Flint and Silver (27 page)

    For a brief time - now passed - he'd cherished hope of getting his eyes back, since they'd begun to feel pain in bright sunshine. He'd thought this proved that they weren't fully dead, and he took to wearing a green shade over his brow, to nurture further recovery. But blind he was and blind he remained, and while the eye shade eased the pain, it gave him a still more sinister and unholy appearance than he'd had already. Mostly men steered clear of him, and the whole crew knew that he was still aboard only out of Long John's pity for the man that was ruined in the same broadside that took off his leg.

    But horrid and friendless as he was, Pew had sharp ears, he was fiercely stubborn and intensely argumentative. He loved a debate in a way that few of his fellows did. So having followed the speeches with serious concentration, he'd shouted his way to the front, and when it came to giving a summary of what the hands wanted - to the surprise of all present - none could do it better than Blind Pew. There he stood, thin and grey: a creature from the dark below, brought up into the light, but gifted with a clear voice and even a certain gift of speech - Celtic and poetic.

    "So, Silver to take the ship - says I - and Flint to keep the
Walrus.
So, Silver to pick his crew - says I - and Flint to keep the goods. So, Silver to take Mr Bones - says I - and Flint to keep Miss Selena. So, all shall share the duff - says I - and all shall bear the shite!"

    The roars of approval from all hands made the result a foregone conclusion. But Flint meticulously went through the procedures laid down in the ship's articles. He'd grown used to doing things that way, and even he now thought them proper.

    "All for brother Pew shall show," said Flint, and Pew stood tall and proud, nodding and basking in the attention of his mates. He didn't see the forest of hands that went up, favouring his proposal, but he heard the cheer and he grinned. Those around him clapped him on the back and said he was no end of a clever 'un, and they dug him in the ribs and called him a sea-lawyer, and he puffed up with self importance. It was just as well that he couldn't see the look on the face of Long John, who thought this a poor return for kindness.

    "Any against Brother Pew's proposal?" said Flint, and a derisory howl greeted the few hands that went up.

    "Flint!" cried Silver, filling with anger and ready to fight the whole ship. Flint spun round and laid a hand on his sword, but Selena caught Silver's arm and hissed in his ear.

    "Come away, John," she said, "now!" And she led him to the stern where they could talk together without being heard.

    "John," she said, "it don't matter."

    "Stap my heart and soul, but it does!"

    "No, it don't. Not a bit."

    "How can I leave you with that bastard?"

    "You've got to. Or you'll lose everything."

    "You're my
everything,
girl. Nothing else counts."

    "John, Flint is nothing. He's never touched me."

    "What? Not never?"

    "No."

    "But I thought you was his piece. Ain't that why he fetched you aboard?"

    "S'pose so," she said.

    "Well, why didn't he touch you? There's not a man aboard as don't want to!"

"Flint
don't want to."

    "Why not?"

    Selena sighed, she laid a hand on his arm and smiled. She knew how it hurt him. It hurt her too.

    "Listen, John," she said, "he's never so much as laid a hand on me, d'you hear? So you go on that ship, and don't worry about me. Then we'll go to Savannah, after the island, and… if you're still minded… then maybe we can get together." She looked up at him in hope, but with fear too, because even as she dared to speak of the future, a poison worm wriggled in her mind. She knew how white men treated black girls, and she wondered - now that he'd had what he wanted - if he might look elsewhere.

    Unfortunately Silver entirely missed the subtle fear. He was turning over the news that Flint hadn't touched her. He was still jealous and, at the same time, questions had sprung into his mind about Flint.

    "He could've had you if he'd wanted."

    "S'pose so."

    "An' he didn't?"

    "Isn't that what I said?"

    "So… are you saying that Flint's fancy don't turn that way?"

    "Huh! Why don't you ask him."

    "Well, shiver me timbers - Joe Flint's a navigator of the windward passage."

    "John! You get on board o' that ship… and
no,
he isn't."

    "How'd you know?"

    "I know!" She did too. Flint hadn't been quite as careful in his drilling of peep-holes, nor as silent in his lechery, as he'd imagined. Enough gasping and groaning had come through the bulkhead to tell Selena a lot more about him than ever he suspected. But she wisely decided that this was not a good time to let Long John into the secret.

    Nonetheless they each had a splinter under the fingernail: she with her fears and he with his jealousy, and there was plenty else for them to argue about over the decision to separate. So they bickered and snapped, nastily and pointlessly, and both grew angry and shouted. Insults were exchanged and tempers lost, and, being so angry, neither could say to the other the three words that would have healed all wounds and given comfort during the weeks to come.

    So they parted badly, with Long John going across to his command, taking just under half the men with him. As agreed, one of them was Billy Bones, who had emerged from Flint's cabin after a conversation every bit as fraught as Long John's with Selena.

    "I ain't going," Billy Bones had mumbled, hanging his head and fiddling with his hat. His reaction to Pew's compromise was pitiful to see, and he pleaded to stay with Flint like a child begging to be let into its parents' bed at midnight for fear of the bogeyman.

    "Brace up, Billy Bones!" snapped Flint. "Find some backbone and do your duty! Look at Silver, you fool. He's worst pleased than you are!" It was true, but that only frightened Billy Bones all the more. Flint heaved a sigh and pointed to a chair.

    "Billy-boy, just put your enormous backside to anchor and contrive to hold your tongue."

    Billy Bones grumbled and cursed, and plumped down, purple-faced, as he'd been told, while Flint sat facing him on the upholstered bench that ran across the cabin at the stern windows.

    "I won't go. Gut and bugger me if I will!" said Billy Bones, but he took care to say it very quietly, almost to himself. Flint heard, nonetheless.

    "Billy," said Flint, starting half out of his seat, with white clear all around the pupils of his eyes, "not a word…
not one… word!"

    Billy Bones gulped in fright, and twisted his hat like a housemaid wringing a dishcloth. There was much that Billy Bones wanted to say. He was terrified of what would happen to him under Silver's command, let alone from Silver's men. Still, he was a damn sight more afraid of Flint, and it was Flint he had to deal with just now.

    "So," said Flint, settling back with a broad smile on his face, "shipmate… messmate… Billy-my-chicken… In this world of pain and sorrow, we many times have to do that which, given free choice, we would not do. And when that happens, a wise man makes the best of things, and he clasps to his bosom such advantages as he has." Flint paused and contemplated Billy Bones's puzzlement. "Do you follow the argument, Billy-boy?"

    "No," said Bones, and Flint sighed heavily, like a man who has laboured mightily to see virtue in a particularly stupid bulldog, which is ugly, dirty and foul-smelling but occasionally useful for frightening burglars.

    "We must concentrate our minds, Mr Bones," said Flint, "on the fact that Silver has you, and I have Selena. That's one-for-one." Flint saw the puzzlement deepen on Billy Bones's heavy face. Bones, loyal to Flint in all things, had contrived not to notice what most others - and certainly Blind Pew - had noticed concerning Silver's attitude to Selena, and hers towards him. Billy still staunchly believed that Selena was Flint's, and Flint could see the question that he dared not ask.

    "You… need… not…worry… your… thick… skull… about… that," said Flint, leaning across and beating time with his knuckles on Billy Bones's brow. Aside from John Silver, any other man who did that would have found his entrails round his neck and his balls hanging from his ears. But Billy Bones took it like a lamb. He knew Flint.

    "Aye-aye, Cap'n," was all he said.

    "Good man," said Flint, and pulled Billy Bones's nose. "Now then, Billy-boy, can you swim?"

    "No, Cap'n," said Billy Bones, and his face went greasy- white as he cringed before this new terror.

    "Hmm…" said Flint thoughtfully. "But no doubt even
you
would float if buoyed up with sufficient cork." Billy Bones shifted and frowned at these words. He sailed mortal uneasy upon this tack for he was dreadfully afraid of sharks. Flint grinned at him and laughed. "Never fear, Billy Bones," he said. "But pay close attention. This is what you must do…"

    In due course, Billy Bones's battered old chest with the initial 'B' burned into the lid in poker-work, was hoisted over the side and into a boat, and he and it were rowed across to the brig
Susan Mary,
which Silver promptly re-named
Lion.
Of the remains of her original crew, two died of their scurvy that same day, while two survived and were persuaded to become gentlemen of fortune. One only - the captain himself - refused to be turned from what he perceived as his duty, and so he was put in irons awaiting a suitable landfall for marooning.

    He too died a few days later, despite all Surgeon Cowdray's efforts in feeding him fresh fruit and greens, and for those few days this honest shipmaster thought himself an ill-used and miserable man. But he was merry as a bishop in a bawdy house compared to Billy Bones, whose world was in ruins, and who pondered constantly upon the memory of better days. He groaned in fear of Silver and shuddered at the thought of Flint's orders, for he didn't know which was worse.

    Nor did he know the
worst.
As Billy Bones was rowed across to
Lion,
looking back longingly at his beloved master lifting his hat in smiling farewell, that gentleman was making further plans.

    Ah! Billy-my-Billy, thought Flint, there's long weeks of sailing ahead for you, and all of it on the wide blue ocean. And there's yourself that's never had sole responsibility of navigation, and it always was a wonder, that you could multiply two times two and get the same answer every time.

    Flint smiled as he relished the warmth of his thoughts. So, Billy-boy, what if you was to lose sight of Walrus in the night? What if you wasn't able to keep up? What if you was to get lost entirely, and never find land, and the whole unfortunate crew of you - and dear Mr Silver, too - was to be entered among the hosts of the Lost and Drowned? Why…in that case there'd be seventy less to share the goods!

    He laughed merrily and called across the water. "Goodbye, Mr Bones! And good luck!"

    "Goodbye, Cap'n," replied Billy Bones, and came close to weeping in the bitter sorrow of parting.

Chapter 30

25th July 1752

Aboard Lion

The Southwest Atlantic

    The brig
Susan Mary
, now to be known as
Lion,
was smaller than
Walrus
and had all the differences below decks in terms of cabins, provision for storage, depth of the hold, et cetera, with which the individual shipwright shows the world that he can do his work better than any other. So there was a considerable bother of cursing and complaining among Captain Silver's men as they moved into their new home. Nothing was quite like what they'd been used to, and each thought the others were depriving him of the cosiest berth and the snuggest corner.

    As soon as he got aboard, Israel Hands, who had been Flint's gunner and was now Long John's, elbowed and cuffed his way into a cabin, declared it his own as a senior officer in this commission, posted his mate to guard it, and went to examine the planked wooden cupboard that passed for a magazine aboard this ship. There was just room for him to get inside of it and sit down upon a bench facing a table with rows of pigeonholes above it.

    Israel Hands sucked his teeth philosophically. So it had come to this. Israel Hands, who'd once served aboard ships where the magazines held cartridges for twenty-four-pounders, and ninety-pound powder kegs stood shoulder to shoulder in rows, was reduced to this. Ah well, he thought, at least there was a magazine: a proper place set aside for the powder, and lit through a double-glass window by a lantern burning outside. And there was a proper door to it, so that the gunner might keep out lubbers who'd otherwise wander in with lighted pipes in their mouths and blow the ship to splinters.