by John Drake
"Heave off that tarpaulin - it's not so hot now. And change the water!"
Stroke oar leaned forward. He filled a pot with fresh water. He lifted the tarpaulin, he opened a little trapdoor he replaced an empty pot with the filled one, which had to be lashed in place to prevent spillage.
Chk-chk-chk!
A hand reached out - a furry little hand - and took the man's index finger as a child might: with perfect gentleness and innocence. Stroke oar's pock-marked cheeks crinkled in a smile, for he liked the little buggers. His mates - equally scarred - grinned too.
Nearly noon, 26th February 1753
Aboard Walrus
Two miles south of Flint's Passage
Dreamer got up. He staggered. He'd just vomited into a bowl held out for him by Dr Cowdray.
"Fetch water!" said Cowdray. "And a cloth to clean him."
Cut-Feather cradled Dreamer his arms. The other sachems were gathered round, looking anxiously into Dreamer's eyes, and the one who ran for water and a cloth thought it an honour to do so.
"He should lie in a darkened room," said Cowdray.
"Father," said Cut-Feather, "come - we will find you a bed."
"No…" said Dreamer, closing his eyes to the intolerable pain that burned in the side of his head. Usually when the lights and the pain struck, Dreamer would try to sleep. But this time he had to speak. It was difficult, for half his face was numb and tingling, and his tongue would not obey. "Bring One-Leg," he said. "One-Leg Silver." He had to say it several times before they understood.
"What is it?" said Silver, when Cut-Feather ran to the helm to fetch him.
"One-Leg!" said Cut-Feather, beckoning urgently. "Come! Come!" Silver cursed, for he had work to do. But with the ship full of armed men who thought Dreamer the next thing to God, he thought it best to obey.
"Dutchman," he said, "take the watch. See this ship into Flint's Passage."
"Yes, Captain," said Van Oosterhout. "But a boat must go ahead to sound the way."
"Well and good," said Silver, for that made sense. He looked to Israel Hands, Mr Joe and the others who'd gathered at the helm to pore over the Dutchman's chart of the archipelago, then jerked a thumb at Van Oosterhout: "This here's a good seaman," he said. "Do as he tells you!"
"Aye-aye, Cap'n!"
"One-Leg," said Cut-Feather, "now!" And he dragged Silver down into the waist, where Dreamer was surrounded by a crowd of murmuring, frightened Indians.
"What's wrong with him?" said Silver, coming close to the swaying, drooling figure hanging in the arms of his followers, eyes screwed shut, head rolling from side to side.
"He has the migraine," said Cowdray. "The worst case I've ever seen."
"He suffers," said Cut-Feather. "And he sees!"
"Sees what?" said Silver.
"He sees the future."
"Does he now?" said Silver. "And what does he see?"
"We do not know. But he calls for you!"
"Dreamer," said Silver, "it's me. What is it?"
Dreamer tried to speak. His mouth opened. Patanq words came out, slow and laboured.
"What's he saying?" said Silver, but Cut-Feather shook his head.
"He speaks bad words, One-Leg. His tongue is not his to command."
"Facial paralysis," said Cowdray. "It comes with migraine."
"Flint!" cried Dreamer, making a huge effort.
"Flint?" said Silver.
And in that instant the foremast lookout hailed.
"Boat ahead!" he cried. "Fine on the larboard beam!"
"Yes!" cried Dreamer, briefly conquering the affliction that put false words in his mouth. "Flint!" he said, pointing ahead. "There!" He opened his eyes and stared straight into Long John's face… and Silver flinched as hideous terror leapt out of Dreamer's mind and into his. It was terror of Flint and what Flint was going to do. It was occult and uncanny, and Silver staggered back, and crossed himself as he'd not done since a child.
But was it real? Was Flint really there? How could this blasted savage know where Flint was? Silver hopped to the rail, and aimed his glass where Dreamer had pointed. But he couldn't see anything. He was looking straight into a bank of mist and heat-haze on the surface of the sea. No doubt they could see more from the tops. He turned to Dreamer again.
"Is it Flint? What's the swab doing?"
But Dreamer had no more words, nor even strength to stand. They laid him gently down while everyone looked to John Silver.
"Flint!" said Silver, and looked past the masts and sails and out over the bow into the fog. Then he grabbed Cut-Feather's arm and shook him, for Cut-Feather - war sachem of the
Patanq nation - was groaning in fright. "What's Flint doing?" said Silver.
"Sun-Face goes to the fleet," said Cut-Feather. "We thought we had left him on land. But he has a boat! He goes to our women, taking his demons!" He looked at Dreamer. "Our father saw this! He foretold the demons! He said Flint would take demons to kill our women and children."
"What bloody demons?"
"Small demons. Demons with tails."
"And horns and cloven hoofs? Pah!"
"John!" Selena was pulling at his arm. "Listen! I know something - it might be important. He said a terrible thing to me. And we argued and he hit me."
"Flint?"
"Yes! He spoke to me on the beach. He said he wouldn't share the goods, except with me…" She saw the jealousy on Long John's face. "Don't blame me, John! That's what he said! He said he'd not share it with anyone but me. He said he'd kill the rest: the seamen and the Indians, and their women and children too. And I was to hide on the island till it was done, so I'd be safe. When I asked him how he'd do it, he laughed and he said 'with smallpox'."
And there it was. Silver jumped the gap. He understood. He thought of Sarney Sawyer and his men, and the old Jesuit and his men… and Ratty Richards's face, staring up dead and disfigured in the moonlight.
Silver was sickened.
"It's the monkeys!" he said. "There's some left. Flint's got 'em!"
"Monkeys?" said Cowdray. "What've monkeys to do with smallpox?" Silver told him. Cowdray gaped.
"I knew he was not a good man, but -"
"What'll it do to them?" said Selena. "The Indians?"
"Smallpox?" said Cowdray. "It is most dreadful for them. They have no resistance and few survive." He shook his head.
"But that would be ordinary smallpox - this is worse! If it kills nine in ten white men…" he paused, pushed beyond knowledge. "If Indians catch it, perhaps none may survive." He turned to Van Oosterhout. "How many are embarked in the Patanq fleet?"
"About twelve hundred," said Van Oosterhout. "Mostly women and children, and a few old ones. Them and about two hundred seamen." He looked at Cut-Feather. "Are they all of your women? Are there no more?"
"They are all," said Cut-Feather. "They are everything. If they die, the nation dies."
26th February 1753
Aboard HMS Bounder
As she is left in Walrus's wake
Lieutenant Clark gasped. He clenched his fists. He ground his teeth. The tears sprang from his eyes at the shame of it. He'd shot so fast across Walrus's bow that he'd failed to rake her with his broadside and he'd run on beyond her. So he'd attempted to resume pursuit by tacking through the wind, but bodged the manoeuvre such that Bounder fell all aback with her mainsail thundering against the mast, her blocks rattling and her people not daring to look him in the eye while the speeding schooner forged onward with her sails bulging and those damned bloody pirates openly laughing at the navy and making lewd signs with their fingers over the stern.
Clark looked at his men. A great guilt was on his head. He knew that it was his fault; had an admiral been looking on, his career would be at an end now, and his name would live on as a figure of fun and contempt: the man who let Flint get away by pitiful, lubberly no-seamanship.
But then fortune smiled. One of his rivals was in an even worse state.
"Cap'n! Cap'n!" cried one of his mids. "L
ook - the flagship's on fire!"
"What?"
Clark leapt to the rail, clapped a glass to his eye…
"Bugger!" there was smoke pouring off the tangled wreckage of Leaper's deck, where her ruined mainsail hung in rags. No flame yet. Could be anything - a smouldering wad from the enemy's guns, a firelock discharged by accident… It was all too easy for a ship that had been battered and left rolling like a barrel to catch light. And then… and then… Ah! thought Clark, and the sun came out in glory as he realised who was now in command, what with Lieutenant blasted Heffer's ship being disabled.
"Make to the squadron!" he cried. "Jumper to assist Leaper!"
"Aye-aye, sir!" said the signals midshipman.
"And the rest of you, get this ship under way and after them!"
He stabbed a finger towards Walrus, and wondered how much she had aboard in treasure, and how much might now be his, given the complexities of shifting precedence.
After that, things slid smooth as silk. Bounder's crew excelled themselves in the speed with which they made good their previous mistakes. She was got before the wind, and once under way began to demonstrate just what a rake- masted, copper-bottomed vessel was capable of in the way of speed, to the extent that her young captain and his young crew were soon united in the thrill of the chase, the hopes of prize money, and yelling out to one another that they really were overhauling the pirate schooner, which unaccountably was slowing and lowering a boat as it crept into the mist bank ahead under close-reefed topsails. Soon, it would soon be in gun range, and Clark was contemplating bringing one of his maindeck guns into the fo'c'sle, just to show what he could do, when…
CRRRRUNCH!
Bounder ran full on to a sandbank going twelve knots. The lookouts hadn't being paying attention. They'd not seen the swirling waters. Or perhaps they just weren't visible.
Bounder had reached the archipelago. She'd reached it, found it, and sat on it. There was no possibility of her going anywhere else that day.
26th February 1753
Flint's Passage
The archipelago
Flint was in the bow, paying careful attention to his chart and his compass… and the job was getting done. They were running the passage, hidden from view, and it was Flint's happy impression that any pursuit would be a slow one, because there was less water in the passage now than when he'd led through Walrus, Sweet Anne, and Hercules.
Ah! he thought. Poor Danny Bentham. Where is he now - him and Mr Bulldog O'Byrne?
Then the mist cleared ahead.
Huh! thought Flint. The climate was strange here, unique. It was like a door opening. And so he got his first sight of the Patanq fleet.
"Ah-hah!" he said, and snapped his fingers in delight, and his four hands grinned as they saw their captain so happy, for they knew how much their own happiness depended on his.
Flint looked at the thicket of masts and yards and the angular geometry of rigging lines… and he sighed with relief. For he saw at once that a certain problem was solved, one that had been causing him some concern.
"Chk-chk-chk!" he said to the monkeys. There were four of them.
"Chk-chk-chk!" they said, and looked at him with their intelligent eyes.
"Stand by, my pretties!" he said. "You shall have some new friends soon."
* * *
Chapter 44
26th February 1753
Aboard Walrus as Bounder goes aground
Just south of Flint's Passage
The seamen cheered and even the Patanq stopped their shivering at the cold that came with the mists at the mouth of Flint's Passage. For the moment, there was only delight at the confusion of the three Royal Navy sloops.
"That's them beached and buggered!" said Silver. "That 'un's caught fire and her mate's alongside, a-taking off her people, and that 'un's aground with her topsails hanging! The worst they can do now is send boats, and Walrus's guns can load grape and canister for them!"
All eyes now turned to Silver.
"Captain," said Van Oosterhout, "will you come into the boat with me, or stay aboard? I've a crew going over the side, ready to sound ahead of the ship."
"John," said Selena, "don't leave me! I'm coming with you."
"But what about them navy swabs, Cap'n?" said Israel Hands. "They'll never give up. Not them! We'd best go back and sink the third bugger while we may!"
"No!" said Cut-Feather. "Flint is ahead! We must hurry!"
There was a roar of argument: the seamen for finishing off the sloop and the Patanq for going after Flint.
"Silence!" cried Silver. "All hands pay heed, for here's the way of it. You, Mijnheer, shall lead Walrus into the passage - enough so's we're hid from view and there's rocks between us and what might follow! Then you, Mr Hands, shall take command, and drop anchor while I goes with Mijnheer to catch Flint."
"No!" said Cut-Feather. "We go at once, after Flint!"
"No!" said Cowdray. "You mustn't touch him. Not him or any man of his crew."
"Belay that! Silence, I say!" Silver stumped across to Cut- Feather. "Clap a hitch there, for I'll not be told what to do!"
"We go for Flint! Now!" cried Cut-Feather.
"Now!" roared the Patanq, and Cut-Feather levelled a musket at Silver.
"We go now!" he screamed.
"Now see here, my cocker," cried Silver, "we must come to cases, you and I, for there can only be one captain!" And he seized Cut-Feather's musket by the muzzle and clapped it to the centre of his own chest. "Fire away, you sod! Fire - an' be damned. And then what'll you do aboard ship at sea?"
Silver's life hung by a spider's thread. Cut-Feather's eyes showed white all round the black. His teeth glared. He jabbed hard forward with the musket and squeezed on the trigger… then groaned and looked away.
"Do what you must, One-Leg. But be quick!"
"Well and good!" said Silver, and looked for Selena. "And you, madam, will stay aboard where you're safe. As for you, Doctor - what d'you mean, I mustn't touch him? Are you talking about Flint?"
"Yes - he's been with the monkeys," said Cowdray, "Him and his crew. They must all have the smallpox. It's death to be near them."
Silver sighed.
"So what're we to do? We must stop him…" Then a thought struck. "No, Doctor, you're wrong! He must have 'em shut up safe. For Flint ain't had the smallpox. His face is clear! And he'd not risk his own sweet life."
"Aye!" said the seamen. They knew Flint. His cheeks were smooth and handsome.
"So who's had the smallpox?" said Silver. "Step forward only men what's had it and lived, for they can't take it again."
Four men stepped forward. All had scarred faces.
"Well and good!" said Silver. "That's you four, and me and Mijnheer." He looked at Van Oosterhout's smooth face. "That's if you're with me?"
"I am," said Van Oosterhout.
"And so am I," said Selena.
"Which you ain't!" said Silver. "Now I'm calling for two more hands - good lads in a fight!"
"Me!" said Mr Joe. And then there was silence. A bullet or a blade was one thing, but smallpox was something else.
"One more," said Silver.
"I will go," said Cut-Feather.
"No!" said another voice, and the Patanq opened to let Dreamer through. He was weak. He was unsteady on his feet. But he was upright, determined, and ready with his firelock in his arms. "The nation has lost too many young men," he said. "I am old. I will go."
Uproar: the Patanq begging Dreamer to stay, Cut-Feather insisting on his duty, Selena hanging on Silver's arm saying she'd take her chances, Israel Hands still shouting for an attack on the sloops, Van Oosterhout calling Silver to be quick, and Dr Cowdray, shouting un-heeded advice to all who'd listen - which was nobody - about not touching anything in Flint's boat, not on their very lives.
In the end, Silver had his way. Walrus passed between the misty walls of the passage, her anchor rumbling over the side into four fathoms, and Israel Hands and the rest cheering and wavin
g from the fo'c'sle - except the Patanq, who never waved or cheered. They raised their right hands and stood silent.
Van Oosterhout conned the boat through Flint's Passage. Mist swirled astern, ahead and on either beam. The oars clanked the boat pressed onward.
"I have thought a good thought, Captain," said Van Oosterhout.
"What?" said Silver.
"The ships of the Patanq fleet…"
"What about them?"
"Each is separate, yes?"
"Aye."
"Then he cannot put his monkeys on them all. Yes?"
"Ah! I see."
"So he cannot infect more than one or two. Most of the ships will not be infected… and the Patanq nation is saved."
"God bless my soul!" said Silver in delight, "Good man, Mijnheer! You're right! Damn me, but you're right!" Silver turned to Dreamer, who was staring out over the bow. "D'you hear that, Mr Dreamer? Things ain't so bad as what we'd feared."
"No," said Dreamer, "they are worse. I have seen."
Pah! thought Silver. Bloody savage!
But soon after that, they broke out of the mist and saw clear ahead for three hundred yards. Flint's boat was alongside one of the ships of the Patanq fleet. A block and tackle was rigged and goods were being heaved aboard. Flint had beaten them. He was already there.
And the entire Patanq fleet was lashed together, side by side, bow to stern, into one huge floating platform.
Four bells of the afternoon watch, 26th February 1753
Aboard Lord Stanley
With the Patanq fleet
North of the archipelago
Captain York faced a dilemma. Should he let Captain Flint aboard or should he not? Him and his monkeys.
"I'm Flint!" said the splendidly dressed man in the boat below, coming alongside. And it was Flint all right. York had seen him in Charlestown harbour, and with Joe Flint it was once seen never forgotten.
"Captain Flint! I'm York, sir, Captain of the Lord Stanley…" York very nearly added, Come aboard, sir! but stopped himself. He knew exactly what Flint was, and Flint had four men with him: men like himself, all bristling with firelocks and staring up with hard faces. York was a merchant skipper: a tough man and a rough one. But his crew weren't killers like these, and he had every right to be cautious. "Where's Cap'n Van?" he said.
