the briefest of silences, then Flint rose. "I will!" he said and signed.
"I will!" said Israel Hands. "And I sign for Mr Joe besides!" "And me!" said Billy Bones.
And so they signed, mostly with crosses or such little emblems — fish, daggers, serpents — as they chose, with Silver adding the man's name in these cases. Even Blind Pew signed, with Silver guiding the pen.
"So," said Silver when the signing was done, and all hands stood transformed by the mystic drama of the occasion, "we are brothers and jolly companions, and must now elect a captain. And for this matter, I stands aside, being compromised!" They laughed at that, and nudged and winked. "So I turns to Brother Hands," said Silver, "to make the proposals."
Israel Hands stood up. He stood forward and faced the men.
"Let it be Long John!" he said. "There ain't no bigger nor better man among us. Long John, say I! Long John for ever!"
Mr Joe sat down on the big bench under the stern windows. She'd lashed the chairs to the table — which was screwed to the deck — to stop them sliding in the crazily canted cabin. He looked around the cabin, then out the window at the evil grey sea heaving and wallowing just feet away. There was little light and much noise, for the sky was dark except when it was split with lightning.
"What do you want?" she said.
"I been reading, ma'am," he said.
"So?" She shrugged. "Why should that concern me?"
"You were a slave like me. You're black."
"And…?" said Selena, not pleased to be reminded of her origins, for she'd come a long way from the plantation. She'd played to thousands on the stage, and been courted by the richest man in England. Mr Joe guessed some of this, and tried again.
"Mr Hands, he's a good man. He taught me to read."
"Yes. I know."
"Did you know he got me a bible in London?"
"No."
"Well… I read about Adam and Eve."
"Yes?"
"They were the first, weren't they?"
Selena frowned. She was losing interest.
"What is your point?"
"Well, if they were the first, and we're all their children… we're all the same!"
"What do you mean?"
"Us blacks and the white folks. We're all the same!"
Flint saw Billy Bones was looking at him, as was Tom Allardyce, with his bandaged head, and some others who'd once followed Flint. But Flint looked at Long John and saw the old qualities of leadership that Silver had in such degree and he did not…
"I vote for Captain Silver!" he said in a firm voice, and all hands roared their approval.
Silver smiled, and the parrot squawked and flapped her wings.
"Cap'n Silver! Cap'n Silver! Cap'n Silver!" she cried.
"Well, Joe," said Silver, "I hope you'll be my quartermaster?"
"That I will," said Flint, and the rum was brought out.
"Here's to ourselves and hold your luff…" cried Silver.
"Plenty of prizes and plenty of duff!" cried all those who knew his favourite toast.
So Flint and Silver raised their mugs and toasted each other, and Billy Bones wept with joy.
"I got to go," said Mr Joe. He and Selena had been talking too long, and too intensely… about great things.
"What do you want?" said Selena. "In life?"
"Don't know," said Mr Joe. "I'd like to be first mate…"
"And a pirate?"
"Don't know. But I'll not be a slave again!"
"No."
"And what do you want?" he said, and Selena frowned.
"I want what I can't have."
"That Mr Blackstone and the big house?"
"Yes… no… I don't know. But if I could go there now…I would!"
"But you can't."
"No. Perhaps there will be another ship. I don't know."
"What about them two?" He looked astern. "Cap'n Silver and Mr Flint? They know where the treasure is. They'll be rich men when we lift it! They want you real bad. And Cap'n Silver… you're his wife. Don't you want him?"
She said nothing. Not yes, nor no, nor even I don't know.
"I got to go," he said. He went out.
Selena watched him go… and wondered.
Chapter 29
Seven bells of the morning watch
5th March 1754
Aboard Walrus
The Atlantic
The storm blew for seventy days of constant noise, constant wet, crushing misery and grinding labour. The ship was tired, the crew were tired and all aboard were driven to the limit of endurance, so it was no surprise when seventy- one days out of London, in the vast and empty ocean, a dreadful enemy crept aboard.
"It's scurvy, Captain!" said Cowdray, braced on the quarterdeck in his storm clothes. "There's two men in their hammocks with their gums swollen, and loose teeth, and bruises all over their bodies."
"Oh no!" said Silver, wiping the salt spray from his face. The storm raged unabated, the ship plunged under bare poles, and Flint and Billy Bones stood with Silver by the helmsmen. "But what can we expect?" he said. "We've been that long at sea!"
"Are you sure it's scurvy?" said Flint. "Not just idle lubbers that need the toe of Mr Bones's boot to help them turn out?" Billy Bones nodded.
"No," said Cowdray, "one has an old wound that's breaking open afresh." He looked at Flint. "Believe me," he said, "I know scurvy when I see it!"
"Damnation!" said Flint. "I was with Anson on his circumnavigation. We lost half our people to scurvy!"
Silver sighed. "The men are weak enough already," he said. "If they gets the scurvy, we'll not be able to work the ship!"
"Aye," said Billy Bones, "them what it don't kill, gets drownded 'cos they can't stand to their duties… and the ship founders under 'em!"
"What can we do?" said Silver. "What can you give 'em, Doctor?"
"There is something…" said Cowdray. "
But they'll not take it."
"Why not?" said Silver. "What is it?"
"Lemons," said Cowdray. "But the juice is sour and hurts their gums."
"Lemons?" said Silver. "What use is them?"
"I read a book, new published, when we were in London," said Cowdray, "by a Scots physician called Lind. He has cured men with lemon juice. Men with the scurvy."
"Bah!" said Silver. "Not that old tale! That's been tried before."
"Wait!" said Flint. "I was never affected when I was with Anson."
"No?" they said.
"No. I had my own supply of preventives against the scurvy: malt, sauerkraut, oil of vitriol… and lemons. I had a barrel of lemons."
"There!" said Cowdray. "It was the lemons that saved you. Dr Lind has proved it! And I have some barrels of lemons that I brought aboard… but the men won't take the juice."
"Huh!" said Silver. "Put it in their grog with a drop o' sugar. Then they'll take it!"
Two weeks later, and miraculously to the seamen, there was no scurvy in the ship, and the crew proclaimed united blessings upon Cap'n Silver… with unfortunate consequences…
"Why should be get the credit?" said Flint, privately, to Billy Bones. "It was Cowdray brought the lemons aboard."
Billy Bones felt his guts twist. He did so very much want to believe that his master was re-born but this could be the first turning from the light.
"Never mind that, Cap'n" he said, which honorific he applied to Flint, whatever his rating aboard ship. "It's yourself that all hands looks to, to bring us safe to port. There ain't none to match you at that!"
"Yes," said Flint, allowing himself to be flattered, while Billy Bones sighed with relief, and hoped he'd made all things right.
And it seemed that he had, when, a few days later, the storm eased and the ship's navigators took their first noon observation for weeks, and made their calculations, and met in the master's cabin.
"Youngest first, Mr Flint last," said Silver.
"Aye!" they said, for that way none would be tempted to copy Flint.
"Here," said Mr Joe, pencilling a cross on the chart.
"Here," said Billy Bones.
"Here," said Warrington.
