Flint and Silver: A Prequel to Treasure Island

Chapter 32

The extent of the treasure was stunning.

For two and a half years they'd fought for it, killed for it, many had died for it — and now it was coming up and out of Walrus's hold and into the daylight. It was a glorious sight: chest after chest, swinging and laden, raised by block and tackle with willing hands hauling to the tune of a shanty.

And now, having got exactly what he wanted, Flint excelled himself in the quality of leadership that he displayed. He was so full of merriment that he didn't need even the smallest flogging to keep him content. He rose in splendour to the occasion, and became — just for once — the officer that he might have been, had Old Nick not tainted his blood with goblin- juice.

So Flint thought the matter through. Flint set aside time. He took a whole day to ponder. And when he was done, even Caesar or Marlborough would have approved his plans — those that he made public at least.

First, since it was necessary, for the present, to keep things sweet among the jolly companions, he invited Silver to join him aboard Walrus so that the officers of both ships might confer. As the heat of the island was unbearable except in the morning hours, this took place at dawn, in the open, on Walrus's quarterdeck, where all hands could hear. A table and chairs had been set out for the occasion, and the table was spread with the skull-and-crossbones and the Book of Articles.

Flint even had the boatswain and his mates pipe Silver aboard, man-o'-war style, which was greeted by cheers from all hands, except Silver himself who was plunged into the depths of an enormous sulk.

The great ones took their seats at the table while the lesser hands crowded forward. Flint was immediately joined by Billy Bones — who edged so close to his master that he was almost in his lap — along with Parson Smith and one or two others. Silver had Israel Hands and Lion's boatswain, Sarney Sawyer.

Once Billy Bones had called for silence and healths had been drunk, Flint turned to business.

"We have a heavy task before us, shipmates," he said, "for this isn't a thing to be done in an idle moment."

"Not at all, if we wasn't block-headed!" said Silver.

"Now, John," said Flint, "be done! All hands have voted for this."

"Aye!" said every other voice, and they glared at Silver.

As far as they were concerned he'd lost and was a bad loser. He sighed. He said not one more word. He sank back in his chair, and ignored them all. He did nothing but constantly and uneasily glance round the ship. He was looking for Selena, but Flint had her locked up below. It was fine sport to see Silver tormented, but there were greater matters to consider now and Flint didn't want Silver's temper ignited with unpredictable results.

With nobody to oppose Flint's plans — which were in any case excellent — the business was rapidly concluded and Silver and his men went back to Lion to many good-humoured smiles and back-slapping from old friends aboard Walrus.

Billy Bones, however, did not go straight back to Lion. A word in his ear from Flint — spotted at once by Silver — informed Billy that he needed to search his old cabin for a lucky gold piece that he'd "lost". Flint declared that Billy might turn the cabin upside down, if he wished, and return to his new captain — he smiled at Silver — later in the day.

And so to the great works. First a landing party made up equally of Lions and Walruses was sent ashore under Sarney Sawyer to set up camp. Tents were raised, stores were unloaded, and tackles were rigged — ten-foot lengths of timber with lines in the middle to sling a load by — so that two men, or four if need be, could share the burden of carrying the goods over rough ground to the burial places.

That took most of the first day, which on the island meant working from dawn till noon, then stopping for three hours while the sun did its worst, and then working another three or four hours, depending on how well things were going. Flint had planned for a working day of just seven hours, which was a wise and sensible allowance given the sweltering humidity of the southern anchorage.

On the second day, Walrus's hatches were opened and three teams put to work: one under Billy Bones, who had a dozen men as stevedores to hoist the goods out of the hold; a second under Parson Smith, who had six men and Walrus's twenty- five-foot cutter; and a third under Israel Hands, who led a party of four men in Lion's fifteen-foot jolly-boat — these being the biggest boats belonging to each ship.

Flint's plan called for the cutter to be loaded — she would take up to forty hundredweight — and then her crew would pull for shore while the jolly-boat was being loaded with her twenty-five hundredweight. He allowed an hour for each boat to be loaded by Billy Bones's men, another hour for Sarney Sawyer's shore party to unload them, and a thirty-minute pull each way between Walrus and the shore.

In theory, this would deliver two complete boatloads every three and a half hours. In practice, with the heavy current that swept the anchorage, and the debilitating effect of the climate on men not used to such work, it was found that a mere three boat-loads could be got ashore each morning, and two in the afternoon. So in the end it took four days of heavy work to empty Walrus's hold and get the goods ashore. The final load — greeted with cheers from both ships and the shore party — grounded two hours after dawn on the fourth day, since the mortally tired teams had failed to get it ashore before sundown the previous day.

In celebration, Flint ordered all hands ashore. The boats were heaving with merry crews, as one hundred and forty- seven men, and six boys were brought ashore, leaving only Selena still locked in Flint's cabin, by Flint's orders.

Laid out in neat rows, just to one side of Sarney Sawyer's camp and under the lines of bending green palms, where they took advantage of a bit of shade, the goods stood finally revealed like a regiment on parade.

There were seventy-one chests of gold coin;

There were one hundred and sixty-five chests of silver coin;

There were four hundred and forty-six bars of silver.

Men gaped and stared. They pushed back their hats. They scratched their chins. They goggled and blinked and wondered. A dull murmuring rose from the mass of men, clinking and glittering in their finery — for they'd come ashore in their best rig for the occasion. Fearful concentration was on most faces as they bent to the inevitable question.

Stood together in their long blue coats, their leaders were at the same game. Even Flint's parrot seemed to be calculating.

"Bugger me!" said Billy Bones. "What's it all worth, Cap'n?"

"A very great deal, Mr Bones," said Flint, and turned to Parson Smith. "Mr Smith, have you made the calculations I asked of you?"

"Ah," said Smith, "ahem!" And he studied his sheaf of papers. He'd laboured long and hard over these calculations, and now was his moment of fame. "Captain," he said, "I have made efforts to weigh the cargo…" He pointed to a neat mechanism of spars and ironwork, improvised by the ever-adaptable skills of seamen. Silence fell as the hands realised the subject of which he spoke and gave themselves up to intense concentration.

"We have built a balance, using six-pounder shot as weights, and I have weighed each chest and box with the help of Mr Sawyer's men, whom I commend to you for their efforts."

"Well done, Mr Sawyer," said Flint.

"Aye-aye, Cap'n," said Sawyer.

"Indeed," said Parson, gravely, "and here is my tally…" He fumbled with his papers. "Of gold coin we have a total of ninety-six hundredweights. Of silver coin we have a total of two hundred and twenty hundredweights, and of silver bars we have approximately two hundred and nineteen hundredweights."

He paused and looked around his audience, swelling with importance.

"As you will appreciate, where the chests and boxes are concerned, those weights are inclusive of the containers themselves, though these will be but a small proportion of the total. You will also appreciate that all weights are approximate, given that our standard of measurement was no more than common roundshot."

"Aye," they murmured, still deeply in the dark.

"So give us a sum, Mr Smith," said Flint. "A sum in English pounds, however approximate."

"AYE!" they cried.

Here Parson faltered. He gulped and sweated. He polished his spectacles on a shirt-cuff. He fumbled among his papers.

"The problem is, Captain, the nature of the goods. Considering first the gold coin…"

"Ahhh," said the audience, eagerly.

"Taking that example," he said, pointing to one particularly large chest — obviously oriental, with foliate brass hinges and beautiful orange lacquer-work. "I have opened that, and found it to contain the coinage of half the world. There are Georges and Louis d'ors, doubloons and moidores, and the faces of every king of Europe these past hundred years. Each has a different degree of fineness — which is to say content of gold — and may not be compared simply by weight. Thus each — "

"No doubt," said Flint, not pleased. "What about the silver coin? That's Spanish dollars. Give us your tally of them!" "AYE!"

"Ah! Ah!" said Parson. "There, too, we come to grief, for the dollar has different values in different places. In England it passes at about five shillings, in Massachusetts at six shillings, in Pennsylvania at seven shillings, and in New York at eight or nine. It depends heavily upon the availability of silver in the place concerned. There is a great crying up of the silver dollar, sir, throughout the colonies."

A nasty growl came from the hands. Flint frowned. Billy Bones and Flint's parrot — attentive to their master's mood — blinked and shuffled, the one reaching for his cutlass, and the other moaning in anticipation. They didn't quite look at one another and share the moment, but it was damned close.

"Am I to understand, Mr Smith," said Flint, "that you cannot make even a guess?"

"No, sir," said Parson. "But the calculations, sir, they are… sir, most complex… sir…" Parson licked his lips, he looked into the depth of his papers. He found no answer there, and he began to tremble.

"Bloody Parson!" cried a voice from the deep of the crowd.

"He's thievin' it, that's what!" said another.

"Soddin' lubber!"

"How much have you stole, you bugger?"

"How much have we got left?"

"Avast!" cried Silver, stirring out of his sulk. "Belay that!" He stumped forward from where he'd been standing, a little separate from the other blue coats. He pulled off his hat in irritation. He wiped his brow and clapped on the hat again.

"Why, John!" said Flint, with a sarcastic smile, "Are you joining us, at last?"

"Maybe I am, maybe I ain't," said Silver and jabbed a finger at Parson Smith. "But shiver my timbers if I'll stand idle while this bum-sucking lubber pisses in our grog!"

"Go on, Long John!" said Israel Hands.

"Long John!" cried the mob.

"Now see here," said Silver, "this is a case for good round figures. First the gold coin…" He looked at Smith. "You say we've got ninety-six hundredweight of coin?" Smith nodded. "So," said Silver, "bugger your 'degrees of fineness' — let's say it was all in English guineas. That ain't precious accurate, but it's good enough. It's all bloody gold at the end of the day."

"Aye!" said the hands.

"Well," said Silver, "a hundred pounds' value, in English guineas, weighs roughly thirty ounces of weight, and there are roughly eighteen hundred ounces in a hundredweight…" he paused and looked round his audience "… as any gentleman of fortune knows."

They grinned guiltily, like schoolboys caught out not knowing their lessons.

"So," said Silver, "thirty goes sixty times into eighteen hundred, so a hundredweight of guineas is worth sixty times a hundred pounds, which is six thousand pounds. And since we've got near enough a hundred hundredweights of it, that means we've got — in gold coin — close on… six hundred thousand pounds."

There was a deep gasp.

"As for the dollars," said Silver, "each dollar weighs an ounce, and there's eighteen hundred of them to the hundredweight too. We've got two hundred and twenty hundredweights…" he frowned and closed his eyes an instant "… which makes three hundred and ninety-six thousand ounces. If we takes even the lowest value for dollars — the value in London, which is four to the pound — that's still close on… one hundred thousand pounds."

Another gasp and he turned finally to the stacked bars of silver.

"And it's near as damnit the same for them too! About two hundred hundredweights of silver, or… another hundred thousand pounds."

Now they were awestruck and helpless before such colossal sums of money, and all of it in precious metal.

"Aye, shipmates," said Silver, "I'll leave you to work out your shares, for I'm done and buggered, and I've said enough. But the grand total must be at least… eight hundred thousand pounds.'"

He was right about the arithmetic. He was wrong about saying too little. He hadn't said nearly enough. Not by a long way. The men were brimming with respect for him. They were as grateful as if he, personally, had conjured the money out of the air for them. If he'd seized the moment, he'd have won them back and dumped Flint's burial plan into the bog-house pit where it belonged. But he said nothing. He was still grieving over the loss of Selena and cursing himself for losing the previous debate.

So Flint seized the moment. He'd read the men's mood precisely and suffered a fearful stab of fright. But he bounced back fast and went among the men, laughing and joking, and calling them by name, telling them what wealth they'd enjoy, calling for food and drink, and proclaiming a rest day… And since, as ever, Flint was irresistibly charming whenever he chose to be, they hoisted him shoulder high and carried him round the camp, cheering and waving, with Billy Bones following behind, lost in joy at the triumph of the moment.

Silver gave up completely after that, and proceeded to get heavily drunk when the rum went round. Flint smiled happily and pressed on with the rest of his plan.

"Now, shipmates," he said, gathering them together, "here's how we shall continue. First we shall carry the goods off the beach, to an approximation of their three separate resting places: one for the gold, one for the dollars, one for the bar silver. That is a task which shall need all hands, in three crews. Then we shall draw lots for a final crew of just six men, which shall complete the burying in the final, secret places."

"Aye!" they said, nodding wisely — all except Silver, who was sitting on a barrel all by himself, emptying a mug.

"All hands but the lucky six and myself," said Flint, "shall then return to the ships and watch for my signal there — " he pointed to a big spar, raised up as a flag post by Sarney Sawyer's men, with a black flag waiting to be run up to the truck.

"All shall watch for the signal. And until it goes up, none shall interfere with the works ashore. Is that agreed?"

"Aye!"

"And is that sworn upon our articles? Sworn as free companions and gentlemen of fortune?"

"Aye!"

Flint congratulated himself. He smirked and tickled the parrot. He was so proud of himself. He'd won it all. He'd mastered John Silver, and done it with Silver's own jolly companions' lore. In the joy of the moment, Flint was moved to add a few more words which were not John Silver's lore but his own. This was entirely unnecessary, and a considerable mistake.

"Thus Lion shall guard Walrus," he said, "and Walrus shall guard Lion, and either shall fire into the other, should a landing party be seen going over the side."

"Aye," they said, and looked at one another, and were reminded — from that moment on — that they were not one crew of jolly companions, but two crews of rivals.