Flint and Silver (17 page)

    "Aye," said Billy Bones. "Articles, Cap'n. 'Tis the way of things among the brethren of the coast."

    "The what?" said Flint.

    "The brethren of the coast, Cap'n," said Billy Bones, as if to an ill-taught child. Billy Bones had been talking to the half- trained lad who was the nearest equivalent to himself aboard
Walrus.
He'd spoken to others too, and he'd absorbed some of their customs and lore.

    "You poltroon!" said Flint in a whisper. "Brethren of the coast? That was in your grandfather's time, up north, off the…"

    "These here is the ship's articles," cried Silver, producing a book very much like the one he'd signed years ago on England's quarterdeck. "I'll ask Mr Flint to read it for all those who haven't the schooling." And he solemnly handed the book to Flint. "In a bold voice now, sir! So's all can hear."

    Flint opened the book and looked at the handwritten articles. He looked too, at the men crowded all around him: a sea of eyes in sun-browned, expectant faces, crammed into the narrow space of
Walrus's
deck. The ship was running sweetly, the wind played in the sheets, lines and shrouds, and the sails rustled up above. Flint shrugged to himself, lifted up his voice and read for all to hear. He stumbled only once, at the place where the name of the captain - Mason - had been struck out in red ink.

    "What name shall go here?" asked Flint.

    "All in good time," said Silver. "Be so good as to hold your course till you come safe into harbour."

    So Flint read on to the end. When he'd finished, he and all those who'd come aboard with him were invited to sign, including the wounded who'd been brought up on deck for the purpose. So they signed: Flint, Billy Bones and a few others inscribing their names, and the rest with crosses or other marks, such that by the end of the ceremony, and much to his surprise, Flint's opinion had been changed. He started out in profound contempt for this nonsense, but ended convinced of its value. Seamen's minds were childlike, and Flint could see the power that the book, and the words, had worked on them. They'd be a better crew for it, and it proved exactly the buttressing of legality - or an approximation of it - that was lost when a crew breaks apart from the King's law as his own crew had done. But there was more to come.

    "Now that we're jolly companions all," said Silver, addressing the whole ship, "we must elect a captain according to tradition. So will any brother step up and give a name?"

    "Long John!" cried a dozen voices. "Cap'n Silver!"

    "No, lads!" cried Silver. "It can't be. The captain must be a gentleman of the quarterdeck that can guide the ship over the ocean." Here he looked steadily at Flint, and Flint was as utterly dumbfounded as ever he'd been in all his life.

    Is the fool handing over command to me? he thought. Impossible! But Long John continued.

    "And every man here knows I ain't no navigator!"

    "Bugger that!" cried a voice. "We'll have no cap'n than Long John. Where's the man that could face him? Where's the man that's half the seaman he is?"

    "Aye!" they roared. They cheered and they cheered for Long John, and waved their swords and muskets to the skies. But Silver shook his head and raised his hands for silence.

    "No! And there's an end on it, say I. My vote goes for Cap'n Flint - a true gentleman, bred up in King George's navy, no less. So what say you, lads, to Cap'n Flint?"

    They said very little at first, even those who'd come over from
Betsy - especially
those who'd come over from
Betsy,
for they knew what to expect from Flint. But Silver talked them round. He was a fine speech-maker, and all by native wit with never a drop of book-learning nor any example set to him by teachers. It was all sincere and from himself.

    As for Flint, he watched all this as if from a box in a theatre and with such amazement, and such surprise and such disbelief as could hardly be contained within the body of a single man.

    Silver was giving up command - which Flint could not believe. Silver was handing it to Flint on a plate - which Flint could not believe. Silver was doing this, whom Flint could see was possessed of all the natural gifts of leadership. Silver was doing this, whom the men wanted and whom they had called for. It was beyond understanding. Flint's mind cringed as it was dragged towards an invisible frontier, beyond which men acted for the common good, and not just for themselves.

    Every day he spent with Silver, Flint came closer to that mystic line.

Chapter 16

30th May 1749

Night Elizabeth's longboat

The South Atlantic

    The two mids sat silent at the dark stern of the longboat, now sweetly heeling under her canvas - gaff and jib-sail - with half the men asleep, the rest dozing. Hastings had the tiller, the sky was bright with stars, the night was cool and comfortable, the seas were easy and the round-bowed longboat was a good, dry, sea-keeping vessel. Under other circumstances, those aboard of her would have been a merry company, but not now. Hastings and Povey in particular were not merry. They were watching the bright stars as if their lives depended on them, which they did.

    "There!" said Povey. "There's one setting now -" he pointed "- see?"

    "Yes," said Hastings, and gave a touch on the tiller to steer towards it. "Tell me again," said Hastings, who'd never paid half as much attention to his lessons as he should have.

    "We're steering
west"
said Povey. "Sunrise and sunset gives us east and west by day, and the stars set in the west at night, yes?"

    "Yes."

    "And better than that, we've got the northern trades blowing northwest - or close to that - which couldn't be better for a westerly passage."

    "But why are we steering west?" said Hastings.

    Povey sighed. "'Cos my best guess is that we're somewhere in the latitude of the Windward Islands, and if we're lucky we might make Barbados, which is British, and which lies to the east of 'em."

    Hastings frowned mightily, trying to remember which king owned which islands.

    "The Windward Islands…" he said. "They're French, aren't they?"

    "Yes," said Povey. "At least, I think so."

    "Not Spanish?"

    "No."

    "Good! We'll take our chance with the Frogs, but not the heathen Dagoes."

    The two mids sat silent for a while, then Povey returned to the question which took precedence over all other questions. At least he had the sense to whisper.

    "So how long do you think the water will last?"

    "They gave us one water-butt. That's about one hundred gallons when it's full."

    "Yes, but how long will it last?"

    "And there's twenty-three of us…"

    "So how long will it last?"

    "I don't know! Can
you
tell me how long till we reach the Windward Islands?"

    "Well…" Povey frowned and thought mightily. He looked at the boat's wake, sliding past. "Well… we're running at about four or five knots wouldn't you say?"

    "Yes."

    "Say a hundred miles a day?"

    "Yes."

    "So… well… it depends how far we have to go."

    Hastings couldn't bring himself to ask Povey how far that was, because he feared that Povey didn't know. For his part, Povey was immensely relieved that he was not asked, because indeed he did not know.

    Instinctively, Povey glanced astern. He looked at the dark waters. There was nothing following them, nothing coming after them. There was nothing at all… except death by thirst.

Chapter 17

16th February 1750

Aboard Walrus

The Atlantic

    The partnership of Flint and Silver soon took an enormous prize, and it was entirely due to Flint's skill that
Walrus
was in the right place at the right time, out in the open Atlantic.

    He'd explained the way of it to Silver, previously, with a chart spread out over a table in the master's day cabin.
Walrus
was charging along under all plain sail, in a steady blow, and Flint and Silver and one or two others were crammed into the cabin for a council of war. Flint's fingers flicked over the chart table, pointing and stabbing. Precisely, Flint set his fingertip upon the port city of San Felipe, which lay on the eastward side of the island of Nuestro Santissimo Salvador, facing homeward towards Spain.

    "Latitude fifteen degrees, three minutes and thirty seconds," he said. "Longitude fifty-five degrees almost exactly." He frowned. "If we can trust this Dago chart."

    "Looks a good 'un to me, Cap'n," said Billy Bones, squinting hard at the chart and rubbing his chin. He pointed a thick finger: "Soundings, bearings an' all. Set out fair an' shipshape."

    Silver frowned and peered at the neat, intricate penmanship, but all he could understand were the tritons and conches that the Spanish cartographer had used to illuminate the margins and name-plate of the map. A thick, heavy headache oppressed him, as always when he tried to get an understanding of these fearful concepts of latitude and longitude.

    "It's a rich, fat island with a steady trade with Cadiz," said Flint. "And there's a stone fort and a pair of frigates to guard the town."

    "So we can't cruise offshore, for fear of meeting superior force," said Billy Bones.

    "Aye," said the company, including Long John. That much was obvious.

    "Indeed," said Flint, tracing his finger along the latitude of San Felipe and following it far out into the Atlantic. "And therefore, we shall cruise along this line, out beyond the horizon from the port, awaiting a ship coming westward, running her latitude down to make landfall."

    The pain in Long John's head became very great. His eyes watered and the chart swam before him.

    "Beach and bone me, if I'll ever understand it!" said Long John, for he made no secret of his limitations in this matter. The others looked at one another and Flint sneered instinctively and thought to stab with sarcasm, but the words came out oddly, for him.

    "What's ailing you, John?" said he. "It is but a trick, this navigation. A trick such as this old bird might learn." He tickled his parrot, and pulled at her feathers, causing her to squawk. "Why, this poor creature cusses in five languages, which is more than most men can do." He looked fiercely at the bird, and shook it.

    "Grrrr!" he said

    "
Mierda! Coñol Tu m'emmerdes!
" screeched the bird. Everyone laughed, and Flint - who never cussed at all - shrugged in embarrassment.

    "There, there," he said, calming the parrot. "Poor creature was taught that by ignorant men. It's a trick, that's all, just like this
mystery
of navigation, which is not a thing to be compared with the gift to put heart into men and lead them forward against the enemy." Flint smiled. "That's the mark of a real man and one whom we admire."

    "Aye!" said the rest, for it was not only a handsome compliment but a true statement of Silver's worth. Billy Bones and Israel Hands exchanged a brief glance of amazement, for they'd never before heard Flint say a good word about anyone. Come to that, Flint was puzzled himself. It was the first time he'd ever met a man whom he liked and respected.

    As for Silver, he grinned and nodded, and the pain went out of his headache. He smiled and shook Flint's hand in gratitude - to the further amazement of Mr Bones and Mr Hands - and then reached up to stroke the parrot where it swayed and bobbed on Flint's shoulder.

    "Ah, you're a fine 'un an' all, ain't you, shipmate?" he said, and the bird nuzzled his hand and gently nipped it with its great hooked beak - the beak that could crack Brazil nuts to splinters.

    "Why, John," said Flint, "it appears you have a friend. Are you a rival for its affections?"

    "Not I, Joe!" said Silver. "Not for the bird nor nothing else."

    Wonder was surpassing wonder for Billy Bones and Israel Hands, not least because the parrot was feared by the entire crew, and the last man that had dared to touch it - when they were alone in the maintop and he'd attempted to wring its neck - was Black Dog, who was now missing two fingers off his left hand.

    Meanwhile the result of Flint's unique and tremendous act of kindness was that much of Silver's ludicrous guilt over navigation faded away. Never again did he worry quite so much about charts and quadrants and latitude - at least, not while his friendship with Flint lasted, and for that Long John was deeply grateful.

    More tangibly, Flint's simple plan - the thousand-times repeated ploy of the pirate or cruising frigate - worked well. On 16th February
Walrus
swooped down upon the three-masted Spanish West Indiaman,
Doña Inez de Villafranca,
giving a broadside of chain-shot into her rigging to tear down spars and sails and paralyse the crew, like the prey of a striking spider.