by John Drake
"Because you are a trader in skins?"
"Yes, senor."
"And yet you have no skins in your ship?"
"No, senor."
"But you have the black flag aboard. The skull and bones."
"I swear on the blessed virgin that I know nothing of that flag!" said the Englishman promptly, and it was Peña-Castillo's turn to smile.
"Accepting for the moment your pretence of being in the true faith…"
"The which I am, by sweet Mary's blessed name!" cried Silver.
"No doubt," said Peña-Castillo with a small, sour smile, "but there is still the matter of the missing guns, for Teniente Burillo — who is a most observant officer — tells me that he saw the marks of their wheels on your decks, which decks you were swabbing and scraping in the attempt to hide them." Silver said nothing. Peña-Castillo continued: "Which suggests to me that, on seeing my squadron, you cast some of your guns over the side to hide the fact that you are a pirate."
"Never! Not on pain of my immortal soul! Not by — "
"Please!" said Peña-Castillo, waving a hand. "I am not a fool."
"Bah!" said the Englishman, and hopped forward and dragged a chair out from Peña-Castillo's table, and slumped down in it. He sighed heavily, drew out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow, and glared at the Spaniards. "Well then, Señor Capitán," he said, "since you've made up your mind to hang me, you won't mind if I take the weight off my legs, of which I've only got one… and put mine arse to an anchor!"
Burillo sprang to his feet. The rest gasped. But Peña-Castillo merely smiled. He was amused. He'd taken this posturing
Anglo-Portuguese pirate for no more than a clumsy villain, but looking at the man now as he stared straight back into Peña-Castillo's eyes… perhaps he was something more.
"And why should I not hang you, Capitán Da Silva?"
"Silver. Just Silver."
"By whatever name, why should I not hang you?"
"Because I'm a privateer, with a commission from the governor of Virginia."
"Ah! The governor of Virginia," said Peña-Castillo. "Another commission?"
"What?" said Silver.
Peña-Castillo smiled again. "Do you think you are the only pirate with such papers? The only one that I have captured?"
"Well, bugger me through me breeches!" said Silver, but he said it in English.
"What?" said Peña-Castillo.
"I said I'm a licensed privateer. All proper and legal."
"No, Capitán Silver. An English colonial governor may not issue letters of marque. Only your king can do that, and even his commission is valid only in time of war, and there is no war — at present — between England and Spain. That is the law, as you well know."
Peña-Castillo saw his words strike like a roundshot. He saw Silver bow his head in despair and grind his teeth. And Peña-Castillo noted how Silver thought deeply, searching for escape, and shaking his head as if struggling within himself, and looking this way and that as if to find guidance in the ship's dark timbers.
Finally Silver made his decision… and looked up… and cleared his throat… and met Peña-Castillo's eye. All this the Spanish captain watched with fierce concentration. He was a penetrating observer who spotted the little signs others would have missed. He felt a prickle of excitement. He was watching a man fighting for his life, and in Peña-Castillo's opinion, Capitán Silver had just searched his imagination for a way out, and found it… but was not proud of it, because his conscience did not like it.
"Señor Capitán," said Silver.
"Señor Capitán," said Peña-Castillo graciously.
"I blame myself for the black flag!" said Silver.
"Do you?" said Peña-Castillo.
"Yes. I should've thought of it and got rid of it!"
"Ah!" said Peña-Castillo, as if sympathetically. "No man is perfect. We all make mistakes." He smiled a little smile, for he sensed there was more to come and wished to encourage Capitán Silver.
"Huh!" said Silver, and shifted in his chair. "So here I am, on a lee shore, dismasted and rolling gunwale-under."
"Indeed," said Peña-Castillo.
"Yes," said Silver. "For you could hang me… but you'd be a fool if you did."
"A fool?"
"A damned fool!" Silver beat the table with his fist and glared at Peña-Castillo. "For what are you doing here, Capitán, in British waters, with a ship full of soldiers…" Silver stared hard at the Spaniard "… And siege guns besides?"
Peña-Castillo spread his hands innocently, but he made no denial… and knew on the instant that he'd given something away. There were no siege guns on deck, but there was indeed an artillery train below. Silver was clever! More so than he'd thought.
"You're here to land men and guns," said Silver. "To take and capture British settlements! You're here to be best placed, so soon as that war starts — which all the world knows is coming." Silver leaned forward across the table, looking in his turn for the little signs on Peña-Castillo's face. "Or maybe even before it starts?"
Peña-Castillo never blinked, but the men on either side of him gaped in amazement, and their round mouths made Silver laugh at the accuracy of his guess.
"Well then, Señor Capitán," said Silver, "how about starting with Savannah? It's a fine big fort they're building to defend the town, with guns a-plenty and a garrison to man them. If you try to take that by siege you'll lose men by the thousand with maybe nothing to show for it!"
Peña-Castillo's clever heart began to beat faster. Capitán Silver was coming to the point at last.
"What's more," said Silver, "it ain't just the big fort! Them Savannians've placed guns at the mouth of the Savannah River itself. I saw the works last time I came past."
"We know," said Burillo, "we've seen — " and he shut up fast as Peña-Castillo glared at him.
"Been looking, have you, Teniente?" Silver sneered. "So you'll know that if this fine squadron sailed up Savannah River, then it'd come under heavy fire, and some of you might not get out again!"
"Perhaps," said Peña-Castillo, for there was no point in denying it.
"But what if I was to give you the fort and town of Savannah?" said Silver. "What if I was to give them to you without a shot being fired?"
"But you are an Englishman," said Burillo.
Peña-Castillo winced, despairing at his subordinate's interruption at this crucial moment. But Silver never wavered.
"Yes," said Silver, "I'm an Englishman: and I'm a live one, and one as wants to go on living!"
Chapter 36
Afternoon, 13th July 1754
Woods outside Savannah
The Royal Colony of Georgia
The thick, wriggling body — all muscle and writhing life tumbled and shone, and the light flashed from the scales of its brown-mottled hide, and the black slits of eyes as it soared up above the campfire, where a dozen men sat cross-legged. It reached its apogee, and fell twisting and hissing… and seeking flesh to bite.
"Whoooa!" cried the audience and leaned back out of the way.
Joe Flint had a new game and new friends: some of Savannah's half-breeds, who lived on the edge of the town, between the settlers and the local Indians, and were despised by both communities. Such men were found on the fringes of all the colonial towns, and it was Flint's genius to seek them out, befriend them, and use them.
"Huh!" cried Flint, catching the copperhead viper neatly behind the head, and holding it twisting and lashing and angry. He turned its triangular head towards himself. He smiled into the gaping mouth. He smiled at the needle fangs and the venom that dripped from them. He brought it to his lips and kissed its nose.
"Yeeee-hah!" cried the half-breeds, slapping their thighs, and leering and nudging one another in glee.
Then Flint leapt up -
"Boo!" he cried, dancing round the fire and thrusting the captive snake at first one man, then another, and chasing them as they staggered, falling and rolling, and laughing and laughing an
d swigging from jugs of the cheap, vile spirit that Flint had provided in such quantities.
"Flint! Flint!" they cried, gap-toothed, sweat-reeking and filthy. Some would pass for white men, though most had mixed blood, some wore feathers, and all had the deep- wrinkled, dirt-ingrained skin that comes from a lifetime of outdoor living and absolute innocence of soap. They bristled with knives and hatchets, and each one nursed a trade- musket in his arms.
Billy Bones stood watching. He stood well back from the fun. He didn't like snakes. They made his flesh creep. And he didn't like the company. They were worse than Indians. Indians smelled different 'cos they were different, but these buggers smelled dirty! They stank like a boghouse on a busy day.
So Billy watched as Flint juggled with the snake: throwing it up and catching it. And he watched as Flint dropped it to the ground and defied it to bite him: dangling a hand before the wicked fangs, and whisking it away before they struck. And finally, with Flint's own timing for the climax of a performance, and with Flint's own charm, and his audience held in his hand… he stood up, dangling the exhausted snake by the tail with the long body barely moving.
"Who shall have the head?" he said, and smiled his beautiful smile.
"Whoooo!" they said, and instinctively moved back.
"You, Lazy Joe?" said Flint to one of them. The man grinned and shook his head.
"Not me! I don't want the fucker!"
"No?" said Flint and viciously cracked the living body as if it were a whip, such that it snapped just behind the head, which flew tumbling and bleeding across the fire, to land neatly in Lazy Joe's lap, sending him jumping up, frantically brushing the hideous object from him, and bringing near- hysterical laughter from the rest.
Even Billy Bones grinned at that, and watched and listened as Flint brought these half-savages under his power, exactly as he'd done with the Indians: because the game was only the beginning. It was the hook to grab their attention. Flint would now apply the leverage of a carefully reasoned argument.
"So," said Flint, tossing away the limp body, "let's talk…"
And Billy Bones marvelled at the way he turned off their laughter, and brought them down, and gathered them in, ready to listen… and nod… and agree… and eventually to kiss his arse should he ask them.
"… because, gentlemen," he confided, "a time will come when I shall need a fighting force of my own. I shall need you, and others like you. In that case, there will be danger, but there will be great rewards…"
Billy Bones nodded, as much affected as any man present, for Billy Bones was cursed by such irresistible worship of Flint that it arose forever from the ashes of despair and the teachings of bitter experience.
Later the same day, Flint alone attended another, very different meeting, in Mr Jimmy Chester's private room in his big house behind the grog shop. Six other men were present, representing between them the ruling class of Savannah, which class was exclusively composed of men on the make.
"Gentlemen," said Chester, "may I present Captain Joseph Flint, a master mariner of some repute."
"Ah!" said the company and smirked. They knew all about Flint… him and his treasure.
"Gentlemen," said Flint, and was introduced to each of them. Then he launched into the carefully prepared story that he had agreed with Jimmy Chester, giving just enough tantalising detail to win their support, and to keep them free of the wicked temptation of alliance with John Silver, should ever he return to the town. They nodded. They agreed. They shook Flint's hand warmly as they left: no surprise, considering the size of the shares they'd been promised… Not that Flint had any intention of allowing them to partake of such shares, but that was one of the things he didn't tell them.
Afterwards, he had a quiet drink with Jimmy Chester, who was much impressed.
"Well, Joe, you've got your consortium and your funding, I congratulate you!"
Flint smiled. "We must guard against all possibilities," he said. "Knowing Silver, he has probably won the support of Walrus's crew. Thus our expedition…" he raised a glass to Chester.
"Our expedition!" said Chester, raising his glass.
"… will need another ship!" said Flint.
"Yes!" said Chester, and smiled. "I must say, Joe, you're an easier man to deal with than Silver!"
"Am I now?" said Flint, and scowled at the thought of John Silver.
"Yes! I knew it the moment you walked in here, two weeks ago!"
"Hmm," said Flint, throwing off thoughts of death and maiming. "And have you arranged for me to meet the… ah… the last and most difficult person?"
"Yes," said Chester. "He'll see you tomorrow at the fort."
"Good!" said Flint. "It would be a pity if all parties were reconciled, except the one that deploys armed force!"
"Just one thing, Joe," said Chester, with a dreamy look on his face.
"Which is…?"
"Is it really that much?"
Flint smiled. "Oh yes! One hundred and ninety-six chests of gold and silver coin, plus four hundred and forty-six bars of silver. I counted them myself."
"God damn my eyes!"
Next morning Flint was strolling round the new battery that the Savannians had built to command the river approaches. With him was Colonel Bland, a professional soldier with a commission from King George. The colonel had command of Savannah's fort, together with its guns, its magazine, and every man who served the king in arms.
It was just like talking to Washington. Bland knew exactly what Flint was offering — Jimmy Chester had seen to that — and he was most certainly interested; Flint could see it in his eyes. But he wasn't about to touch upon the subject. Instead, he greeted Flint with careful formality, then showed him round the fort with a couple of young ensigns in tow, talking only of the coming war with the Spanish, who had ships in the region, and who might at any time fall upon Savannah.
"We have a garrison of four hundred," said Bland, as they walked past a troop of redcoats drilling on the fort's parade ground.
"Indeed?" said Flint politely.
"With another one hundred of woodsmen."
"Woodsmen?" said Flint.
"Light infantry," said Bland. "Civilians, equipped by the king, but skilled in woodcraft. Exceedingly useful men!"
"Are they now?" said Flint, thinking of his own small force of half-breeds.
"And as for artillery…" said Bland, and proceeded with his lecture.
It was only when he got Flint outside the fort, out from under the big Union Jack that floated above it, and got rid of the two ensigns, leaving himself and Flint standing by the new battery, looking down on the Savannah River and the ships at anchor off the town… only then, having looked — hilariously — in all directions… did Bland take Flint's arm and, dropping his voice, utter the words that gave Flint the pain of holding back laughter.
"Is it really as much as they say?" said Bland.
And in that moment Flint knew that he held the town of Savannah by the nose. He would never be better prepared to meet John Silver.
Chapter 37
Morning, 20th July 1754
The Savannah River
The Royal Colony of Georgia
Silver stood beside the helmsman, raised his glass and looked at Savannah. The town, with its thousands of people, stood high above the deep-running river. It looked the same as the last time Silver had seen it, except that there were new works outside the fort where guns had been placed so as to bear down more easily upon any threat that might come upriver. There were ships anchored off the town, with boats swimming to and fro. Thus everything looked peaceful — and why should it not? Savannah didn't know Walrus and La Concha were coming upriver under British colours… with five hundred Spanish soldiers below decks, to take the town. And all without war being declared.
Silver turned to look back at La Concha, the Spanish brig that had been hiding between Tercero and Quarto islands in St Helena Sound. Now she was under Spanish naval command, flying the Union Jack over Spanish colours,
as if she were Walrus's prize.
"Will they believe us, John?" said Israel Hands, who was nervous. Warrington and Mr Joe stood beside him, and Selena too, in the Spanish gown of taffeta that had been found for her from among the store-chests of the Spanish squadron, so that she could appear aboard Walrus as a fine lady, to calm any suspicions.
"Why not?" said Silver impatiently. "Why shouldn't they believe us?"
"'Cos o' them!" said Israel Hands, and looked at the big longboat towing astern of Walrus, and another behind La Concha. "They ain't right. They ain't natural."
"Bah!" said Silver. "Who's going to notice? Who's going to care? Nobody! Not unless there's some bugger up there what don't trust his own mother's milk and sees suspicion everywhere." He sighed. "And how else do we get them Dago musket-mongers ashore fast enough to capture the riverside? It's got to be done quick! We can't go launching skiffs and jolly-boats. Not under the guns of the fort!" He nodded towards Teniente Burillo, strutting the quarterdeck in a greatcoat and straw hat, and a couple of Spanish aspirantes — junior midshipmen — astern of him, dressed the same. "An' they ain't worried, are they?"
Burillo saw Silver's glance and raised a hand to his hat: living out the pretence that he was a mere passenger. Indeed, he was not worried in the least. He was grinning all over his face, full of excitement at his mission, and imagining himself already promoted.
"Señor Capitán!" he said, then added in Spanish: "How long till we man the boats?"
"Soon enough, Señor Teniente," said Silver. He pointed ahead: "There's the anchorage. We shall get as close to the stairs as we can."
"The stairs," said Burillo, nodding. He drew a glass and looked ahead. "I see," said he. "That is how our men shall scale these cliffs — " he pointed at the greasy, near-vertical river banks that loomed up to the height of the mainyard.
"Aye," said Silver, smiling, but speaking English which Burillo could not understand, "'cos they can't fly up, the bastards, can they?" He turned to Israel Hands, and the smile vanished. "And you can take that soddin' look off your face. I've saved all hands by this, my cocker!"
