Pieces Of Eight

by John Drake

  He stood up, dusted and tidied himself as best he could, swilled his mouth with water from his canteen, and spat on the ground. He looked round the Indian encampment: no tents, just canvas thrown over bent saplings to make little round huts, all neat and tidy. He looked further… Ah, yes! Their sentries were out on the high ground, with their guns cuddled in their arms and their blankets over their shoulders against the cold morning. Presumably they'd been denied their go at the rum last night. Cut-Feather was sharp enough for that.

  Flint's men - and he'd wisely brought plenty of them, bristling with firelocks - were asleep on the ground under their own blankets, and Flint shivered inside his long, full-skirted coat, that most times was too hot to…

  "Sun-Face," said Dreamer, and again Flint jumped at the shock of being taken unawares. He spun round. Ah! There he was, the wrinkled little troll! There he was, with his blanket and his black eyes and his stone face, and his tattoos and nose ring. He was close enough to touch. Flint shook his head… how did they do it? Where had he come from? Was it the bare feet? Probably. Hmm… Dreamer was alone…

  "Dreamer!" said Flint. "Where are Cut-Feather and the rest?"

  "Where are your own men?" said Dreamer.

  Flint's eyes darted round the camp. Other than the sentries, everyone else was asleep, tucked up tight by the rum. And just as well. It'd been close last night. Another interminable council, sat cross legged on hard ground with a ceremonial fire in the middle and the Patanq in ceremonial face-paint, and ceremonial feathers… and ceremonial farts, for all Flint cared.

  Sometimes, rum caused fights, but last night it was only the rum, and the quantities sunk by the Patanq, that had prevented one.

  "We must talk, you and I," said Dreamer.

  "Must we?"

  "The matter is not settled. This war has gone badly. Men will die today."

  Flint sighed. Here it came again. The blasted savages whinging, and moaning their losses, and not getting on with the job.

  "Dreamer," he said.

  "No. That is not my name."

  "What?"

  "Listen to me, Sun-Face-Flint. You, who are the evil twin."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "We, the People, are not of the Iroquois, for that is a foolish and mistaken name invented by the French…"

  Flint clenched his hands. He groaned. Another dose of

  Patanq oratory was about to be shovelled down his throat. He would have preferred castor oil.

  "We are of the Haudenosaunee," said the fierce little man, "the People of the Long House. And we are not Patanq, which is another foolish name invented by white men. We are the Pah-Tah-Tana-Quay, which means 'those who dig to live'. For we were first to grow the maize, the squashes and the beans, and which we name the Three Sisters."

  Flint groaned. The Indian continued:

  "Joseph Flint," he said, "a man never gives his true name."

  "No?"

  "No. Unless there is some great reason."

  "So you say."

  "But I tell you that I am not Dreamer. I am… Laoslahta."

  "Are you indeed? How splendid for you!"

  "Laoslahta means seer. It means teller of the future. And so…"

  "Look here," said Flint, "where is this leading? What quarrel lies between us? Last night I promised you a thousand silver dollars…" Flint knew this was insulting by Indian standards. He knew he shouldn't interrupt. He knew he should let the blasted brown dwarf complete what he was saying, but he just couldn't bear to hear any more. "A thousand dollars," he insisted. "Didn't that show good faith?"

  Laoslahta's face did not move. No emotion showed. Not a flicker. He continued as if Flint had never spoken.

  "Sun-Face! It is my word that you shall know my name. So that you may understand."

  Flint sighed.

  "Understand what?"

  "That I see, as I did last night." Flint sneered, Laoslahta continued: "Last night I was smitten with lights, and pain. And afterwards I saw."

  "And what did you see."

  "You raised ten thousand dollars, not one."

  Flint frowned. He grew angry. Little swine! he thought. He's had men watching while we dug!

  "The silver you have promised me is only a fraction of what you raised."

  "Nonsense! It's all of it! I told you last night that the rest - the main bulk of the treasure - is in Silver's fort, which is why you must take it!"

  "No. You raised ten thousand dollars."

  "Joseph Flint!" said Laoslahta. "I have dreamed of you for years. I feared you greatly. But now things are changing - so listen…"

  "Listen to what?" said Flint, and looked round the silent camp.

  "Be patient!" said Laoslahta. "Listen!"

  Flint listened. But aside from a stick cracking in the smouldering fire, the wind in the trees, and of course the booming surf that you didn't even hear any more… there was no sound. He stared at Dreamer - Laoslahta, if that's who he really was - but could read nothing in the dark, emotionless face. So Flint waited, and nothing happened.

  "Bah!" said Flint. "Enough of this nonsense!"

  "Wait!"

  "Huh!"

  Flint sneered. But then: Whoof-boom! Whoof-boom! Whoof-boom! Explosions beat flat and echoing across the island. They came from the north, followed by the rattle of small-arms fire. Pure dread struck Flint. It might be the ships!

  "That is your ship, Joseph Flint," said Dreamer. "One-Leg is taking your ship from you. And there is more. There are four ships in the southern anchorage. They are King George's. They will put many men ashore this day. But One-Leg has escaped them and abandoned his fort. Tell me, Joseph Flint, has One-Leg given up the treasure under his fort… or is there no treasure there?"

  Flint gaped. He gasped. He'd never been so utterly taken aback in all his life.

  Then much happened very fast.

  Laoslahta threw off his blanket and swung at Flint with a tomahawk.

  Cut-Feather - watching and waiting - leapt up and screamed a war-cry.

  Flint's bosun staggered to his feet and bawled for all hands on deck.

  And the whole camp awoke and reached for its arms.

  Flint very nearly died. He very, very nearly died. His mind was in such turmoil that only his speed saved him.

  He blocked the hatchet with his forearm: catching it below the blade and against the wood. He seized Laoslahta with his free arm - one hundred pounds of writhing, demonic fury - and over they went and down in a bitter conflict, which was pulled apart as a dozen men of each side rushed forward to save their leaders in a wild, brawling, tumbling melee of thickheaded, stumbling seaman against thick-headed stumbling Patanq, and musket against pistol, knife against tomahawk, and all the anger and hatred bursting out that had been so barely contained last night.

  Flint ran. He drew cutlass and struck down all in his path. But he ran. He ran away and left twenty of his men to fight the ninety Patanq that were in the camp. He ran with all his might, keeping clear of the swampy ground, across the open scrubland, and into the cover of some trees. Once safely out of sight, he sat down. He couldn't just run. The Patanq would track him as soon as they'd finished the fight - which was still raging. He could make out screams, yells, gunfire, but the din grew less and less by the second… then triumphant whoops from the Patanq… the solitary shrieking of a man being scalped who wasn't quite dead… then silence.

  Flint sat with his head in his hands.

  Think! Think, think think… Was Walrus lost? What was Silver doing? Where was Selena? Had the navy landed in strength? How could that be? How would they know?

  How could they find the island? How many men were left? Who was alive and who was dead? Was Dreamer - Laoslahta - dead? And how the blasted Hell did Dreamer know so much? Could his dreams be more than dreams?

  Flint had little time in which to make some dreadful decisions. He was alone. He had nobody to advise him and wouldn't have listened if he had. But crooked in spirit, and warped in humanity as he was
, he still had all the talent, courage and skill - and the invincible determination - to make a most splendid sea-service officer, if only it weren't for all the rest.

  So Flint thought fast and made decisions.

  He abandoned the island.

  He abandoned the treasure - for the moment.

  He fell back on pure self-preservation…

  And made entirely new plans.

  * * *

  Chapter 36

  Just before dawn, 26th February 1753

  Alongside Walrus

  The mouth of the northern inlet

  Abandoning all pretence, the oarsmen heaved and the boats shot forward, while Israel Hands took a long match-cord from the tub where it had been smouldering, and blew on it to make the tip glow, and Silver steered for Walrus, as voices cried out from ashore, and faces appeared over her rail.

  "Who goes there?" cried some fool who should've gone straight to the swivels.

  "Stand by, boarders!" cried Silver. "Stand by, Mr Hands!"

  "Aye-aye, sir!" they cried.

  "Give a cheer now, lads!" "HUZZAH! HUZZAH!"

  And Whoof-boom! went the first of Israel Hands's grenadoes, lobbed on to Walrus's decks.

  "Ahhhhh!" cried someone caught in the blast.

  "Huzzah! John Silver! John Silver!" cried the boarders.

  Whoof-boom! Whoof-boom! Whoof-boom!

  Bump, grind rumble! The launch and jolly-boat were alongside the main-chains, and lines and grapnels were curving up and over to make fast, and all hands were swarming aboard, and Sammy Hayden and Blind Pew among them, for even they had belts full of pistols and were ordered to get aboard, and fire them into the air, and join in the racket. As for Long John himself, he slung his crutch by a lanyard and was up and out of the boat like a monkey and into the chains and aboard, and stamping his one good leg aboard a good pine deck, which felt like heaven after months of sand and earth, and getting his back to the rail and his crutch under his arm, and clicking back the lock of a blunderbuss, and blasting two ounces of goose shot into the front ranks of the men - Walrus's anchor watch, a good two dozen of them - that swarmed out of the fo'c'sle hatchway in their shirts and bare legs, but armed with every weapon they could lay hands on, and Walrus's decks rolling and stinking in white powder smoke, and laid out with the dead from Israel Hands's grenadoes, and echoing to the popping crackle of pistols and the clash of steel and…

  "Ah, would you, you rogue?" cried Long John as one of Walrus's people managed to wrench a pike out of the stand round the mainmast, and burst bellowing out of the tumbling, clashing fight, and aimed for tall figure of Long John Silver, and charged screaming damnation and buggery and fixed on shoving steel through Long John's breastbone and out through his spine… only to jerk and falter as Long John drew and shot him straight through the heart, dropping him dead on the deck, with the pike clattering and rattling down beside him with its triangular steel point no more than an inch from Long John's shoe, and right next to its late owner's head, which lay with its mouth open, and the spit still wet and slippery on its tongue.

  "Ah, is that you down there, Johnny Saunders?" said Long John, recognising an old shipmate. "Johnny Saunders as chose to stay with Flint at the parting of the ways? For it's a bad choice you made, my cocker, and no mistake!"

  And that was the end of the short, brutal fight for Walrus, with most of the anchor watch dead or dying, and the rest throwing down their arms, and some of them - recognising old shipmates as Long John had done - begging aloud for mercy.

  "Chop 'em like pig-meat, boys!" cried one of Silver's men.

  "No!" cried Mr Joe. "We sign bloody articles!" And he smacked the flat of his cane-cutlass against the man's chest.

  "Aye!" cried Silver, hopping forward, the men parting before him. Towering over the few, bloodied remnants of Walrus's crew, he looked them over. "Bah!" he said. "I knows most of you, and you knows me!"

  "Long John!" they cried. "Don't let them buggers slit us!"

  "Over the side with 'em, John!" said Israel Hands. "Let the sods sink or swim or take one of our boats."

  Silver looked around. The smoke was clearing. The beach was ringing with shouting. Boats were launching. There were two more ships in the anchorage that'd be clearing for action even this precious instant, with drums rolling and trumpets sounding. He studied the anchorage again. Deeper than Walrus was the sloop they'd pounded from Israel Hand's battery: Sweet Anne was the name on her stern. She'd taken a real hiding, and looked barely fit for the sea. Well done, Israel Hands!

  But between Walrus and the sea, fit and ready for action, stood a big two-masted snow, a heavy ship with thicker timbers than Walrus, and they'd have to pass her on the way out to sea - assuming there was room in the channel for two ships, and assuming there was enough wind to get Walrus under way. He sniffed the air, he wetted a finger… yes… possibly.

  And now everyone was looking at John Silver. They'd known from the start that taking Walrus was the easy part. It only got worse after that. Silver felt the load sitting on his shoulders, and laughed, as the thought made him wonder where the parrot had gone. Well, she'd have to take her chances like all the rest.

  "John," said Israel Hands, "what do we do?"

  "We best be under way!" said Mr Joe.

  "What do we do with these here prisoners?" said Sarney Sawyer.

  And…

  "Good heavens!" said a voice. "John Silver, as I live and breathe! And Flint's own ship taken! Sic transit gloria mundi!"

  "Dr Cowdray!" said Silver.

  "Mister Cowdray," said the surgeon. "I was below." He looked at the wounds and the blood. "Can I offer help?" Cowdray was trying not to be afraid. He was trying to be calm. He was stunned at the turn of events. His world was overturned and he had no idea how Silver - or Silver's men - would receive him.

  "Huh!" said Silver, and took off his hat and wiped his brow, and looked at the bookish, modest figure of the surgeon in his neat clothes and his tidy hair. It was just one more problem when he already had too many.

  "John…?" said Israel Hands, and shook the sleeve of Silver's coat. The men looked at him in alarm. He was plainly dithering.

  Pop! Pop! Crack! Muskets went off ashore and a lead ball thumped into Walrus's mainmast.

  "Allll hands!" roared Silver.

  "Aye-aye!" they cried.

  "Mr Gunner, take five men and open fire on that ship!" He pointed at the snow.

  "Aye-aye, sir!"

  "And set another to the swivels to ward off boats!"

  "Aye-aye, sir!"

  "Mr Bosun, take the rest, cut the cables, and get this ship under way!"

  "Aye-aye, sir!"

  "Steer for the open sea, and as close to the snow as you can get!"

  "Aye-aye, sir!"

  "And now, you other buggers!" said Silver, and thumped over the planks towards the remnants of Walrus's crew. They were sat by the rail, with Mr Joe standing over them, cutlass drawn. There were six men fit and unwounded, and three more dripping blood and looking green. They cringed and looked up at Long John's huge figure, expecting a cut throat and a plunge over the side. "Ah, you swabs," he said, recognising still more faces from days past, and the nasty memories that went with them. "You no-seamen, bilge-rats!" he said. "You sods as voted against Long John and took Flint's part!"

  They shook with fright, they trembled and quivered. They knew it was all up, and just hoped it might be quick.

  "Now then, you useless turds of dogshite, listen hard, for I take my Bible oath that here's the way of things!" He drew a pistol and clapped it to the head of the nearest man. "I could pop you one and all - you knows that, don't you?"

  Silence.

  "Well?" said Silver. "Speak up! Is it aye or nay?"

  "Aye," they mumbled.

  "Aye, indeed!" he said, and put away the pistol. "But I'm gathering a new crew for this ship, and it'll be 'good times afore, and old sins aft'. Such arse-licking lubbers as you are, you'll do to haul on lines and pump the bilge." They blink
ed, they gaped, they hoped. "So… who'll sail with Long John, and sign articles, and be jolly companions with fair shares for all?"

  "Me!" they said with one voice.

  "Good, but you knows what you'll get if you're false!"

  "Aye-aye, Cap'n," said one. "Never did like Flint, anyway."

  Silver sneered. "Don't give me that shite!" he said. "I ain't simple! Just do your duty."

  He turned to his officers.

  "Mr Gunner! Mr Bosun! Mr Carpenter!"

  "Aye-aye, Cap'n!"

  "New hands come aboard. Take your pick of 'em and set 'em to work!"

  "Aye-aye, Cap'n!"

  He turned to Cowdray.

  "And you, Doctor - for doctor you'll be on my ship - see to the dead and wounded, for I welcomes you into this crew by the limb that I ain't got - being as you're the one as saved my life by cutting it off!"

  With three of his own men lost in the fight, and nine more gained, Silver now had a total of thirty-one seamen to man, fight and work the ship, which was a sight better than he'd hoped.

  The bosun's men set to work, taking axes to the cables, and Walrus slewed in the current, then heeled to the press of the wind as the topmen loosed the topsails with a roar and a rumble, and yells of rage came from the boats pulling out from the shore, and men aboard them took long aim with muskets and opened fire. But Israel Hands himself, waiting his moment, set off the four gunwale swivels, steadily, carefully, one after another, and sprayed the boats with grape, thrashing the water white all round them, hitting a few men and warning the rest to stay clear.

  "Get 'em reloaded!" he cried to Mr Joe.

  "Aye-aye, Mr Gunner!"

  "Quick, now!" said Israel Hands as a pair of bow-chasers opened fire from the big snow, sending shot roaring through Walrus's rigging and all hands ducked. But the quartermaster sang out merrily:

  "She's answering the helm, Cap'n. She's under way!"

  "Steer for the sea!" said Silver. "Set every inch of sail, Mr Bosun. Mr Gunner, why ain't our deck guns in action?"