And that is not all. If your nut is gathered green and the top sliced off carefully, you will find it full of a refreshing drink, once tasted never forgotten. Bounteous Nature at her best has provided from a single tree both meat and drink. I can think of no finer luncheon than to sit in the shade by those clear blue seas and enjoy a fresh coconut. A slightly developed nut gives both drink and a thin immature flesh that can be scraped off using a chip of the husk as a spoon. How I long for such a lunch in an English January!
Gathering the nuts is not easy. Natives of those parts, whose toes are not accustomed to shoes, can manage by cutting steps into the trunks. Or else they manufacture rope by cutting a length of green vine and crushing the body of it with blows of the back of their giant knives. This primitive rope they tie into a loop about a foot and a half long. With this loop around their two feet, they grasp the sides of the trunk. Up they go, first hands and then feet, hands and feet, hands and feet, up thirty feet or more into the air. At the top they climb into the crown and down come nuts of all degrees of ripeness. Sailor though I was and accustomed to masts and rigging, I hated to climb the palm trees. By far the most frightening part was reaching back down out of the crown to start the descent, and I often wished I could stay up there forever rather than risk that first step.
Should you ever have the good fortune to see a coconut tree, let me give you a warning. Never, ever sit in its shade. The nuts can fall at any time and are fully heavy enough to put an end to you. It is a common fate for indolent young men of the Indies to be cut short by a coconut.
As we crept in to anchor, everybody was on deck and fretting to be ashore. No matter that we had been so long on board that a few more minutes could be no hardship, we all wanted to be off. I do not know if I thought to spend my time gathering morsels of Flint’s treasure scattered freely around the Island, or if I just wanted to feel the warm sand between my toes. I had no plans beyond the desires of the moment, and I am sure that was the case for most of the others. How the next days were to change us all!
No sooner was the ship riding at anchor than we had two boats in the water full of men ready for a holiday on shore. Long John whispered to Israel, and he volunteered to stay on board with a small party. So wiser heads than mine were thinking of the future, but what did I care? We were off to find coconuts and barbecue fresh fish. Hawkins was the only member of the cabin party in the boats.
It must have been about this time that the horrible truth revealed itself to the Captain. Most of his men not only knew about the treasure, but they meant to have it for themselves. And being but a small party in the cabin, there was very little he could do to protect himself. Perhaps he thought of over-powering Israel and his men. If that could be done, there were men enough with the Doctor and the Squire’s servants to sail the ship after a fashion. Perhaps it was fear or the thought of leaving Hawkins behind that stayed his hand. Anyway, I am sure a very worried band of men was left sitting in the cabin.
No sooner had we run the boats up onto the beach than young Hawkins jumped up and ran into the jungle. He would not answer to our call. But no matter, we had more interesting business to attend. First of all, coconuts. Myself and a couple of the younger crew members struggled and fought our way upwards and precipitated a thunderstorm of nuts on our mates below. Then, fully refreshed with coconut grog (made by mixing rum with the contents of young nuts), we took the boats and started out after fish. In water as clear as crystal glass, we floated over flower-beds of coral, with strange and wonderful colours in both plants and fish.
Corals take the place of the stone you see in our sea-shore pools, and by looking over the side of a boat, you can see many strange forms. You have seen them in Bristol curio shops, white rounded rocks made up of patterns of crystal blades. These sad specimens tell you as little about the beauty of a coral reef as a dried autumn leaf will tell you about the summer glory of a beech wood. Dull white is the least of the colours of a reef. There are red plants, blue frills of sea anemones, fierce black balls of spikes known as urchins, and many strange fishes wandering in and out of this colourful forest. Some might have the shape of a herring but all the colours of the rainbow. Others are taller than they are long, and have lacy fins and tails. Sea shells are not much seen around the reef, but they are there, as a short walk on the strand will show you. The natives of the Islands collect the living shells and clean them for sale. These are the glowing specimens people in England treasure on their mantel shelves.
Being so busy living their own lives, the fishes have less fear of men than you might expect. They are easy to spear and we were soon back on the shore with fish grilling over a fire. It seemed someone had carried with them a small keg of rum from Long John’s store and stowed it in one of the boats. So in addition to the two bottles Long John had thought to bring, there was enough to make the whole crew roaring drunk, especially when taken under that fierce tropical sun.
For the most part, we were sprawled in the shade with the smoke of the fire keeping away the many biting insects. The crickets sang loudly in the trees behind us, and a sea breeze tempered the heat of the day. We lunched on fish and passed rum from hand to hand in coconut bowls. It felt very fine, and I remember thinking that the Island might be a very fine place to live my life.
It is a strange part of man’s making that he will incessantly strive for a condition of happiness, but his conceptions of what is required for happiness are uncertain. A little girl might invest all her desires in a pretty ribbon from a peddler. A farmer might imagine that buying just one more field would make him happy. And having received the things they prayed for, are they happy? What fools we are, that we would reject the things around us the vain hope of happiness from something new.
So it was with us, surrounded by beauty and comfort in a form of an earthly Paradise, that we must draw the Devil out to lead us in a bitter and bloody dance around the Island.
The Devil Steps Out
As so often, it was rum that blew on the smouldering embers of discontent in the crew and brought them to a fierce blaze. While we passed the coconut shells from hand to hand our conversation became brighter and louder, and more incoherent. At least one man had reached a state of torpid insensibility, and I too was feeling very vague, when a shout demanded all our attention.
Tom Buckle, one of the Walrus crew, dashed the contents of his cup into his neighbour’s face and sprang to his feet with an oath. He was a stocky man of, I suppose, some thirty years, clad in only a pair of sail-cloth breeches and with a red kerchief about his neck. His blond hair had already grown sparse, but what there was waved up over his crown in the breeze. His face shone cherry red from rum and anger as he stood swaying on the sand.
Long John was quick to call a halt. “Belay that, Tom!” he shouted. “What be you a-thinking of?”
Tom burst out indignantly. “That baby-robbing gypsy is telling me what I should be doing. Him, who’s never been west of Bristol, letting on how we should be on board cutting throats and leaving you behind.” He followed this with a wicked series of oaths defaming the man and wishing him back in the jail from which he had apparently just come.
The man (who I recall as Alan) was tall and dark, and from his curly black hair and cast of features, he may have had some gypsy blood in him. He was one of the new men. Whatever the root of the quarrel, Tom’s insults touched something within him, and he hurled himself from the sand and crashed into Tom. We all leapt forward to pull them apart but we were too late. Tom had slumped to the sand with his life’s blood pouring from a knife wound below his heart. We watched in horror as his face whitened and the life slipped quietly and quickly from his body.
Then beside me I felt a sudden convulsion from Alan as his head was pulled sharply back by the hair, and I saw Long John’s brown right arm draw a knife across his throat, cutting deep and swift. Alan fell forward over Tom’s body, choking horribly. None of us moved to help him.
Long John, having dropped his crutch, supported himsel
f on my shoulder. He was shaking with anger, and I could feel the force of his emotion through the iron grip of his hand
“Poisonous gaol rats!” he burst out. “You’re always the same when you get grog in you! Why do you think I brought just the two bottles? And who was it had to ship a keg? Was it you, Job Anderson? Don’t think I haven’t seen you whispering. ‘Twas you put the idea in his head, George Merry. As long as I’m your captain, we’ll do as I say. Let the Squire find the treasure for us, and he can’t do that with his throat cut.”
Job started to stutter under the attack, as he always did when he was excited. “I-I-I-I-I’m b-b-bo’sun,” he got out. “A-a-a-an’ you’re c-c-c-cook!”
George Merry was ready to back him up. “You’ll not be captain much longer, John Silver. You’ve made a mess of it with your high and mighty ideas, and now there’s a good man dead. And it’ll be the rest of us if you let that Smollett have his way. Do you think he hasn’t got you marked? As like as not he’ll put a bullet in you just when you step back on board.
“Job’s right. You get back to your pots, and we’ll go and take the cabin party.”
“Y-y-yes,” stuttered Job. “K-k-k-kill the s-s-s-squire!”
George started off again. “Job’s the man for me,” he said. “He’ll sort out those lubbers. You’ve slipped your cable, John Silver. You’ve gone soft in the head. We need a real man to lead this crew.”
Long John was furious. “Soft in the head, am I? Need a real man, do you? And Job’s the one?” Some of the men nodded in agreement.
“So what are you going to do, Captain Job?” Long John sneered. “Kill all of them rich folks? Break out the wine and brandy, is it?”
“Y-y-y-yes, kill ‘em,” Job struggled to get out.
“And then what? Go for the treasure?” Job nodded, and Long John waved his arm at the forest behind “Where, you dumb lummox? Do you think Flint left it where you’d fall over it? You could be here for centuries and still not find it. And then what, Captain Job? Are you going to navigate the old barky home? You that can’t even count your fingers?”
Long John rounded on George. “George Merry, you’ve a deal to answer for, filling poor Job’s head with stupid notions. I know what your game is. You’ll have Job make himself captain over my body, and then you’ll be helping him aside. Well, it ain’t going to work, George, because Job’s not half clever enough to see me off. And do you think this crew is so ignorant they would be led by you?”
This stung George. “I’m as good a man as you, John Silver, any long day!”
“As good a man as me, you say. Well now, George Merry, since you’ve been making such a noise, you step up to the mark and tell us all what you want to do, then we’ll have an election all nice and fair like.”
George Merry made an unimpressive figure. Not well-favoured, his pock-marked face had a rodent look about it. He was short and stood slightly hunched. He was much given to letting the world know how he would do things differently if he had charge of the crew. Perhaps the amount of rum he had drunk stopped him seeing the trap Long John had laid for him. A sea-lawyer like George would never hold the respect of the crew against their old quartermaster.
“First off, we go for the Squire. Then once we’ve got the map, we’ll ship the treasure and be off to Port O’Spain or somewhere.” George defended himself, looking round to see the effect his stand was having on the men.
Long John sighed. “I see. And I suppose you’ll be the first man rushing into the cabin? Or are you just going to knock on the door and ask for the chart? You’ll have to get it sharpish, you know, or they’ll just pitch it over the side and then where will we be? I’ll tell you. After you’ve lost a deal of good men trying to break the cabin, we’d be left with nothing! That chart’ll be gone, and without it you won’t get a smell of the treasure.
“Don’t you see? They can’t lay a finger on Flint’s gold without a bunch of us standing alongside them. So let them do the finding, and then we’ll jump them, if you must.
“Now come on, lads. Tell George here how much you love him, and we’ll be getting back on board like a lot of good sailor-boys. I suppose we’ll have to let on that Tom is lost in the forest, along with this piece of offal.” He poked at Alan’s body with his crutch. “D--- his gypsy heart. I liked old Tom. Now pull them out of sight and we’ll— By thunder, what’s that?”
The echoes of a cannon shot rolled around us.
The beach to which we had come was out of sight of the ship, no doubt from Long John’s desire to be out of the way of the Captain’s long spy-glass. The shot could only have come from the ship and without a second thought all of us began to run along the beach towards it. Within a hundred yards the sand and the rum had begun to slow us down. Only Long John was thoughtful enough to travel by boat, his crutch being next to useless in the sand. The rest of us struggled through the bushes at the water’s edge, then along another beach to a sandy point where we could see the Hispaniola.
The shot had come from the ship, and we could see Israel and the anchor watch readying the gun for another. We looked around for their target and saw, some way off, the Captain and a small party wading ashore with muskets held over their heads. We watched as they disappeared into the trees behind the beach. By common consent we started to run again, seeking to attack the Captain. We had given no thought to our defenceless state but pushed on through the bushes regardless. Our foolishness met with the results you would expect. There was a volley of shots, and the leaders of our group came crashing back in panic. They left behind one of the new hands shot dead but had, so they said, killed one of the servants with a rock.
“There’s a house there,” said George. “A little house with a thatched roof and a garden and all. Someone lives there.” he added with surprise. At a loss, we took this piece of information back to the beach.
“Well, they’ve smoked us out.” Long John appeared little put-out by the events. “That makes it more difficult. Now you boys be off and get the other gig. I’m going to see Israel and find out what’s been happening. Then we’ll make camp right here where I can see what’s what.”
I was one of the pensive group that made our way down to where poor Tom and Alan lay guarding the gig. We left them where they were beside the burnt out barbecue. Already the hand of Satan lay heavy on our island paradise.
We had lost three men that afternoon and soon found that Israel’s party had lost another, shot by the Squire. It was a very subdued bunch that sat on the sandy point and listened to Long John. “Well, lads, we’ve thrown away a chance. If you’d listened to Long John we’d be walking out after the treasure this very afternoon, you may lay to it. But that’s a tide we’ve missed.
“We’ll set ourselves down here, keep a weather eye out for the Captain, and in the morning I shall go and have a word with him. He must be feeling a deal unhappier than us, for he’s got no ship. I shall see what sort of horse-trader he is.”
The Captain had discovered the cottage in the forest, and there his party had gone to ground. (You will remember this cottage from Dr. Livesey’s book. It had been built by Ben Gunn, the pirate Flint had marooned there.) He had abandoned the ship to us, and perhaps he hoped we would sail on and leave his party in peace. And so we intended—once we had found the treasure.
We sought to forget our dead comrades with the plentiful food and drink we now had from the ship. It may seem strange but our spirits were high and we ran riot with no thought for the morrow.
The sun had already topped the coconut palms when Long John was about, stirring us with the end of his crutch. “Up, you drunken swabs,” he was calling. “Up and see what real English gentlemen will do if you let them.”
Realising something was wrong we followed him to where Salvation Luxton had crawled off into the bushes the night before to sleep off the excess of rum he had taken. Poor Salvation; he had come on to Bristol after selling some horses at Priddy Fair, thinking to have a quick look at the big world before returning t
o his father’s farm. He had signed on after falling in love with the ships he saw. Now his Devon fields would not be seeing him again. As he lay sleeping someone had dropped a huge rock on his head, crushing it like an egg.
It was a sickening sight and my stomach rebelled. Breakfast was a sombre affair of cold meat and biscuit. As we ate, Long John gave his orders.
“First thing, I want to get Salvation underground. And Tom Buckle and the gypsy. Make sure you say some words over them. Then get back here and get yourself a musket and a cutlass each from the ship. Make it quick, for I fancy we shall be using them before long. You’ll have to dive for them for they’ve been dropped out of the cabin window. Make sure you clean those muskets well. I don’t want none of you hurting yourself.” He stirred the embers of the fire with his crutch. “Dick, melad, you’ll take me aboard. I’ve a mind to borrow the Captain’s coat before I go and meet him in his country mansion.” We all started to move, glad to have something to do after the debauch of the previous night and the bloody start to the morning.
In spite of the small piece of board he had pinned to the end of his crutch, it was a struggle for Long John to move around in so much sand. I could see his relief when he reached the hard packed earth of the path we took to Ben Gunn’s cottage. It looked a pretty little place. Ben had built himself a small hut after the native fashion, with walls woven from reeds and a steep roof thatched with palm fronds. A deep shaded verandah ran the length of the front wall. All around grew clean, short grass parted only by a spring that ran from a dip near the cottage. A species of bush with hanging red flowers grew on either side of the doorway, and at random on the grass. In one corner of the yard Ben had planted a vegetable garden growing yams, tapioca and pineapples. To keep out the island pigs and goats, he had built a stout fence of split poles tied with creeper.
At the door of the cottage sat Captain Smollett, and it was he who answered Long John’s call for a parley. I was obliged to wait outside the fence and watch as Long John attempted to barter the lives of the Captain and his supporters for the treasure. Smollett showed himself to be a remarkably hard man and yielded not an inch. Voices were raised and Long John stumped down the path exchanging recriminations as he came.
Where Gold Lies Page 10