Pieces Of Eight

Chapter 16

"Sixty-seven days to go," said Israel Hands, looking at the log-calendar outside Silver's tent.

"Aye, Mr Gunner," said Silver. "An' it'll be sixty-six when the bell strikes noon and we take out today's peg. But remember, it ain't reckoned by the Astronomer Royal at Greenwich — it's only our best guess." And with that he hitched up his pack and started off along the path into the trees, with Billy Bones and two dozen hands following along behind.

There was a planked pathway now for heavily laden men to make their way off the sandy beach and on to the firm ground beyond, and there were well-hacked paths through the jungles, connecting the island's four forts: Fort Silver above the southern anchorage, Fort Foremast in the far north, Fort Hands by the swamps in the middle of the island, and Fort Spy-glass protecting the main lookout station.

Silver had elected to build four small forts rather than one big one because he didn't plan to hide behind walls but to strike Flint from behind and at night. With four forts, Silver's men would have the chance to move round the island secretly, knowing there was always safe shelter nearby once they'd struck their blow.

Under Silver's leadership, life on the island had settled into a steady pattern of heavy labour, with working teams — each under their rated leaders — completing the four forts, cutting the trees and bushes around them to give clear fields of fire, and now, with the main works complete, taking care that stores were equally distributed, signals agreed and the nimblest men and boys practised daily — and at night too — in running messages between the forts, finding the best and fastest routes, against the time when they would have to fight against overwhelming numbers, and fight as a team.

Today, leaving Israel Hands in command at Fort Silver, Long John himself was setting out with Billy Bones, Sarney Sawyer, two dozen men and two ship's boys, for the northern inlet, where the Elizabeth lay in ruins. Captain Springer, having grounded the vessel, had unloaded everything in the attempt to re-float her and fourteen brass nine-pounders now lay abandoned on the beach. Silver hoped to use these guns to fortify the island's other major anchorage, in case Flint should come in that way.

They had plenty of powder, saved from Lion, and there was still time to dig earthworks and mount the guns, which, being brass, ought to be weather-proof. But everything depended on the gun-carriages with their specialised iron fittings being sound after nearly three years lying on a tropical beach, and likewise that there was enough nine-pounder shot left un-rusted.

"Mr Bones," said Silver as he hopped steadily along the path through the palms, his parrot firmly anchored aboard his shoulder, "a word, if you please."

"Aye-aye, Cap'n," said Billy Bones, and came alongside.

"The shot, Mr Bones," said Silver, "you say you stacked it clear of the tide?"

"Aye-aye, sir. That we did. Right off the beach an' under the trees, lest it should rain."

"Weren't there no caves nor nothing?"

"No, Cap'n. Leastways, not nearby…" said Bones uneasily, as was habitual for him when thinking of Flint. "And… him … he took the best of the shot for Betsy, the new ship as we built out o' the wreck of the old 'un."

"But there was still shot left?"

"Aye, Cap'n. Betsy could only bear six guns, and Elizabeth had shot for twenty."

It took a long day for Silver and his men to reach the northern inlet. Skirting to the west of the marshes which occupied the middle of the island — a region thick with bulrushes, willows and outlandish swampy trees — they found a bit of open ground bordered by marshland on one side and thick forest on the other. It was hot, stinking and buzzing with mosquitoes, but at least they could step out without hacking a path… and there was an old friend waiting for them.

"Cap'n," said Billy Bones, as they trudged along, "look'ee there!"

"Bah!" said Silver, aching and raw from heavy exercise. "That bugger can please himself. I'm not stopping for him."

It was Ben Gunn. Crouched over, half hidden, fleet of foot and muttering to himself and the monkey that ran alongside him, he was keeping pace with the marching column.

"Prob'ly wants some cheese, I shouldn't wonder," said Bones, which was precious close to the truth. Ben Gunn couldn't stand loneliness, nor a diet of nuts and fruit.

Little by little, he closed the gap until finally he joined the column, ducking and bobbing and with a finger always to his brow, cringing before Long John and Billy Bones.

"All right, Mr Gunn," said Silver when they next stopped to rest. "Come aboard again, and take your share o' the load. But if you join this crew, you must work your passage. You and your soddin' monkey!" They all laughed at that, and the monkey chattered and larked and ran from man to man in the most affectionate way. And Ben Gunn was happy again.

The monkey became a great favourite. Though it always went back to Ben Gunn, it spent a little time with everyone, leaping into men's arms, climbing up their legs and curiously examining their clothes and gear. Silver alone was not touched by its little hands, for it steered clear of him — the parrot saw to that.

"Bugger off! Bugger off!" she screeched, flapping her wings and snapping her beak, sending the monkey running away in terror.

When they reached the northern inlet, they found the brass guns in fine condition and the shot stacked in pyramids, just as Billy Bones had left it; and while those on the top and the outside were rusted useless, there was plenty of good round shot within. Furthermore, most of the gun carriages were either sound or could be repaired.

This was a huge relief to Silver; and he immediately set Bones to work, surveying the inlet, and marking out new battery with sticks knocked into the ground.

That night, as they sat by their campfire with the grog going round, Long John stood up and addressed his men.

"Shipmates," he said, "this shuts the back door in Flint's face." He turned to Sarney Sawyer: "I'm leaving you in charge, Mr Bosun. Mr Bones and I shall be off tomorrow, back to Fort Silver, but I've drawn a plan for mounting a dozen o' them guns behind earthworks, and on good timber platforms, so's to bear on any ship as comes in to anchor. So — " he raised his mug "- here's to ourselves, and hold your luff…"

"… plenty of prizes and plenty of duff!" they cheered.

Ben Gunn's monkey chattered and scampered round the camp. The men tickled it and offered it rum.

Next morning, Silver, Bones and two men set off, leaving Sarney Sawyer with twenty-two men, two boys, Ben Gunn and the monkey. Sawyer's crew worked busily and — as ordered by Long John — sent one of the boys each morning to run a report to Fort Silver and back. This could be done within a day, provided the lad carried only a water canteen — which was indispensable — and no other load.

But on the seventh day no runner came to Fort Silver.

At first, Long John didn't worry. Sarney Sawyer had plenty to do and there could be good reason for not sending his daily report. But no reports came the following day either, or any day thereafter.

It was just before noon on the eleventh day, as Silver was preparing to send a man north to find out what was going on, that Ben Gunn entered the camp.

Gunn was madder than ever: thin, wild-eyed and snivelling. He mumbled and sniffed and wrung his hands. There were sentries on watch, now, day and night, and one of these escorted him to Silver, who was seated in his big tent, re-rigged inside the fort.

"Won't speak to none but you, Cap'n," said the man, and nudged Ben Gunn with his musket butt. " Oi… you! You won't talk to no bugger, will you?"

"No," said Ben Gunn. "None but John Silver."

"Well," said Silver, "you're here now, matey. So what've you got to say?"

"I killed him," said Ben Gunn, and the tears rolled down his face.

"What?" said Silver, sitting up sharp. "Killed who? What's happened to Sarney's crew?"

"I killed him, I did. Cut his little throat… as the quickest way, like."

And Ben Gunn broke into sobs and groans, and pulled a leather-bound book out of his shirt and put it on Silver's table. Then he wept some more, sighed and wiped the snot and snivel from his face.

"I didn't know, Cap'n," he said. "'Tweren't my fault. I didn't know till I saw this."

"What are you talking about?"

"This," said Ben Gunn, and opened the book at a place he'd marked with a twig. Silver saw a page of neat drawings of monkeys. And there was a sketch of a monkey's hand, heavily marked with little round scars.

"So what's this, Ben Gunn?" said Silver, deeply puzzled.

"It's like when I was a lad, Cap'n, and they was burying old Mrs Abercrombie, and they dug in the wrong place an' broke open a coffin of one old sod what'd died of it thirty year ago, and the stink came out, an they all got it: the grave- diggers, their famblies an' all, an' I got it too 'cos I smelled the stink, an' most on 'em died, but I didn't and I got these here — " He pointed a dirty finger at the marks in the middle of his cheeks.

"You had the smallpox, Ben Gunn?"

"That I did, Cap'n, an' I've told all, fair an' square." He laid a hand on the book. "An' there's a deal more in here, the which I ain't the scholar to read." Blinking and trembling, he raised a hand in salute. "An' now I've done my duty like a seaman, and begs leave to be excused and stood down from this watch."

"Aye," said Silver, "but what about Sarney Sawyer and his men?"

Gunn wouldn't say. He simply drew in on himself and muttered that it weren't his fault, not at all. Silver frowned. This was bad.

"Take him away," he said to the sentry. "Get some food and drink inside of him, then maybe he'll tell us what's happened."

"You leave him to me, Cap'n," said the man. "I'll get it out of him!"

"No," said Silver, "none o' that or I'll have the bollocks off you!"

"Aye-aye, Cap'n."

Ben Gunn was led off. Silver looked at the book. It was a diary, written in a good, round hand, in Portuguese — the language of his own father, who'd always used it at home. So Silver spoke Portuguese fluently. Reading it was more difficult. It was something he'd not done since childhood. But he persevered, and old skills returned… and soon he found that there was not one dull word in the entire book, which was the journal of Father Lucio de Setubal, a Jesuit priest, and sole survivor of an expedition that landed on the island in 1689 and which was ruined by mutiny and pestilence.