Where Gold Lies

by Jacqueline George

  The regular duties of the trade wind passage gave us many hours of cleaning, polishing and painting when I could watch our passengers. There is nothing like a sea voyage for getting to know the character of your fellow man. They can hide their true nature on land, but the sea will find them out. Hawkins, the Squire and Livesey spent much of the day on deck. Trelawney was little suited to the life of a mariner for he always wanted to be up and doing and the confinement of the ship obviously galled him. He strutted about the deck, poking his red nose into this and that. He was the image of a turkey cock, all fire and feathers.

  The Doctor was a different case, small and sharp with black eyes. He had an inquisitive mind, and set himself to master the science of navigation. Once a day in the fore-noon watch, he would retire with Hawkins to the cabin to be instructed by the Captain. Sharp at mid-day, the Captain would shoot the sun, and the other two would stand beside him, sharing a sextant and attempting to duplicate his reading. They became quite proficient at it by the end of the voyage.

  The Squire would have none of such things. His delight was to shoot, at sea-birds with a shot-gun or, when they had all been frightened away, with his duelling pistols at empty bottles floating in our wake. He seemed to have a large supply of empty bottles.

  For me, the voyage was contentment enough. Sailing away from Old England meant that day by day the weather yielded and became warmer. Flying fish skipped from our bow-wave and the sun only clouded over to give us generous showers of refreshing rain.

  But all good times must come to an end, and a curious fret grew up amongst the crew to be up and after the treasure. By the time we had made sufficient westing to be in the Indies, the image of Flints’ stolen treasure had come to occupy a great part of our thoughts and private conversation. We mentally stroked the bars of gold and hefted them. We held the jewels up to the sun and saw it flash from their depths. I do not recall what I thought to do with the wealth. The treasure seemed to have become sufficient in itself. My friends underwent the same change, and it would not be exaggerating greatly to say the simpler men had become mad with it. I had the fever as badly as any of them.

  Treasure Island

  I am sure you are asking yourself if your old father is not making up a tale especially for you. You may believe how difficult it is for me after all these years to think myself back into the young man I was then. No one looking at my cassock could imagine a reformed pirate within.

  Pirates are loathsome creatures and their ugly trade can have no excuse, not even with the blessing of His Majesty. As boy and youth I sailed with vicious men who had been steeped in the blackest evil. They thought of piracy as lightly as Mr. Hodges thinks of shoeing my mare.

  You should not believe much of what you hear about pirates. People prefer to believe false and exaggerated stories of wicked deeds rather than the plain truth that, as always, is far duller. And the plain truth is that pirates are more like pick-pockets, or perhaps highwaymen, than the murderous villains of legend. I will tell you how we used to cruise with Flint.

  He liked to cruise the islands of the West Indies because they always have a ready supply of water, fish and coconuts. We could put into isolated islands and stay as long as we wished. Few men o’ war cared to come close into the islands, afraid of the currents and the numerous coral reefs which could sink them even in the gentlest of weather. We kept in touch with the island trading schooners that always had a bottle of rum or a parcel of fish for us. They also passed on information about ships expected to arrive or due to sail soon. They carried nothing and no one of interest to a pirate, but were nonetheless careful to behave with respect.

  The ships we looked to intercept were the homeward bound vessels, carrying sugar and tobacco, indigo and spices. They always had money on board, especially when there they carried passengers returning home to England after making their fortunes. We had only to meet one of these to be made rich men very quickly.

  Finding a ship at sea is a difficult thing, much more difficult than a landsman might imagine. If you wanted to turn highwayman and rob the London mail coach, you would know where to meet it. You would merely hide yourself along the road and wait for it to come to you. But suppose the coach was free to travel not only by the London road, but might shape its course via Gloucester or Exeter. Then you might wait as long as you wished and never see a wheel of it.

  A ship at sea needs no road and may travel wherever wind and weather allow. Your grandfather once described our task to me as being like a mouse searching for sixpence in a cornfield. In the end, however, a ship must come to port and this is where we could gather news of them. When we heard of one due to sail, we would wait just over the horizon and hope to outwit the Captain.

  All ships at sea are wary of each other and will never allow a stranger to approach. Once a merchant captain realises he is being purposefully pursued, he has little choice but to submit. Pirates use light, fast vessels that mount real cannon. Their prey are heavy-laden and slow, and many merchants cannot stomach the thought of laying out good money for cannon and shot. They also hate the thought of shipping all that dead weight back and forth across the ocean along with the hands needed to fight the guns.

  A merchant captain might try to run a little for appearances’ sake, but in the end the exercise of comparing in the balance the value of his life with the value of the owners’ cargo will induce him to heave to.

  Pirates are practiced at rushing aboard a submissive vessel and securing anything they want from it. Neither crew nor passengers are spared, and anything of value is thrown back onto the deck of the pirate ship. While we were aboard our prey, I always found our victims behaved with great courtesy, trying to satisfy our demands and hasten our departure. Of course, they were terrified for their lives, and the sight of our cutlasses and pistols was usually enough to cow them completely.

  We might set the sailors to dragging out any choice piece of cargo such as fine cloths or muskets, and we would relieve them of victuals and stores. Then, after cutting halyards and tiller ropes to disable our victim, we would be off. They were free to sail on their way, and we had supplied our ship for a few weeks and had a deck-load of booty to be shared out.

  It is strange that most of our recruits came from the vessels we had attacked. There were always one or two of the wilder sailors prepared to volunteer if we needed them.

  So why do pirates have such a bloody reputation? It is true that their absolute power over the people they seize leads some men to acts of insane bullying. However, for the most part there is no time to interfere with the passengers. And pirates are not likely to attack a vessel that is prepared to put up a stiff fight. If a merchant has a few guns and a fighting spirit, pirates will avoid the obvious danger and look for easier prey.

  Pirates will fight if caught by a man o’ war. They dread naval vessels for they know that a naval captain has at his disposal large numbers of guns and men. The Royal Navy also has a powerful avarice for the chests of treasure that pirates are popularly supposed to carry. (Need I say the truth is that every penny that reaches the crew’s pockets is spent as soon as they reach port?) A true naval captain will not rest until a pirate vessel is stopped and her crew either dead or prisoners. Most pirates prefer to die fighting rather than be taken and hanged.

  Another time a pirate vessel might fight is when he meets a like vessel. Some sort of perverse pride sets them against each other, scarcely needing the excuse of booty. These fights are rarely long or severe. In the last resort another pirate can always be bought off after inflicting a little damage.

  So that is how pirates live. It is not a happy life, nor do most men follow it for long. They either fall victim to one of the debilitating diseases of the Indies, or they take up the office of crossing and re-crossing the Atlantic as an ordinary seaman. A few will be carried off by fighting, either at sea or more commonly in the grog-shops ashore. Even fewer will be marooned like Ben Gunn.

  By now you will understand that pirates are not rich.
They have no more chests of doubloons under their cots than you do. Most of them are too feckless to guard their money. They may be dead tomorrow or imprisoned (which amounts to the same thing after a short wait), and so they spend what they have without thought. They throw away their silver to inn-keepers, to loose women, and even to any little boys smart enough to dive for it in the harbour. That is a favourite pastime in tropical places. The boys swim out to moored ships and beg for money to be thrown to them. They are wonderfully at home in the water, almost like fish, and they think it no hardship to dive deep after the sparkling coins as they sink, come back to cry for more and again more.

  Some men might save or even send money home, but the only one I knew who could claim to have a chest of treasure was Flint himself. We believed he kept it in his cabin for he would never allow one of us inside, not even for cleaning or the bringing of food. And after the taking of the Spanish galleon, the richest prize anyone had heard of, he had several chests in there. I believe the amount of the treasure weighed on his mind. Perhaps he realised that word would eventually travel up and down the islands, and one of his shore-bound friends might find it their patriotic duty to assist in his capture, if they were promised a share. So he decided to bury it on the Island.

  I had landed on the Island twice before. Once for several days while we hauled down and careened the ship, and once just for water. On the occasion of Flint’s visit to bury his treasure I did not go ashore, luckily as I later found out. We all knew something was afoot for Flint was steering somewhere definite, not just cruising around, but he would not tell us where. He brought us to the Island by night, presumably to make completely sure that none of us knew exactly where it lay. After breakfast, he called for a boat to be launched.

  The weight of the treasure was tremendous. He had us bring from his cabin about a dozen small chests, all roped, tarred and sealed. Each one was a handful for two men, so I can guess that close to a ton of treasure lay hidden in those little boxes. We used a gin-pole to swing them out to the boat. Along with food, Flint had us bring up about twenty small kegs of rum, or at least, rum kegs. For in spite of their appearance they sounded to contain coins and not liquor. I later saw him taking silver coins from a similar keg, so I assumed that was what we heard sliding within the kegs as we swung them down.

  Of course, Flint had a problem knowing who to take with him to the Island. He could hardly bury such a large pile himself, but taking a large party of men would put the secret of his treasure at grave risk. He took three men; William Allardyce, Kelly the Irishman and his cabin servant Snowball. Snowball was an escaped Negro slave, devoted to Flint, who acted as his valet, his butler and when trouble came near, as his guardian angel (if such an evil man could have one). He was a big powerful man, but a little simple and quite unable to speak due to a defect in his palate. He was the only creature Flint came close to trusting.

  Before going over the side, Flint gave the Walrus to Long John, telling him to sail to the west where the Island could be seen from the masthead alone and to stay putting back and forth for a week. On the seventh day he should return for Flint.

  As the shore party pulled away for the last time Long John had us busy getting under way. We had already picked up the wind as the boat reached the shore. I was at the wheel and Long John standing quietly at the rail. I remarked to him that I would have liked to have gone ashore with them.

  “No, you would not,” he said emphatically. “At least we’re not condemned men.” I looked at him in surprise. “You don’t think you’ll see William and Kelly again, do you?” he asked. “You don’t know Flint if you believe that.” I did know him well enough to ask nothing more.

  A long time later, after most of this tale had passed and gone, I spoke with Long John again about that trip of Flint’s. I will try and recall his words as closely as I can for someone ought to record what happened, just to remember the lost souls of William, Kelly and Snowball. Long John and I were sitting alone outside his house. The rest of the household had gone to the beach to catch fish, and we were drinking rum and lime juice while we watched the sun set. I asked him, and this is what he said.

  “Well, Flint wasn’t a great one for talk, not with the crew, not even with me and me nearly a right arm to him. But one day we was sitting over a glass of grog, much like you and me now, and I asked him straight how come Snowball never came back. I was letting out I knew the others were done for, no matter what the weather. He fell to cursing William and Kelly, saying he had picked on them because they were not too clever, but they had turned on him. His plan went like this, you see. All four of them was to bury the treasure, then Snowball and him was to kill the other two and throw them in after it. That way the digging would look like no more than a grave, if anyone should ever try digging it up. That’d be the real Flint way of doing things. He didn’t have no respect for no one, and using a corpse to cover his marks would come natural-like.

  “But it didn’t work like that, for William and Kelly must have got what little brains they had working side by side, and figured out what Flint meant to do. So they decided to let Snowball and Flint be while there was digging to do, and then kill the pair of them. So for a while they all worked together, all hiding their plans but Snowball, who didn’t know nothing of what was to come. Flint said it was mighty hard work too, hauling all those chests ashore. By the time they were safely stowed, William and Kelly must have got worried that Flint’d have the jump on them, and they went to act before the kegs of silver were carried up.

  “Flint said they picked a time when Snowball had gone for water. They went after him and the idea was that Kelly would attack him from the front, and William would stick him from behind. With Snowball dead the two of them should be able to handle Flint. But it all went wrong for them because Snowball was so terrible strong. You remember him, no holding him down. He latched onto Kelly, and William knifed him just like they’d planned. But when Snowball, who hadn’t been fighting Kelly serious-like, felt the knife go in, he must have understood what was happening.

  “He started to roar something terrible, and he just broke Kelly’s neck. With his bare hands, like Kelly was a chicken. Didn’t matter that William had the knife in him two or three times by now, he just kept shouting. He must have managed a swipe at William, and touched him too, for Flint said he was groggy and staggering about.

  “When Flint ran up, hanger in hand, Snowball was still standing. Seeing his master, he took a couple of steps, reached out his arms, and fell right on him. William can’t have been too bad for he took his chance to go for Flint, him having his arms full with Snowball. William reached over Snowball’s back trying to poke out Flint’s eye, but just gave him a nasty cut on the side of his head.

  “Only he’d forgotten Flint’s hanger, and Flint was able to stick him in the belly, as he’d come up from that side, you see. Old Flint had a black heart—you know that—and he sat telling me of William’s face as he dropped his knife and clapped his hands to the hole in his belly. It turned me sick, if you want the truth. Then William ran off, still trying to hold his guts in. Snowball was dead by now, and Flint took his shirt to bind the wound on his head. I believe he pined a bit for old Snowball. They say there’s no man so bad that a dog won’t love him. Well, Flint had Snowball and with him gone, no one else would love him.”

  That is what Long John told me afterwards. All we sailors saw when we went back to the Island was Flint rowing out to us alone. He had swathed his head in a bandage stained with blood, and his face was white. He looked weak and feverish. None of us dared ask for the others, not then or afterwards. We were too afraid of the man.

  Compared with some of the Hispaniola’s crew, I was already an old hand at the pirate’s life. I felt I had been born a pirate, and we had a dozen or more of Flint’s old crew aboard. Aft there were the Squire’s men, that is, the Squire himself, Doctor Livesey, Captain Smollett, Hunter, Joyce and Redruth (the Squire’s servants) and, of course, young Hawkins. Then there were the
other crew members, an assorted lot signed on by Long John and the Squire. Long John was working on these men to turn them into pirates.

  “Turn they must,” he told us. “They’re either for us, or against us. And if they’re against us, they can try sailing along without this barky under them.” By the time we made our landfall there were only a few men undecided.

  The Treasure Island looked a fine place the morning we sailed up to it. Dense green forest came right to the water’s edge, hanging over in places and casting a dark reflection on the sea. In some places the trees grew back behind beaches of startling whiteness, so white that the reflected sun could hurt your eyes.

  Many of the trees were coconut palms, the most useful tree I know. They are the strangest plant in appearance, but their distinctive shape and their rustling in the breeze are as much a part of the Islands as oak, ash and hazel are part of England. They do not resemble any oak or ash at all. Rather they are tall, rough stalks, thin enough that you touch your hands by reaching round them. The crown is an untidy clump of fronds, green and fresh in the centre but old and brown around the outside. At the base of the fronds hang the nuts, many feet above your head.

  A man can live with just a few coconut trees to support him. The nuts are wondrous things. They grow to the bigness of a man’s head, or even more, but much of that is a coarse and fibrous husk. Left to themselves, the nuts fall when they are brown and dry. Prise off the husk and inside there is a round shell as hard as stone. Smash that open and you will find a layer of moist, white flesh a half inch thick. Its flavour is rich and sweet. In texture it is perhaps more fibrous than most nuts. It certainly requires a deal more chewing than most. One mature nut like this will give a full meal to two men, and sufficient exercise of the jaw to satisfy a lawyer.