Flint and Silver

by John Drake

  "Bah!" said Flint. "Take no account of tales. I stand by what I sign."

  "Spoken like a man!" said Silver, deciding to judge Flint by his future behaviour - and a thousand leagues from guessing the real truth, which was that Flint's powder was thoroughly damp in this particular respect.

  Then Billy Bones came puffing and blowing out through a hatchway. He plunged into the maelstrom of struggling bodies and hauled out two that he thought might be trusted: Tom Allardyce and George Merry. He slammed their heads together to gain their attention, poured fearful threats into their ears, and sent them below with two brace of pistols each, and a powder horn and a bag of bullets. Then he fought through the press to Silver and Flint.

  "All secured, Cap'n!" he said to Flint and touched his hat. "I put the tarts all back in their hole, along with the dead 'un, and them two lubbers to guard 'em." He jerked his thumb to where Allardyce and Merry had gone below.

  "Can you trust them?" said Flint, and Billy Bones smiled - a sight as rarely seen as a polar bear coming ashore at Portsmouth with a penguin lugging his sea-chest.

  "Aye, Cap'n!" said Billy Bones. "They'll be good, for I told 'em what I'd do with 'em if they ain't."

  "Good man," said Flint. "And now we'll have some order on the lower deck. They've had their fun…"

  "Avast there!" said Silver. "What about them?" He pointed to the Spanish seamen huddled on the fo'c'sle.

  "Huh!" said Flint, grinning. "Sssssk -" and he drew a finger across his throat.

  "No!" said Silver. "Maroon 'em, or set 'em adrift in a boat with stores an' a sail. That was England's way. But spare the poor buggers' lives." He looked hard at Flint. "For we're gentlemen o' fortune, not common pirates."

  "Oh?" said Flint. "And what, pray, is the difference?"

  "That is," said Silver.

  "Oh?" said Flint.

  "Aye," said Silver.

  Flint sighed. He bit his lip. He looked about him, and he reached up and stroked the parrot that, as ever, had settled back on his shoulder once the killing stopped. He paused and thought… and finally he came into harbour and dropped anchor in the recognition that Silver was whole-heartedly sincere in his determination to live by his precious articles. It was one more reluctant step towards the invisible frontier that might make a better man of Flint.

  Nonetheless, Flint was clever enough to realise that, in calling himself a gentleman of fortune, Silver was trying to deny what he had become. So thought Joseph Flint, and he thought this ridiculous. But he liked Silver more than any man he'd ever met… he who'd never had such a thing as a friend.

  "Have it your own way," he said finally, looking over the ship from stem to stern. "In any case, this ship's too big for our sort of buyer. They want smaller and more handy craft. For myself, I'd have burned her. But this is what we'll do…"

  He paused and fished for words. "As gentlemen of fortune, and jolly companions all -" Long John quietly nodded "- we'll strip this ship of whatever we want, and then…" he shrugged his shoulders "… why, we'll let them sail away and take their blasted females with them." He turned and looked to Silver for approval, an incredible act for Joe Flint. "What say you, Long John?"

  "Aye-aye, Cap'n," said Silver with a smile and with immense relief, for he would think well of Flint, if only he could. "That'd be the way, Cap'n, and no mistake."

  So Walrus's men cleared Doña Inez of everything that glittered or shone, and helped themselves to everything they fancied in the way of drink and victuals. Israel Hands took some extra powder and a splendid nine-pounder for a bow- chaser: a brand-new iron gun from the Spanish Royal Foundry at Barcelona, complete with a supply of shot to go with it. The cooper wanted some water butts, which he thought held water sweeter than those in Walrus's ground tier, but he was to be disappointed. The men were already tired hauling Israel's gun aboard and they weren't going to raise sweat for mere water. The cooper complained to Flint, but merely got cursed. Flint had pushed the men as far as he dared today, and in a cause he didn't believe in.

  As the sun went down over the Caribbean islands under the horizon, Walrus sailed away and left the Spaniards to mend their wounds, to bend a new suit of sails to the jury- rigged masts, and thank the Blessed Virgin for their lives.

  They buried their dead too, including the poor creature who'd blown out her brains in a needless sacrifice to her chastity. Conversely, aboard Walrus all was plum duff and merriment, with healths drunk, the fiddler playing, and messes competing to dance under the stars. Flint had found a friend, and thought he'd only temporarily compromised in these absurd matters of how prisoners should be treated. John Silver, too, had found a friend, and thought he'd shown him how to steer a better course from now on.

  The friendship, at least, was true. Each man found a vital something in the other that was absent from himself. Together they were stronger than ever they had been apart, and the result was the celebrated career of Captain Joseph Flint - Flint the pirate, for the world saw through such dissembling words as gentleman of fortune.

  The most remarkable thing is that so few people ever knew that Captain Flint the pirate was not one man at all, but a symbiotic partnership between two, and the phenomenal success of Captain Flint lasted only as long as the partnership endured.

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  14th June 1749

  Elizabeth's longboat

  The South Atlantic

  "That's the last of the rum, sir," said the boatswain. "Just enough for one tot. And there ain't a great deal left in the water-butt neither. You'll have to talk to the men, sir."

  Hastings and Povey were clustered secretively round the empty rum cask, with Oliver, the boatswain - he of the kicked fingers - while the three marines, as ever, faced forward on the aftermost thwart, to divide the officers' stern from the men's foremast.

  It was very, very hot, and all aboard were tired, thirsty and afraid. Eyes squinted against the glare. Lips were cracked and dry. The skin lay like brown paper on the backs of men's hands, and - worse still - there was almost no wind. They were as near becalmed as made no difference with the sails hanging useless and the rudder unable to bite.

  "What will you tell 'em, Hastings?" said Povey.

  "Better make it something good, sir," said Oliver.

  Hastings fiddled nervously with a piece of flaked skin on his lower lip, daring himself to peel it off. He blinked and thought, and whispered to Oliver.

  "How much water have we left?"

  "Dunno, sir," said Oliver. "I don't dare fathom it, sir, for it lays forrard among the hands, and they'll see."

  Hastings sighed. He stood, raised a hand to shade his eyes, and looked at the men. They weren't fierce any more. They sat listless and quiet. They were giving up. That was bad. Once they gave up, they'd start dying. Hastings sighed and sat down and reached for his log. It was a little Bible that his mother had given him in which he kept a record of the longboat's progress by scribbling in the margins with a bit of old pencil. He studied it briefly.

  "Ah!" he said. "It's Sunday."

  "Is it?" said Povey.

  "Probably," said Hastings. "I don't know." He turned to Oliver: "Mr Boatswain, will you call the hands together for church."

  "Aye-aye, sir!"

  "Right, Povey, this is what I'm going to do, so be ready with the rum…"

  Aboard ship, "church" meant all hands dressed in best rig and everything ready for captain's inspection. Under the circumstances, those aboard the longboat did their best. They tidied themselves and the boat, and the two midshipmen put on their uniform coats.

  "Off hats!" said Hastings, when finally he stood up before them. "We will say the Lord's Prayer." And so they did, the familiar prayer profoundly moving some of the hands, who mumbled the words in thoughts of home and happier days, their faces wrenched with emotion. That done, Hastings asked the Almighty to send them a wind and bring them safe to Georgetown Barbados, or at least the French Antilles, and not to throw them into the pitiless hands of Spain.
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  "Amen!" said the hands fervently.

  "Now then, men," he said, "we've had a run of bad luck, which was clearly due to our not giving a name to this ship."

  "Oh?" they said.

  "Therefore we shall give her a name, so she can be proud of herself."

  "It's his mother's name," said Povey, standing, "which is a damn fine thing, because she's the most tremendous beauty. I know because I've seen her!"

  "Ah," they said, nodding to each other.

  "Thank you, Mr Povey, you may sit down," said Hastings, and turned to the crew. "We shall name her with a libation. "

  "What's that?"

  "It's a gift of wine - or rather rum."

  Povey handed Hastings a small horn cup which contained the last rum in the boat.

  "We shall give this libation to the ship and to the sea, so that it will bless her and bring us luck!"

  "AYE!" said the men, touched to the core of their primitive souls. They nodded to one another, in uttermost, fervent approval. It was a sacrifice, and a worthy one.

  Hastings turned and poured the rum carefully over the boat's bow.

  "I name this ship Constance, and may God bless her and all who sail in her!"

  And perhaps He did, for they got a good northeasterly wind within an hour of offering Him the rum.

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  15th June 1752

  Aboard Walrus

  The South Atlantic

  Selena was coming to terms with a very cruel truth. Deep in thought, and idle as ever aboard Walrus, she was on the quarterdeck with Flint and Billy Bones below, while Silver spoke to the helmsman, Tom Allardyce.

  When the watch changed, another man took over the helm and Allardyce went below. The new man was not a crony of Silver's and Silver looked around for someone to talk to. He saw Selena and smiled. She'd noticed him looking at her before, and she could see he was trying to make up for what he'd done in Savannah. She was very bored, by then, with nobody for company other than the ship's boys, and they were beginning to snigger and take liberties. As for Flint, he showed less interest in her these days than he did in his parrot. He seemed to have got what he wanted from her, without ever touching her.

  And beyond that, like any human creature, she was missing her parents and her brothers and sisters, and she was trying to face up to the fact that she would never see any of them again. Not in this life. Not in this world. Not when plantation slaves could not leave the plantation; and not when a sure and certain hanging awaited her if ever she should return.

  As long as she'd lived ashore, even in Savannah, she'd managed not to face the truth, but life at sea had changed everything, so strange and wonderful as it was, and so utterly far from home as it had carried her. Now she was struggling to remember their faces, especially the little ones - the dearest of all - with their young, unformed features that she could no longer picture in her mind.

  In the depths of her loneliness, she looked at John Silver's broad shoulders and his intelligent eyes and judged him as if at first meeting. She smiled, offhand and casual, and saw the pleasure in his face; and Providence was kind to her, for she instantly discovered the ancient and fascinating sport that God has made for all the women of the ages in offering enough bait to lure a man forward for closer inspection, while giving nothing much away. It was a game she'd never have had the chance to play on the Delacroix Plantation. There, she was just cattle to be worked and bred from, while on board Walrus she enjoyed all the privileges of a free-born woman, and one with powerful backers.

  But the ancient game worked both ways. Silver proved to be charming and amusing company, with a store of tales to tell about strange places and strange things that he'd seen.

  "Chinamen, ma'am, with fingernails so long, they bend like the bones in a lady's stays." She smiled, remembering the wonderful gowns that Miss Eugenie wore, and all their complex underpinnings.

  "Monkeys, ma'am? Have I seen monkeys? Why, baboons is the king o' monkeys. I've seen baboons out of Africa, with jaws like mastiffs, and arses - begging your pardon, ma'am - striped blue and red and all the colours o' the rainbow!"

  She laughed to show she wasn't such a fool as to believe this nonsense.

  "And great snakes called pythons, in the East Indies, that can swallow a whole hog…" he winked and grew so familiar as to jab her gently in the ribs with a finger "… or a plump little thing like yourself, if he could just clap a hold on you." She could see that it wasn't just the python that would like to clap a hold on her, given the chance. So she frowned to put him back in his place.

  But she carried on talking to Silver. She did it often after that, and found that it infuriated Flint. Perhaps she even did it because it infuriated Flint. It was exciting, and she was too young to realise how dangerous it was. Flint reacted by devoting more time to her. He got Mad Pew, the sailmaker, to sew her a dress from ship's stores. Since Pew had never done the like before, and hadn't the least idea how to go about it, the result was not a specially fine dress. But it was a dress, and Flint made her wear it for dinner. Then he had his cook prepare special meals and made his officers turn out to dine with her in their best clothes and on their best behaviour. They were a rough lot aside from Mr Cowdray, who'd once been a surgeon in London, and Mr Smith the purser, whom the men called "Parson".

  Selena didn't much care for Parson Smith, because he stared fixedly at her breasts with his mouth hanging open whenever he thought nobody was looking, and he had fat, pink little fingers with disgustingly bitten nails. He was clearly ashamed of whatever it was that had driven him from England, and he wouldn't be drawn to talk about it. But Mr Cowdray was much better. He was clever and friendly. He had lived in the great world among ladies and gentlemen. He'd seen the King and Queen and he'd been to the Opera House. In fact, Selena liked him so much, and was so fascinated by his stories about the clothes and hairstyles worn by London ladies, that Flint never asked him to dinner again. And Silver was never asked at all.

  From time to time, Selena would be sent deep down below to hide among the coiled mass of the anchor cable. This was when Walrus pounced on a ship that the pirates wanted to rob. The hideous noise of the guns, firing over her head, and the stench of powder smoke were so bad that she begged Flint to let her stay on deck at these times. But on this, he was as immovable as a mountain.

  "No, my little flower," he would say, firmly shaking his head. "It isn't just what would happen should you get in the way of a shot, it's the things you might see."

  And all the while, the poison between Flint and Long John grew worse. There were arguments over everything. They quarrelled over the set of the sails: Silver always wanting less for safety, Flint always wanting more for speed. They quarrelled over swabbing below decks: Silver against, for the damp it caused, Flint in favour for the greater cleanliness. They quarrelled over watering the grog, over setting the watches, over gun-drill, musket-drill, and what to do with prisoners. Flint always wanted them butchered, Silver always wanted them marooned or set adrift.

  But the greatest quarrel was over Flint's wish to bury the wealth that was accumulating below decks, not only from coin and bar silver taken directly from captured ships, but from Charley Neal's payments for jewellery and prizes sailed into Savannah.

  Selena felt that this latter argument was different. She didn't begin to understand the bickering and shouting over ship things, as she called them - swabbing, gun-drill and the like for these at least got settled one way or the other, and the arguments stopped. But there was no decision on burying the goods, and the arguments just got worse.

  Finally one night there was a serious quarrel, even though it wasn't about the burying but a different matter entirely. Long John, Flint, Billy Bones and some of the other officers every man of the crew who was consulted on important matters - were down in Flint's cabin. Selena, of course, was not among them, but she heard the angry shouts right enough.

  Everyone did, and they listened with giant ears to the noise co
ming up from below.

  "Damned if I'll turn for Savannah!" cried Flint.

  "An' damned if you don't!" cried Silver. "We've beat about and quartered the ocean hereabouts for far too long. Every shipmaster for a hundred leagues knows Flint's about, so it's time for Flint to be gone."

  "Who's cap'n here?" came another voice, that of Billy Bones. He had the loudest voice in the ship and every word came up as clear as if he was standing on the quarterdeck.

  "Shut your trap, Billy!" said Silver.

  "An' who's to make me?"

  "Shut it, Billy," said Silver. "I say that one more prize is one too many. The next one might be a man-o'-war out looking for us."

  "Yellow-livered bugger!" came Billy Bones's roar.

  At this there was an explosion of anger from below, followed by a rumble and a breaking of furniture, and all the unmistakable sounds of a fight. There was even the bark of a pistol, and the grunts of men giving and taking heavy blows. The eyes and mouths of those on deck grew rounder and rounder as the whole crew came astern, dim figures in the dark, to hear what was going on in Flint's cabin. For the few minutes the fight lasted, there was no proper lookout kept, nor attention to the helm, nor to any other thing that interfered with listening.

  Soon the sounds of combat ceased and the crowd dispersed rapidly as Flint and Silver came on deck. They were not on speaking terms and took opposite sides of the deck, glowering into the night and exchanging curt words with a few favoured ones who congregated around them, staring angrily at the other group.

  They were followed a while later by Mr Billy Bones: he who'd defeated the foremost pugilist in the Americas. Billy Bones moved unsteadily, hanging on to hand-holds like a drunken man. He violently kicked the backside of the first man he passed, damned his mother as a poxy whore, and told him to haul up a bucket of water. Billy Bones knelt down and plunged his head into this, and washed the blood off his face, and groaned and fingered his bruises. He kept darting nervous glances at Silver and muttering to himself. The crew whistled and drew their conclusions.