Flint and Silver: A Prequel to Treasure Island

Chapter 35

The southern anchorage

"That was pistol-fire, Mr Hands!" said Silver, staring out into the dark. "A measured volley. All of 'em giving fire together, as if to the word of command."

"Aye, Cap'n," said Israel Hands.

"Aye, Cap'n," said Sarney Sawyer the boatswain. "Shall I order the boats away, so's we can go ashore to see what's going forward?"

"No!" said Silver. "You gave oath. All of you did."

"Oh," said Sawyer.

"Aye," said Silver. "Remember? Lion and Walrus to guard each other, so none shall interfere with the burying? Whoever puts boats into the water starts a war, and I ain't starting no war in the dark!"

"Cap'n," said Israel Hands, who'd been thinking, "them pistol shots… It was at least a dozen rounds. But just the one volley, then no more." He hesitated, then showed considerable moral fibre by voicing the horror that was in every man's mind. "D'you think," he said, "d'you think… they was attacked, Cap'n? Attacked and overwhelmed?" The thought was appalling, for it might mean the loss — to some unknown third party — of all their precious goods.

"No!" said Silver, and slammed shut the big telescope he'd been peering through. Lion was heeled well over, with every last one of her crew up on deck, lining the shoreward rail or up in the rigging, staring at the shore where the burial party's bonfire was still blazing. But there was nothing else to see, nor to hear other than the island's endless, booming surf.

"Why not, Cap'n?" said Israel Hands. "Beggin' your pardon."

"Aye!" said the crew and clustered closer.

"Listen to me, lads," said Silver. He drew breath to speak, for he had much to tell them, and much to persuade them of.

The gunshots had cleared his mind. They'd sent his imagination down fresh tracks. He could finally see what was happening. There had still been some respect for Flint in his mind. Withered and wretched as it was, it was still there — the ghost of their friendship — and it had stopped him taking the final step of reasoning, the one that explained everything. All he had to do now was pass on these thoughts to the men, and hope they'd follow him to the same conclusions.

"Lads, we're in a pickle of shit here, and no mistake," he said. "But I'll take my 'davy that the goods is still ashore, exactly where Flint put 'em, and not carried off somewhere by bugger-knows-who!"

"Ah," they said, and grinned at one another in the darkness. That was better!

"An' I'll tell you for why," said Silver. "Silence, now, on the lower deck! All hands fall silent and listen."

They fell silent. They listened. Seventy-one men and three boys strained their ears together. But there was nothing to hear. The night was calm. The island was asleep, the sea was asleep. Only a few little noises carried over the still waters: odd sounds from Walrus anchored two cable-lengths from Lion — a man's voice indistinctly heard, the faint, hollow clunk of some piece of ship's gear. Just that. Nothing else besides the sound of the surf.

"There!" said Silver. "So even if Walrus was bent on breaking oath and starting a fight, how could she have lowered her boats and put ashore a storming party without us hearing? Them buggers would've been heard in Portsmouth, whooping and hollering as they went over the side!"

"Aye," said the crew, "go on, Cap'n!"

"Same goes for an attack by men from inside of the island — even believing there are any, which them as what's been there says there ain't! I asks you, every man of you… who knows of a battle without cheering and screaming and the clash of steel?"

"Aye!" said the crew, immensely encouraged. They nudged one another and grinned and nodded their heads. Silver's natural gift for oratory was not only liberating them from an awful fright, it was rebuilding his place as their natural leader.

"No, lads," he said, shaking his head, "it weren't no attack. And nor weren't it no fight among them ashore." He jabbed his thumb towards the still-glowing distant campfire. "For then we'd have heard them popping off, left and right, one by one, as each man marked his enemy…not one volley all together!"

"No!" said the crew.

"So," said Silver, "I say what I said before: it's some trick of Flint's." He shook his head. "I don't know what it is…" He looked round, paused for effect. "But I'll tell you what it's for!"

"What?" they said, with round eyes and open mouths.

Here it came. This was the moment. Silver raised his voice.

"Why, lads, can you not see? It's so Flint can keep the goods for himself!"

A deep moan came from the dark mass of men. They'd followed Silver into Lion of their own free will, but they'd all been dazzled by Flint. Everyone had been dazzled by Flint. Silver had been dazzled by him, for Flint was a dazzling man.

Of the one hundred and forty-seven men who had voted on burying the goods, not a single one had voted against, other than Long John Silver.

The shame of their own stupidity fell heavy upon the crew. That and a self-pitying sense of betrayal and loss. It wasn't only Billy Bones who'd admired Flint. Fortunately, there was now — in reaction — a growing, growling, hatred of the man.

Aye, thought Silver, instantly spotting this, ain't it just a shame that he's a villain? And better still, he felt the power that was coming in on the floodtide, full, rich and strong into his own hands.

"Now then, lads," he said, "draw closer yet, for there's much to do if we're to come up smelling of roses rather than dog-dung." He turned to Israel Hands. "Mr Gunner," he said.

"Aye-aye, Cap'n!"

"Where's your Spanish nine? For she's the best gun in the ship."

"In the hold, Cap'n, wrapped in grease and sacking."

"With her carriage and all her gear?"

"Laid beside her, Cap'n."

"So how many men do you need to hoist her up and mount her?"

"Oof," said Israel Hands, "she's a nine-foot, twenty-six- hundredweight gun."

"Never mind her precious pedigree — how many men?"

Israel Hands put his mind to this complex technical matter.

"Best give me two dozen, Cap'n, for with that many we'll do it nice and quiet, as — begging your pardon — I think you'd want it done."

"That I do, Mr Hands."

"Let it be two dozen then, Cap'n, and a triple-block on the mainstay to haul her out with, and the carpenter's crew to open up a port for her." He looked at the ship's four- pounder guns, and the ports that served them. "For she'll be too high and broad for them little mouseholes."

"Well and good, Mr Hands," said Silver, and looked again to the rest of the crew, who'd heard these warlike preparations and were wondering what was coming. Silver knew that his next words must be very well chosen. He paused, and thought, and pointed out into the night.

"Lads," he said, "there lies the Walrus, and there's few of us that don't have some old shipmates aboard her."

"Aye," they said, for it was true.

"But there are times, my bully boys, when a seaman has to face the world as it is, and not as he'd want it to be. Ain't that the truth now?"

"Aye!"

"And truth is, messmates, that Flint has Walrus in his grasp. He's got the old ship and all aboard her…" He paused again, for the next step would be the hard one. "If Flint wants the goods for himself — which I know he does — "

A roar came from the crew.

"Then he'll need a ship and a crew to carry them away, and he'll have told all aboard Walrus what a fine thing it would be not to share the goods with us, so's to persuade 'em to take his part!"

"Bastards!" they cried.

"Swabs!"

"Thieving sods!"

Aye, thought Silver, look at you now, you bold bullies. Here's myself and yourselves come safe into port, all jolly companions together… you as was going to tip me the black spot!

"Silence now," he commanded, "for we must give no alarm to Walrus. They can hear us, as we can hear them. Every man that has no duties shall go quietly to his quarters, and make no fuss, nor no noise neither."

"Aye, Cap'n."

"One more thing," said Silver. "Mr Boatswain!"

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

"Rig a spring on the cable," said Silver, "and bend the spring to the capstan so we can bring the ship's guns to bear on any quarter. All neat and cosy, Mr Sawyer. No noise."

"Aye-aye, Cap'n."

"Then get to, my boys," said Silver, "with a will now — but all soft and quiet, and no cheering."

"Cap'n," said Israel Hands, as the men doubled off to their stations.

"What is it, Mr Gunner?"

"Will we have to fight Walrus, Cap'n? Will it come to that?"

"I hope not, Mr Gunner, but best to be ready."

"Aye-aye, Cap'n."

Israel Hands put on a stern face, though his heart leapt with joy. For one thing, Silver was calling him Mr Gunner again, which Israel Hands loved, and not Mr Mate, which meant standing watches. And Israel Hands had other worries — or had done until his beautiful gun was ordered up from the hold. He was sure now that he'd made a mistake in bringing it aboard Lion as a bow-chaser, when there was no room in the bow to mount it. That was the sort of mistake that a master gunner was not supposed to make: not in his own special area of expertise. Fortunately, nobody else had noticed, and now it looked as if there was every chance of the gun speaking in anger — from wherever in the ship he chose to place it — and all hands cheering their gunner for his wisdom!

Certainly Lion had not the slightest chance of defeating Walrus without the long Spanish gun: not with Lion's eight four-pounders facing Walrus's fourteen six-pounders. Walrus would simply stay out of range of Lion's guns, and batter her into a wreck. But she couldn't do that with nine-pounder balls smashing through her timbers.

Israel Hands smiled happily as he went to supervise the bringing-up of his gun. Unlike most others aboard, he hoped with all his heart that it would come to action.