by John Drake
"But ain't we going to do something?" said Israel Hands, and he looked at the hatchways, each of them guarded by Spanish soldiers in seamen's clothes. Below decks there were two hundred and fifty men, crammed in tight, with their arms and ammunition, waiting for the order to swarm into the longboat. They'd planned it, and they'd rehearsed it as a drill under Peña-Castillo's watchful eye. They'd grown quick and clever at doing it, and with such numbers of them aboard, Walrus was trapped in the Spanish fist, with just enough of her own people still free to work the ship.
"John," said Israel Hands, "we're giving up Savannah to the Spanish."
"Go fuck yourself, Israel," said Silver, exasperated. "Didn't I get all hands aboard? Didn't I argue with that Spaniard when he wanted to keep our shipmates as hostages aboard his ship? Didn't I say it was all or none?"
"Aye, but our shipmates are down below, in chains."
"D'you want 'em banging in chains, and dipped in tar?" said Silver, then he nodded at Selena and Mr Joe: "You two ain't bothered, are you?" he said.
Selena shook her head. "I was a slave in Georgia," she said, "and a slave in South Carolina. And in Virginia I had to come and go by the back door! What do I care about these people? Let the Spanish have them!"
"Aye," said Mr Joe, "English or Spanish, they treat me just the same."
"I know," said Israel, and he placed a hand on Mr Joe's arm. "I know, my lad, and bad luck to every bugger what did you down. But that's the flag of England there," he said, pointing to the big red ensign at the stern. "John," he pleaded, "don't that mean nothing?"
But Silver wasn't listening. He'd focused his glass on the row of onlookers that always crowded the landing at Savannah when a ship came in with a prize. Word would go round and the most powerful and important citizens would shove their way to the head of the stairs to see what business promised. Walrus was coming up to the anchorage now, with the hands aloft taking in sail, and the bosun's crew standing by to let go anchors… and Silver could see faces through his glass now: faces and figures among the well-fed, well-dressed men, with their sunshades held by slaves behind them, and their hats off fanning their faces in the humid heat. But one face — one smooth and smiling face — stood out from all others.
"Flint!" he said.
Flint laughed and chatted among his new friends: Mr President Chester and all those others who clung to Chester's coat-tails at moments like this. They were "leather-apron men" mostly: a locksmith, a baker and a printer. But among them was Colonel Bland.
Then Flint pointed downriver.
"See, gentlemen," he said. "He comes at last!"
"Ah!" said Chester.
"Ah!" said the rest.
And all these good friends looked at the sharp-nosed vessel coming upriver with her prize astern of her, most knowing enough of ships to recognise the schooner Walrus, under command of the one-legged John Silver with his green bird, and his half-share of a colossal secret.
"You're sure he'll have it, Mr Flint?" said Chester quietly.
"Oh yes!" said Flint. "He'll never be parted from it."
And now, there they stood: the consortium united, greedy for gold, surrounded by the innocent chattering folk of Savannah, and glancing from time to time towards the new battery at the very edge of the river bank, where five eighteen- pounders were comfortably seated behind timber-revetted earthworks on planked emplacements, complete with all tackles and crew, bearing directly down upon the anchorage opposite the landing stairs, where any incoming ship would want to anchor.
The battery had been built against the Spanish, but today it splendidly complemented the precautions taken to receive Captain Silver and his crew, who were believed to number some seventy men, all of them desperate villains and armed to the teeth. Against that peril, the garrison's men were mustered out of sight, in the fort, while a most formidable warrant of arrest, drawn up in the name of the Assembly of the Royal Colony of Georgia, was sitting in a leather satchel borne by a little slave boy who stood behind Mr President Chester.
Thus all things were perfect: the sun shone, the flies buzzed and the waters chuckled. And then a little tickle of doubt…
"Look!" said Chester, peering at the oncoming ships. "Walrus is towing a longboat. Why should she do that?"
"Give me that!" said Flint, snatching a big telescope from Chester's slave boy who carried that instrument, among other baggage. "Hmmm…" said Flint, and for the first time he caught sight of the big boat towed astern of Walrus. "Too big a boat for Walrus or the prize brig," he said. "And, hallo… the brig's towing a longboat too!"
"Why should they do that?" said Chester.
"I don't know," said Flint. "More important: where did they get them? Those are such boats as belong to men o' war: ships too strong for Walrus to tackle!" Flint peered down the telescope and his quick mind sought an explanation, for he was indeed one who never trusted his own mother's milk — not that or anything else about her — and he did indeed see suspicion everywhere: he saw suspicion, betrayal, lies and deceit. For, like the Emperor Nero, Flint believed all others to be as base as himself.
"Perhaps they found the boats?" said Chester. Flint sneered, "Or perhaps…"
Flint ignored him.
"Colonel Bland!" he said.
"Mr Flint?"
"Are the guns of your battery loaded?"
"They are, sir!"
"With what shot?"
"Roundshot."
"Could I suggest that you immediately load grape over the roundshot and stand by with canister for close engagement?"
"But why?"
"Because one reason for towing longboats is to have them ready to embark a large force of men at utmost speed."
"For what purpose, Mr Flint?"
"To effect an armed landing, Colonel!"
"Ah!" said Bland. "And that's Silver down there? Capable of any foul trick?"
"The same, Colonel!"
Bland nodded and ran off towards the battery, clutching his hat to keep it on his head, and his sword to keep it from tripping him. He shouted as he ran. The gunners gaped, but then their sergeant started bellowing too, and the men reached for their rammers, and Flint nodded in satisfaction. Silver was coming for a reckoning just as much as Flint was, and in Silver's place, with ships and prize money to hand, Flint would have brought every man he could hire! So there might be a great need for grape and canister.
For a moment, Flint allowed himself a smile.
And then he groaned.
"No!" he said, "No! No! No!" For, staring hard through his telescope, he'd just seen the flash of taffeta on Walrus's quarterdeck. He'd seen who it was that might receive the deadly fire of Colonel Bland's guns. He'd not thought of that, not clever Joe Flint, jolly Joe Flint, vain Joe Flint… the immeasurably cunning, resourceful and talented Joe Flint.
He'd not thought of that at all.
"Señor Teniente," cried Silver, "I will not hoist Spanish colours until your men are in the boats and pulling for the shore!"
"No!" cried the red-faced teniente, with his men massed behind him: the dozen of them that were on deck in their seamen's clothes, all of them glaring angrily at Silver and his men. "I will go no further, except in my king's service, under my king's banner!" cried Burillo. "Were I to do otherwise, my men and I could be shot, under the laws of war!"
"Jesus, Moses and Mary!" cried Silver. "Will you look at that battery up there? And the guns of the fort? Them bastards'll open fire the instant they see Spanish colours! You'll have a chance if it's at the last moment, but otherwise they'll be sending shot aboard when you're most helpless, as you man the boats and take up oars!"
"No!" said Burillo. "The world is at peace — the fort's guns will not even be loaded! We will have plenty of time to act with honour and yet to get our men ashore! So hoist the colours now, or I will send my men to do it!"
"Oh no you won't, my bully boy!" said Silver in English, and he looked to his own men. "Walruses, to me!" he yelled. "And none o' them Dago swabs to touch the h
alliards or the flag lockers!"
"Aye!" roared Silver's men. There were nearly as many of them on deck as there were Spaniards, and they were gentlemen o' fortune besides, that had smashed heads and slit livers all their lives, while the Spaniards were mostly honest seamen. So there was a great growling and scowling, and some shuffling forward… but for all Teniente Burillo's orders, no man of his moved forward to hoist the banner of Spain.
"So," said Burillo, "I at least shall act with honour!" And he threw off the greatcoat that was covering his uniform, cast aside his straw hat, and took his laced hat and sword from a canvas bag that one of his aspirantes was carrying. They did the same, and the three of them stood proudly in the uniform of their service.
"And now," said Burillo, "enough! I shall bring my soldiers on deck, and by the persuasion of their bayonets, you — Capitán Silver — will hoist proper colours!" He turned to one of the aspirantes: "Alvarez!" he cried.
"Señor Teniente!"
"Summon the drummers! Sound the muster!"
"For God's sake, don't!" cried Silver, pointing up at the landing stairs and the fort and the battery, where crowds of people were now visible even without a telescope. "You'll bring down fire on the ship, and there's no better target than men mustered in ranks. You'll lose half of 'em before they even go over the side!" He lurched forward, pushed all others out of his way, and clutched at Burillo's laced sleeve. "I'm begging you, Teniente," he said. "As I'm a seaman and you're one too — and I believe a brave one and a good one — don't hazard our ship and all aboard of her!"
"Oh…" said Burillo, "ah…" He was much moved, for Silver's words were from the heart, man to man, and authentic good sense. "Well…" said Burillo, "… perhaps not."
But then Israel Hands cried out from the quarterdeck:
"John! John! Beware astern!" And everyone turned to look at La Concha and knew the debate aboard Walrus to be irrelevant, for La Concha had already struck British colours, and the scarlet and gold of Spain streamed out from foretop, maintop, and stern post.
"Oh no!" said Silver, and turned to look at the battery. There was a horrible pause:
… a pause of… great… long… plodding… seconds…then:
Orange flashes and eruptions of white smoke, and a reverberating thud-boom-boom, bouncing around the river banks… and the howling scream of approaching shot.
Chapter 38
Morning, 20th July 1754
The Savannah River
The first salvo missed, but the river heaved and churned around Walrus and a shower of foaming, muddy water came spattering down on her decks, drenching all hands.
"Bring up the men!" cried Burillo, in Spanish, and Aspirante Alvarez ran to the hatchways shouting and waving his arms. A stream of white-coated Spanish infantrymen poured out and on to the maindeck, led by their drummers who stood to attention and beat the muster with fierce concentration.
"God help us!" said Silver, and he turned to Israel Hands: "Might as well run up their blasted flag, shipmate. Can't do no harm now, and it might save our necks if we're took."
"Aye-aye, Cap'n!" said Israel Hands, and within seconds the big Spanish banners that Burillo had brought aboard were breaking from the halliards and catching the wind, to a huge cheer from the Spanish soldiers, and a great waving of hats and raising of muskets in delight.
"Bring the longboat alongside!" cried Burillo. "All hands, stand by for boat drill!"
"Bugger!" said Silver, studying the battery, which was ideally placed to hurl shot right through his decks, for the smoke of the first fire was blown clear and he could actually see the black muzzles running out into their embrasures, as the crews behind them heaved on their tackles.
"John!" said Selena, and tried to say something, clutching and hanging on to his arm. But he wasn't listening.
"Clap a hitch, my lovely!" he said, and looked down into the small, beloved face, and in that terrible instant he damned the fighting and bitching there'd been between them. He damned it from the bottom of his heart, and wept for the lies and broken promises he'd made. Then, in fear of imminent death, he cast his arms around her and kissed her and pushed her towards Mr Joe.
"Take her below, lad," he said. "Take my girl below, for I can't see no harm come to her! Not one hair nor one fingernail!
"Aye-aye, Cap'n!"
"Just get her out of reach of shot!"
Mr Joe vanished below decks, dragging Selena behind him, even as dozens more Spanish soldiers poured up from their hiding places, all cheering and waving along with the rest. Burillo and his officers were bellowing and calling, and shoving them into line, and a picked team of soldiers and Spanish seamen were hauling the longboat alongside, then discipline finally fell upon the whole seething mass of men, muskets, bayonets, cartouche boxes, and rank and file formed, with a regimental flag to the fore, and the drums sounding a long roll.
"España!" cried Burillo, skewering his hat on his sword and holding it high.
"ESPAÑA!" they roared.
But the deep bellow of pride, even from two hundred and fifty men, was drowned, flattened and overwhelmed by the thunder of eighteen-pounders as the battery fired again… and all aboard Walrus cringed to the hideous screech of hurtling iron. And this time, timber splintered, planking erupted, rigging parted, and the precious living flesh of men was smashed, ripped and pulped into rags of offal, into out- jutting fractured bone, and into such mutilation as blasted the eyes of those who lived to see it.
A full salvo of roundshot and grape had struck fair and square into the heart of Teniente Burillo's parade.
Flint was running with all his might; running with heart, soul, mind and strength: all of it, every last ounce. He ran through the wildly milling crowd, leaving Chester and his followers behind. He ran through the rolling powder smoke, along the edge of the precipice river bank, he ran around the earthworks protecting the battery, and in among the gunners, who with hats and coats thrown off, had re-loaded the five pieces and were running them out again.
"Heave-ho! Heave-ho!" cried the teams, hauling on their lines, and…
"Left-left-left!" cried the gun-captains, as men strained with handspikes and tackles to train the guns around to bear on the target — a moving target that slid under reefed topsails to attempt an anchorage below.
"Bland!" cried Flint, with the taste of blood rasping in his throat, and his chest heaving. "Bland! Not that ship! Not Walrus!" Flint staggered, exhausted into the arms of Colonel Bland, who was standing with the artillery captain in charge of the battery and a battery sergeant major.
"What?" spluttered the captain. "Who's this, Colonel?"
"It's Flint," said Bland.
"Ahhh!" said the captain and sergeant major, and they looked at one another with raised eyebrows, for Flint had a great reputation in Savannah.
"Don't fire on that ship, Colonel," gasped Flint. "You'll kill Silver and lose everything! Everything! D'you understand me?"
"Oh!" said Bland, understanding instantly. "Oh, my eyes and limbs!"
"Let them get into the boats," said Flint, "then fire! But not at the ship!"
Yet Bland hesitated.
"They're Spaniards, dammit! They ain't just pirates come for treasure. This is war!"
"Treasure?" said the other two, their eyes round; for in Savannah, certain secrets weren't as tight as they should have been.
"None o' your business, dammit!" said Bland.
"No!" said Flint.
Meanwhile, off to one side…
"FIRE!" cried the young lieutenant in charge of the guns.
B-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! cried the battery with earth- shivering thunder, and the young lieutenant, whose name was Laurence, saw his shot strike home with dreadful effect as hurtling balls ripped through the clustered mass of white- coated troops, sending fragments of men tumbling into the air, to cascade in soggy splashes into the river.
"Bloody Dagoes!" he said, and turned in pride towards Colonel Bland and the rest, and was amazed to see the colonel, white-fa
ced and angry, running towards him crying:
"No! No! No!"
"What?" said Laurence, for he'd very properly been concentrating on his target, he'd certainly paid no attention to the discussions of his superiors, and in any case he was half-deaf from the concussion of the first salvo.
But Flint was close behind Bland, and threw himself on Laurence with unhinged anger, such that Laurence survived only because Flint's ever-present knife — the one which lived up his sleeve — was no longer present, having been shaken out, dropped, and left behind by Flint's desperate running. Added to that, Flint was still so exhausted that Bland was able to pull him off when — abandoning the futile search of his sleeve — Flint tried to wring Laurence's neck.
"Uch! Uch!" said Laurence, staggering back.
"Flint! God bless my eyes and limbs!" said Bland. "What is it?"
"Tell him not to fire on Walrus!" said Flint, unhinged in his fury.
"Nor shall we!" said Bland, turning to Laurence. "Lieutenant! You shall concentrate your fire upon the second ship, until such time as the enemy may attempt a landing, then you shall fire on his boats! Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir!" croaked Laurence, gawping at Flint, and rubbing his neck.
"Go on then!" said Bland.
"Yes, sir!" said Laurence, and staggered off to his gunners.
"God bless my precious soul, what's the matter with you, Flint?" said Bland.
"Nothing," said Flint.
"Huh!" said Bland, and stepped back a pace as Flint, who'd been so reasonable a gentleman until now, stared into his eyes with such an expression as would befit some basilisk of mythology rather than a civilised man. Bland gulped and shuddered. To say that Flint was mad was to say that the sea was wet. The hairs stood up on the back of Bland's neck.
"Ah… hmm…" said Flint, seeing Bland's reaction and recovering himself such that the manic light went out of his eyes. "Just don't fire on Walrus!" he said. "Don't do that…"
Bland was bright enough to realise that — as far as Flint was concerned — there was far more aboard Walrus than some papers that led to treasure! Wealth and riches made a pretty pair, but a man didn't go galloping mad for them. No, there was something else that Flint valued more than life and soul. Bland wondered what it was.
