Flint and Silver: A Prequel to Treasure Island

Chapter 34

Flint was deeply happy. The goods were buried and only he knew where.

Well, the lucky six had an approximate knowledge of the burial sites — he looked at their ugly faces as they sat patiently in the sand, awaiting his orders. They were illiterate clods. Even if he'd given them his notebook with its careful bearings and measurements, they couldn't have used it. Nonetheless, they'd remember trees and rocks and other landmarks, bless their hearts. But that didn't matter. Not at all. Not as far as Joe Flint was concerned, because here on the island he was unchained from any limitations on his ability to deal with these unfortunates.

More precisely — did he but know it — here on the island he'd been joined by his old friend Temptation, who'd returned chuckling and merry, and just bursting with new ideas. Always previously Flint had been constrained by higher powers: King George's law, John Silver's articles, even the stolid conservatism of Billy Bones. But not here! Here he was alone with the lucky six, and boundless opportunity.

He fondled the shifting, muttering parrot that swayed and fidgeted and rubbed itself against his head, and he looked towards Lion and Walrus, moored out in the smooth waters of the southern anchorage. They were both still visible in the tropical dusk, though a tired red sun was touching the horizon in the west.

Now then, my jolly boys… thought Flint, studying the ships, are you awake and lively to your duties, there on board?

Clang! said Walrus, the bell sounding clearly across the water.

"Ah!" said Flint.

Clang! said Lion after a pause, for no two ships kept quite the same time.

One bell of the first watch, thought Flint, time for sunset, and he turned to those who considered themselves so fortunate to be ashore with him, and he smiled with gleaming teeth as the sun surrendered to the darkness and delivered up the island unto the terrors of the night.

"Build a fire, my hearties," he cried. "Build her big, for it's time to feast. Biscuit and pork, sauerkraut and salt herring!"

"And rum, Cap'n?" they said.

"Aye, lads!" said Flint, and playfully pulled the nose of the nearest man. "Grog for all hands, like the good fellows you are." They cheered wildly and set to, running about like schoolboys on holiday.

"Aren't they just the roaring boys, though?" he said confidentially to the bird. Two were Silver's men: Rob Taylor, and James Cameron. The rest were his: Franky Skillit, Henry Howard, Peter Evans, and Iain Fraser. Six men: the lucky six, as the rest had believed when lots were drawn. Flint positively wriggled with glee at the thought of that, and of the downcast, miserable faces of all those whose luck had failed them, keeping them out of the burial party.

The burial party, thought Flint. God damn and gut me! That's what they called it. Their own precious words! He marvelled at the eternal truth that no wit is sharper than that of actuality.

So he watched contentedly as they built a huge bonfire, far too big for their needs, and he watched as they skewered chunks of salt pork and fish, and stove in the head of a cask of sauerkraut. He looked around the little camp they'd set out on the beach, all calm and snug and quiet… and inky-black dark without even the moon for company. But the jolly red faces beamed in the firelight and the men jostled one another for the best places to roast their meat, and the rum pannikin went round. Flint laughed, and raised his voice.

"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest!" he sang.

"Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum…" they replied.

"Go it, you bold dogs," cried Flint, and they took up the song.

Flint took a cut of pork, offered by one of the half-drunk men, bit into it and swallowed and choked himself laughing at the thought that — at the great council — all hands, led by Blind Pew, had solemnly voted that the only man they would trust in the secret burial of the goods was… Cap'n Flint. He'd not even had to argue the point! Flint chewed the succulent pork and the juices ran down his chin, and his shoulders heaved in silent laughter. He was enjoying himself enormously, and the best was yet to come.

When he'd done with the meat, and wiped the tears from his eyes, Flint sat beside the fire in the sand and took a modest sip from the rum, and became the jolliest companion any of the rest had ever known. He laughed along with them and told them what fine fellows they were, and how they'd drive in their carriages in England, with a tart on either arm, to take their seats in the House of Lords.

"Three cheers for Cap'n Flint!" cried Iain Fraser, and they gave three cheers that set the hills echoing.

"Thank you, lads," said Flint, and stretched his limbs and stood up by the fireside in the velvet night with the insects twittering loudly and the dull rumble of the breakers ceaselessly pounding the westward rocks and cliffs. "But there's no cause for cheers," he said, and smiled indulgently as the fools cheered and cheered again.

"God save the Cap'n!" cried Rob Taylor, who was a small man and whose curse it was that whenever he drank round for round with his mates, he got drunk first, for there weren't many places in his small body for the drink to go to, other than his head.

"Thank you, Rob," said Flint, and almost lost control of the mood of solemnity he was now trying to create. The trouble was that the look of spaniel-eyed worship on little Taylor's face was almost beyond bearing. And look at the rest of them! How easy it had been to win their affection with a few days ashore and their bellies full of food and drink.

"Ah-hum!" said Flint, clearing his throat and striking a more serious pose. "Lads," he said, "on the morrow, with all the digging done, and our spades and picks laid aside, we begin the final task of taking precise bearings." It was nonsense, of course, for all necessary bearings were already in his notebook. Damn it! He had to cough hard to disguise the unstoppable snigger at their solemn faces.

"So sleep well, like the good fellows you are," he said, grinding his fingernails into his palms so that the pain would kill the laughter. "And don't be afeared of anything in the night, for we shall set a guard as before… even though I doubt there's much to worry about, these days," and he peered out thoughtfully into the night.

His words set the mood. His manner sent signals to the others, and they too squinted out into the dark, though they knew not what for, since none of them had ever been on the island before.

"I know this place, lads," said Flint. "I was here years ago. It offers a safe anchorage, with good water to fill the butts, and a fine stand of timber for spars and planking, and with goats for fresh meat besides…" he paused and looked into the eyes of each man in turn. "But every night or so, we'd lose a man…"

Flint had himself well in hand now, and he was playing them like a flute.

"We never did find the cause," said Flint, "though we posted guards, and double guards, and doubled them again." Flint shuddered as if some evil thing had walked past in the dark. "All we did know, lads, was that it wasn't just men. Not savages even… but something worse." He waved a hand towards the dark woods. "Some said it was hairy apes that hid in the depths of the forest and only came out at night. Others said they'd seen… things…"

There was dead silence now from his little audience. Meat and drink were laid aside and they gaped at him open-mouthed with terror and wished themselves safe aboard ship. In their own element, with their mates around them, facing dangers they understood, they were brave men; but not here, not against the unknown and the occult. Especially the latter.

"Being as it was a king's ship," continued Flint, "we had marines to do the soldiering for us, and they were our guards. One night a whole company of them gave a volley out into the dark, all together at ten paces, when a dark shape was seen creeping towards our camp. But not a hair or a drop of blood did we find in the morning. After that, why, some of the men went looking for silver to cast into bullets."

"What for?" said Taylor nervously. "Why'd they do that?"

"Why, Rob," said Flint, "I'd have thought you'd have known. 'Tis a proven fact that a silver bullet will kill where a lead bullet will not… where creatures of the night are concerned… things that are unholy, if you take my meaning."

They did take his meaning. They took it into their bones, and their teeth fairly chattered in fright. But Flint merely shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "That's the long and short of it, lads, so let's be merry again and empty the bowl, and eat hearty. For who knows what the morrow will bring?" He smiled his great smile again, and sat down and helped himself to more food. He ate hearty, just as he'd bid the others to do. He did, but they did not.

"Cap'n," said Howard.

"Aye?"

"How was it done?"

"How was what done, Henry?"

"Them as was killed…"

"Stow it, Henry!" said Fraser. "No call to talk about that."

"Aye," said Taylor and Evans.

"Various ways," said Flint, shaking his head mournfully. "But strangulation mainly."

"And?" said Howard, unable to leave the thing alone.

"Oh, bless you, Henry," said Flint, with every appearance of kindly concern, "I'm not sure you'd really want to know. But nasty ways, and silent ways." He appeared to notice for the first time that none of the others were eating or drinking.

"Why, lads," said he, "is none of you hungry? There's work to be done on the morrow. Eat hearty! Drink deep!"

But the merry mood was gone and a dread and fear of the powers of darkness had fallen on the wretched six. Seafaring men have been superstitious since time began, and more susceptible than most to tales of supernatural horrors. After all, they were innocent of education, they lived rough and dangerous lives, they were constantly at risk of death from the anger of the sea, and added to that they really did see things beyond the ken of landsmen. So even at the best of times they believed in mermaids and sea-serpents, ghosts and spirits and the lost souls of drowned mariners calling to them out of the bodies of sea gulls. And that was safe at their own mess tables with the grog going round.

Flint saw the terror in their eyes and, yet again, he nearly spoiled it by laughing. But he kept a straight face as they huddled together and drew their weapons and fumbled with them. Howard spilt the priming of his pistols by checking it, and then could barely reload because of his trembling fingers.

Evans cut his thumb trying the edge of his knife, and Fraser and Taylor put an arm around each other, seeking comfort, while Skillit chewed his thumb and whimpered like a child.

"Howard'll take the first watch," said Flint. "Two turns of the half-hour glass, Henry." And he pointed towards where their boat lay, out in the darkness fifty yards away and invisible in the deep black gloom. "You'll find the glass in the boat, Henry, so up-anchor and fetch it, like the good fellow you are!"

Howard swallowed and stared into the dark, imagining what might be out there, waiting to snatch him away with its claws, the instant he set foot outside the firelight.

"At the double now, Henry!" said Flint firmly. "There's nothing there, lad. Not that I can see… though you're a younger man than me and may have sharper eyes."

Howard gave a moan and stared between his knees at the sand, and never moved. Neither did Evans, when he was told, nor Fraser nor Taylor, nor Skillit nor Cameron either, and all the threats and cajoling of their captain could not make them go. They sat in stark terror, biting their lower lips and looking away when spoken to. Flint cursed them thoroughly, then got up himself.

"Why, you cowardly lubbers," he said. "Will you make me go myself? Damn you for a set of yellow-bellied codfish!" He shook his head sadly. "I'd wager a thousand pounds there's nothing out there just now, for it was always in the small hours before dawn that they used to come, whatever they were, so I shouldn't wonder if we aren't safe for hours yet."

So he grumbled and sighed and finally strode off, to a sudden and pathetic chorus:

"Don't go, Cap'n!"

"Please, Cap'n!"

"Don't let them buggers come!"

"Don't leave us alone…"

"Bah!" he said, and ignored them, and vanished into the dark, leaving only the sound of his trudging feet behind him.

Soon even that stopped, and then the night was silent. The six men strained their eyes to see where Flint had gone. They saw nothing. They heard nothing. Seconds stretched into long minutes.

"Where's he gone?" said Taylor.

"He could've been there and back ten times by now," said Howard.

"P'raps he's lost his way?" said Fraser.

"P'raps something's got hold of… got him… got hold… got…"

Evans couldn't bring himself to say it: not fully, not quite, for fear that the saying of it would somehow conjure up the things he feared.

"Shut your trap!" said Skillit. "There ain't nothing wrong. Cap'n's missed his way, that's all. I'll give a holler." He drew breath and let go with a mast-head bellow:

"AHOY THERE! FLINT, AHOY!"

Silence. Nothing answered. Only the insects and the booming surf. But then…

"What's that?" said Taylor suddenly.

"What?" said Howard.

"There!" said Taylor. He pointed a trembling finger.

"I can't hear nothing," said Cameron.

"Nor can't I," said Evans.

"Nor…" began Fraser, then, "Gawdamighty!" he said. "I hear it!" He heard it all right, for coming towards them was a heavy, shuffling, dragging sound and harsh, slow breathing as if of some beast. It was faint and some way off, but it was distinct, and every man of them could hear it.

"Who knows a prayer?" said Taylor, who'd had a church- going mother.

"Fuck that!" said Howard. "Pistols, boys!"

There was a feverish trembling and drawing and clicking of firelocks being made ready. But the noise stopped, almost as if the thing had heard them, and for several agonising minutes the six men stretched out their arms, a heavy sea-service pistol in each fist, aiming at the place where they thought the sound had come from. And then there came a low moan from another direction entirely, a ghastly sound like a creature in the extremity of pain. They spun round and aimed afresh. But the sound ceased abruptly… only to come back from another place.

"Beach and bugger me!" said Taylor. "There's more than one o' the sods."

"Back to back, mates," said Howard, "so's they shan't take us by the stern."

"Aye!" said the others.

That was good sense and a comforting opportunity to huddle physically up against one another. They felt better like that and cheered up immensely, until the hideous groaning came again from a third and quite new direction.

"All around us," said Fraser.

"What are they?" said Evans.

"I don't want to know!" said Howard. "Just keep the buggers off!"

He was shivering in fright, and when another long-drawn howl came out of the night he jumped and let fly. His two pistols split the night with their flashing and roaring as Howard fired aimlessly. And his mates fired too, in senseless imitation.

Then there was a fearful scrambling for cartridges, and a weeping and snivelling and a gibbering as the wretched creatures fumbled and elbowed each other and spilt powder and dropped bullets in a pitiful rush to reload… before the things beyond the firelight could fall upon them.

"Ahoy!" came a voice. "Belay that firing! Who gave the word to fire?"

"Cap'n Flint!" cried Howard.

"It's the cap'n!" cried Fraser.

"Thank God!" cried Taylor.

"Sweet Jesus!" cried Cameron.

"We're saved!" cried Evans.

Flint's familiar figure loomed out of the darkness with a sand-glass in his hand.

"Who gave the word to draw firelocks?" he said sternly. "D'you not realise you could've shot me as I walked towards you?" But they fawned upon him, these tough, hard, throat- cutting pirates; they clung to Flint's legs like children, they seized his hands, they grovelled like dogs, they all but jumped up into his arms.

"They was here, Cap'n," they said.

"Shoals o' the buggers."

"Bearing down upon us, they was."

"Coming to grapple an' board."

"By thunder!" said Flint. "And me not fifty paces off, and I never heard a sound. That ain't natural, lads!"

"Why was you gone so long, Cap'n?"

"What?" said Flint. "I went straight to the boat and back again!"

"Shite!" said Evans. "That ain't natural neither, Cap'n, 'cos you was gone for ages."

"'Tain't natural," they echoed, and Flint plumped himself down beside them and scratched his head.

"Well, shipmates," he said, "there's things afoot that no man can fathom, and that's a fact. But we're all true hearts aboard this ship, and jolly companions all, and we shan't be made afraid of that which hasn't the courage to face us man to man." And he leaned forward and put a hand on Howard's shoulder. "Isn't that so, Henry?"

"Aye," said Howard in a tiny voice.

"And you, Peter Evans," said Flint. "And you, Rob Taylor, and you, Iain Fraser. I say that if they never came to grips, then they're more afraid of you than you were of them!"

He said it with such conviction, and so boldly, that the men cheered up wonderfully and their fears ran away. In all truth, Joe Flint had the makings of a very fine officer inside of him… along with all the other ingredients.

"So here's my orders," said Flint, all brisk and businesslike. "Howard, you take the first watch, followed by Taylor, then Fraser, then Evans." He handed over the sand-glass. "And now you, Peter, pile wood on the fire to keep it blazing, while you, Iain, make sure all the pistols are properly primed and loaded, and you, Rob — like the sensible man you are — put your head down and go to sleep, which is what I shall do myself."

With that, Flint laid himself down beside the fire, having first placed his hat as a nest for his parrot. Then, pulling his coat collar up around his ears, he closed his eyes, and gave every appearance of going to sleep.

Greatly comforted, and grinning weakly at one another, his men did as they'd been told. After that, what with the heavy work they'd been doing all day, and what with the quantities of rum they'd been encouraged to drink, within ten minutes only Howard was awake, nodding over his sand-glass and shuddering with the need constantly to haul himself out of the seductive pit of slumber. The rest were curled up snoring like happy hogs. And so — it seemed — was Flint.

Howard did his best, he really did. He nodded and started. He stood up and took a turn about the fire. He counted stars and made patterns in the sand between his legs. He gritted his teeth. He even said nursery rhymes in his head, to keep himself awake. But in the end, he slumped over in unwakeable sleep.

"Aaaaaah!" screamed a voice. "Aaaaaall hands! All hands on deck!"

Howard struggled up towards consciousness, sick and thickheaded from last night's drink. He tried to roll out of his hammock, and found that this could not be done while lying on a bed of soft sand. So he got up on one elbow and looked about him.

The fire was grey ash and black embers. The sun was climbing over the trees and the two ships lay at anchor in the bay. Flint and Fraser were getting up from sleep and Taylor was bawling and howling from some way off, near the edge of the forest. He was staring at a still figure laid face down in the sand.

"All hands!" cried Taylor again. "It's Peter! They've done for him!" There was a rush towards Evans's body. Flint was first and turned him over. Poor Peter Evans, youngest of all the crew, who'd been abandoned at birth then raised and sent to sea by Coram's foundling hospital. Poor Peter Evans: a kindly soul who'd wished good on all the world — right up to the innocent age of fourteen when he'd knifed his first man.

"Ugh!" said Flint. "The devils!"

Howard leaned forward for a look at Evans's face over Flint's shoulder. He gasped and a cold fear rolled up his legs like icy water. He'd seen death in a hundred forms, and normally it didn't shock him. But this was different. Peter Evans lay with his eyes bulging out of a swollen face, and a thin length of plaited bark round his neck, biting tight into the flesh and made fast at the back where he'd have been unable to reach.

"Stap my heart!" said Flint in a fury. "Just like before. This was the way it started last time." He cursed violently and stared at the jungle as if he'd pierce it with his eyes to find the killers. Then his face turned nasty and he glared at the five remaining men.

"Which of you lubbers had the watch?" he cried. A great shame fell upon Howard and his expression gave him away. "You, Henry Howard?" said Flint, incredulously. "I'd have thought better! Under King George it'd be a thousand lashes or the yardarm. But I've need of every man. So your own conscience must be judge and jury."

Howard was sunk in wretchedness and self-reproach. He tortured himself with guilt and took the entire responsibility upon himself. He groaned and sighed. He wrung his hands and wept and hung his head. In his innocence he thought that nothing could be worse than this. But he was wrong.