Pieces Of Eight js-2

by John Drake

  "No!" said the bird. "No! No! No!"

  "Hear that?" said Silver. "Marvellous creature. Understands every word!"

  "John?" said Israel Hands. "What we goin' to do?"

  "Get the men together, Mr Gunner," said Silver. "There might be something we can do — if we're quick about it. It all depends on what them blasted Indians do, now King George's men are here!"

  That night when it was properly dark, and the men of the naval squadron were noisily at dinner, Silver led the twenty- seven survivors of his crew — the last of the Lions — over the southward walls of the fort. But he did something else first. He led the men to where Billy Bones was made fast in his barrel-hoop leg irons, to a post driven deep into the ground inside the fort's central redoubt.

  Clunk! Israel Hands struck off the irons, while Billy Bones looked on in fear and wonderment, not daring to face Silver and shaking with fright.

  "Now then, Billy-boy," said Silver, "on your feet!" Billy Bones rubbed his ankles, and struggled up, swaying and wobbling on unsteady legs, for he'd been anchored in his present berth a long time. He looked around, and saw that all hands were gathered in the darkness behind John Silver, and in that moment he knew his time was come. Billy Bones heaved a sigh and tried to be brave. He was no coward. He'd led boarding parties across blood-soaked decks and faced the wrath of the sea.

  But he'd been too long sitting on his backside waiting for this moment. And he didn't share Long John's views on hanging, for he'd spent many an hour imagining what it was like to have a noose under your chin, and what it might feel like when they hoist you up and you began to choke. He'd wondered what was best: should you take a deep breath… or should you breathe out hard, just before the rope crushed your windpipe? Which one would end it quickest? For he'd seen men kick when they was hanged, and some of them had lasted a hard, long time.

  So his knees shook and his voice quavered as he spoke, which had never happened before. Not to Billy Bones. Not in all his life.

  "Cap'n Silver;" he said, "I askes a favour."

  "What favour?" said Silver, who'd not yet said a word.

  "Shoot me! Do it quick. Don't let it be the rope."

  "Stow it, Billy!" said Silver. "There's no hanging for you tonight."

  "No?"

  "No!"

  Billy Bones trembled all the more. He snivelled and slobbered and shook. The relief was almost worse than the fright.

  "Brace up, Mr Bones," said Silver, "I'm come to give you your orders…" But Bones just gazed at the ground, not knowing what to say or to do. So Silver continued. "Listen!" he said, "I can't trust you, Mr Bones, for we've tried that and it failed."

  "Aye!" said the men.

  "I'm off on my travels, Mr Bones. I'll be gone directly and I shan't tell you where I'm going, except to say that these lads here — the which are my jolly companions — why, they're coming with me… and you ain't!"

  Again, Billy Bones jumped in fright.

  "But I'll not leave you for the savages," said Silver, "nor for the king's men neither. I'll grant you that for good times past and kind old memories. So, you'll find your sea-chest in the big tent there — " he pointed. "And some arms, and powder and shot. D'you understand me, Mr Bones?"

  "Aye," said Billy Bones feebly.

  "Good," said Silver. "'Cos I have a thing to give you, Mr Bones. And here it is — "

  Silver stretched out his left hand, and took Billy Bone's right hand and brought it up, and dropped something into the palm, from his own right hand.

  Billy Bones gasped.

  "The black spot!" he said.

  "That it is," said Silver. "Read it, Mr Bones, for you're a scholar."

  Billy Bones looked at the small paper disc. He raised it up for what little light there was from the moon and stars. He turned the blackened side over and read the single word written on the other side.

  "Expelled," he said.

  "Aye," said Silver. "For myself, I don't never want to see you again, Mr Bones, but I puts it to all hands — " he turned to them "- I puts it, according to articles, that Brother Bones be expelled from our company on pain of death. What say you, brothers?"

  "All show for expelling Brother Bones!" said Israel Hands.

  "Aye!" they said in a single growl, and every hand was raised.

  "All show for keepin' Brother Bones!" said Israel Hands.

  Silence. No man moved.

  "Then Mr William Bones is no longer a brother," said Israel Hands. "He is cast out, and shall suffer death at our hands, if ever our paths shall cross, from this day onward!"

  "Aye!" they said.

  And Billy Bones hung his head and wept.

  With that, Long John led his men out of the fort. It was very dark. There was still plenty of noise from the squadron, but they were moored at the westward end of the anchorage, and Fort Silver was to the east, and it was further eastward still that Silver went, and all hands as silent as could be, moving together in a bunch for protection against the Indians, should they strike.

  It was fearful work at first, with every man expecting an attack, or a shot from out of the dark, or the bird calls that they'd learned weren't bird calls at all but the savages talking to one another. There was none of that.

  "Where are the bastards?" hissed Israel Hands.

  "Not here — that's all I care!" said Long John. "And shut up!"

  Silver wanted no talking. He wanted silence, as the dark block of men shuffled down on to the beach and struck out towards the long spit of land surrounded by sandbanks that closed the eastern end of the anchorage to ships. To ships but not to boats, and Lion's two boats — the launch and the jolly- boat — had long since been hidden at this end of the bay, as far as possible away from Flint, should he have chosen to come into the southern anchorage. Well, it weren't Flint they were afraid of tonight, but the same facts applied: the squadron was at one end of the anchorage, and the boats nicely at the other!

  There was only the Indians to worry about, and it was Silver's guess that there never had been very many of them around the fort: just enough to keep them under fire should they get the chance, and enough to summon reinforcements, should anyone try to break out in force — like now. It was an unpleasant thought. Silver hopped and swayed along, conscious at every step that he stood head and shoulders above any man present and would likely be the first target for the blasted Indians if they were making ready to fire.

  So they scuttled across the sands, splashed through the shallows on occasions, and headed for the looming dark of the land spit. The hands cheered up wonderfully as bushes and trees reared up out of the dark, offering cover and a place to hide, and nearly all of them were into the safe darkness and off the beach when finally the Indians struck.

  Four dark figures came tall and leaping out of the undergrowth where they'd been waiting, and fell on the three hindmost of Silver's men. They made no sound. They moved fast. They struck from the side.

  Thunk! Thunk! Two seamen went down, stone dead with hatchets in their skulls. The third man — the hindmost — was Mr Joe, who'd been ordered to follow up the formation to chase stragglers. He never saw where the Patanq came from, but he saw his comrades go down and his cane-cutter was out in a flash, and swinging at the demon coming in from his right.

  Chunk! The heavy blade curved up and through the down- swinging tomahawk, sliced an arm off just above the elbow and Mr Joe spun like a top, carrying round his stroke and found himself facing another Patanq charging with knife and hatchet, whom he killed with instant unthinking speed and a tremendous down-slash that landed just to the right of the Indian's neck and buried the blade a hand's breadth into the chest, slicing lungs, pipes and blood vessels and dropping his man beside the two tomahawked seamen.

  And then they were gone. He didn't even hear them run. He didn't even see where they went. They just fled into the bushes. If it weren't for three dead men and half an arm laid out on the ground, he'd never have known they'd been there. But Silver was hopping back with a pisto
l in his fist and the rest behind him.

  "Where are they? What happened?"

  Shhhhk! Mr Joe hauled his cutlass, two-handed, out of the dead Patanq's chest. He was sweating, his heart was pounding and his head was thick.

  "Don't know, Cap'n," he said. "They's gone, that's all."

  "God damn and blast 'em," said Silver, looking at his two dead.

  "It was a sneak attack," said Israel Hands. "They ain't minded to face us all."

  "Aye," said Silver, "which means they ain't out in strength, and the sooner we're gone from here the better. Come on, all of you! And some of you take the firelocks off them poor brothers what's dead. No use letting the savages have 'em!"

  Quickly they found the boats, they dragged them to the eastward of the landspit, they launched them, muffled the rowlocks with rags, and pulled away into the darkness: Long John Silver and twenty-five men, on the cool black sea.

  And the parrot, too, this time. She squawked and flapped, until Long John spoke to her.

  "None o' that you silly sea-cow! There ain't no way but this way. Will you not be quiet and sit still?" He made a bit of a fuss of her, and put down his hat as a nest for her to curl up in, and finally she accepted her fate.

  "See?" he said. "Clever bird, that!"

  Meanwhile they pulled steadily out into deep water, clear of the rocks and sandbanks that fringed the island. Once safely out, and heaving on the big waves, with the island on their larboard beam, they rigged sail on the launch and took the jolly-boat in tow. It was slow progress, but better than rowing. That would have left all hands tired at the end of a long, hard pull… and they were going to need their strength.

  Twenty-five men and a boy was a heavy load for the launch and the jolly-boat, and they were bailing non-stop, from start to finish of a journey which was a fearful risk, in so small a craft in the dead of night, on a perilous coastline — a voyage which had been risked only because the alternative was certain death of every man aboard.

  But with Long John at the tiller of the launch, they came safe and sound past the shoals and the rocks and the sandbanks, and the powerful currents that swept the eastern side of the island. And finally, just before sunrise, Silver gave the order to strike the sails and mast, and the two boats lay side by side, heaving and rolling in the heavy swell. For the massive, southerly headland of the northern inlet was visible now, even in darkness, and it was time to take to the oars for the final, careful pull that would take them into the inlet. Though nearly a mile wide at its mouth, the many rocks and shallows made the inlet so treacherous that even small boats dared not risk entering until daylight.

  "Now then, Sammy lad," said Silver to Sam Hayden, ship's boy, who was in charge of their store of victuals. "A fair tot of rum to all hands, to warm their bones, and a bite of food, while we've time."

  "Sending the hands to breakfast, Cap'n?" said Israel Hands.

  "Aye, Mr Gunner, they'll fight all the better for that!"

  Sammy Hayden filled the men's mugs to be passed from hand to hand, and from boat to boat, in the clammy wet darkness, followed by some cold ship's biscuit that'd been softened, days before, by a good, long immersion in the fat and juices of their last hot meal. The biscuit was still tough, and it was coated in gobs of cold grease, but nobody complained and there was none left when they'd finished chewing. Like ail seamen, they were never short of appetite and they scraped their plates of whatever was offered.

  Long John looked at the dark, huddled figures. There were men here that he'd trust with his life: old shipmates like Israel Hands, Black Dog and even Blind Pew — mad sod that he was. And there were newer hands like Mr Joe, who was a likely lad too. As for the rest, there were some good lads among 'em, and there were some who'd slit their granny for the price of her drawers. But there wasn't one who wouldn't fight. And that was good.

  "Drop more rum for all hands, Cap'n?" said Sammy Hayden, dim in the darkness, with a pannikin in his hand. Silver couldn't see the boy's face; he was just a smaller figure than the rest, greys and blacks and shadows, nothing more. Silver thought of Ratty Richards and hovered on the edge of misery, which wouldn't do at such a time as this.

  "No, lad," said Silver, "just enough to warm 'em up — and they've already had that!" He patted the boy on the shoulder. "You put that back in the cask. We'll have it later, once we've done."

  "Aye-aye, Cap'n!" he said, and Silver saw his teeth gleam in the dark… which wasn't so dark. The sun was coming up.

  "Now then, lads," said Silver. "Just once more, so all hands shall know, tell me your duties, one by one as I asks." He turned first to Israel Hands: "Mr Gunner?" And Israel Hands rattled off his duties as did the other chosen ones.

  "Well and good!" said Silver. "Stand by oars, and not another word to be spoken now. And the jolly-boat to take station in line astern of the admiral, which is myself!"

  They laughed at the small joke.

  "Give way!" said Long John, and they pulled slowly as the dawn glow came up on their starboard beam… to reveal a rolling white bank of fog inside the inlet.

  "Belay oars!" said Long John, and peered into the mist. He'd planned a dawn attack, but he'd not thought there'd be fog.

  "What do we do, John?" said Israel Hands. "We can't be caught out here!"

  "No," said Silver. "We goes in slow and careful, that's what we do. Give way, but handsomely now."

  It was a long, slow pull, which meant that there was enough work to keep the blood pumping, but not so much as to make the men tired. It was nearly an hour before Silver could see anything more than the looming headlands, and the high, fjord-like sides of the inlet, but that was enough — by guess and by God — to keep the launch and jolly-boat in the safe channel down the middle until such time as the masts of ships could be seen, standing out of the fog.

  And… Ah! That one was Walrus. There was at least one other ship moored in the inlet, but Walrus was the one they wanted. Most of them knew Walrus, and that would help.

  In uttermost silence they pulled just hard enough for steerage way. Now was the most dangerous time. They were utterly vulnerable to a blast of grape, or even to shot heaved over a ship's high sides to plunge through the bottom of the boats and drown them in the cold, misty waters, or simply to bash their brains out with a torrent of plunging iron. And if even that didn't work, then twenty-six hands — including a one- legged man and Blind Pew — would have to clamber aboard a ship fully alerted, with hands standing by to repel boarders by the simple expedient of pushing pike-heads into them as they came over the rail.

  Silver peered into the mist. Twenty-four fit men wasn't nowhere near enough for the job, not if there was a watch kept aboard Walrus, and not with the sun coming up and driving off the mist… which even that very instant began to clear most wonderfully in the anchorage, with the shore lines appearing, and tents and beached boats, and a man aiming his morning piss into the little waves of the shore, and idly staring… and spotting the intruders… and shouting with his dick in his hand.

  "Give way, you buggers!" cried Long John. "It's hot shot and cold steel now, my boys!"

  Chapter 35

  Dawn, 26th February 1753

  The Patanq camp

  By the abandoned Fort Hands

  Flint roused himself, sick from the rum he'd drunk last night. He hated being drunk and seldom ever was, but the Patanq had insisted, and they were in so ugly a mood that he couldn't say no. As usual, they had ended up rolling, roaring drunk and would probably be unconscious for hours yet.

  He stood up, dusted and tidied himself as best he could, swilled his mouth with water from his canteen, and spat on the ground. He looked round the Indian encampment: no tents, just canvas thrown over bent saplings to make little round huts, all neat and tidy. He looked further… Ah, yes! Their sentries were out on the high ground, with their guns cuddled in their arms and their blankets over their shoulders against the cold morning. Presumably they'd been denied their go at the rum last night. Cut-Feather was sharp enough for
that.

  Flint's men — and he'd wisely brought plenty of them, bristling with firelocks — were asleep on the ground under their own blankets, and Flint shivered inside his long, full-skirted coat, that most times was too hot to…

  "Sun-Face," said Dreamer, and again Flint jumped at the shock of being taken unawares. He spun round. Ah! There he was, the wrinkled little troll! There he was, with his blanket and his black eyes and his stone face, and his tattoos and nose ring. He was close enough to touch. Flint shook his head… how did they do it? Where had he come from? Was it the bare feet? Probably. Hmm… Dreamer was alone…

  "Dreamer!" said Flint. "Where are Cut-Feather and the rest?"

  "Where are your own men?" said Dreamer.

  Flint's eyes darted round the camp. Other than the sentries, everyone else was asleep, tucked up tight by the rum. And just as well. It'd been close last night. Another interminable council, sat cross legged on hard ground with a ceremonial fire in the middle and the Patanq in ceremonial face-paint, and ceremonial feathers… and ceremonial farts, for all Flint cared.

  Sometimes, rum caused fights, but last night it was only the rum, and the quantities sunk by the Patanq, that had prevented one.

  "We must talk, you and I," said Dreamer.

  "Must we?"

  "The matter is not settled. This war has gone badly. Men will die today."

  Flint sighed. Here it came again. The blasted savages whinging, and moaning their losses, and not getting on with the job.

  "Dreamer," he said.

  "No. That is not my name."

  "What?"

  "Listen to me, Sun-Face-Flint. You, who are the evil twin."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "We, the People, are not of the Iroquois, for that is a foolish and mistaken name invented by the French…"

  Flint clenched his hands. He groaned. Another dose of

  Patanq oratory was about to be shovelled down his throat. He would have preferred castor oil.

  "We are of the Haudenosaunee," said the fierce little man, "the People of the Long House. And we are not Patanq, which is another foolish name invented by white men. We are the Pah-Tah-Tana-Quay, which means 'those who dig to live'. For we were first to grow the maize, the squashes and the beans, and which we name the Three Sisters."