Pieces Of Eight

Chapter 31

Flint was happy. Everything was going well. He'd shaken off Bentham, O'Byrne and the rest. Even they left him alone when he dropped his breeches and squatted behind a tree. And as soon as they'd gone, he'd darted off to spend some time alone, to develop some ideas in his mind. But first he had to make sure his courtiers were really gone…

Ah, there they were! He peered between the leaves and saw the backs of his ever-present followers as they wandered back to camp to find their lord and master — himself — whom they loved so dearly because only he knew where the treasure lay. Flint smiled and corrected himself, because in fact he knew the several different places where various parts of it lay, accompanied in some cases by members of that happy band who'd been so delighted to come ashore with their commodore to do the hard work of burying. Flint thought of their innocent faces: so coarse, so open, and so ridiculously expectant. He laughed when he thought what he'd done with them.

Then he strolled along the beach towards the wreck of Elizabeth, keeping close under the shadow of the trees so he shouldn't be seen.

Every day now, the savages pressed him to raise some of the treasure. Enough to pay them. Every day he pointed out that the last fort had not fallen. Ridiculously, that was accepted by Dreamer as excuse enough. And so it went on, with Flint content. He hadn't yet quite worked out how he would raise the goods and ship them aboard Walrus, and sail off leaving the island — and all those on it — but he had several good ideas, including a most ingenious plan for a frontal assault on the fort, which would trim a few dozen more off the total of Patanq warriors, of whom there were more than he needed and more than enough to be dangerous.

That's why he had to be alone. So he could think. And he liked to come to the remains of the old Elizabeth for the memory of days past… which brought back thoughts of Silver. It was always Silver, before anything: Silver, Silver, Silver! The only man he feared. The only man he'd ever admired. The man who'd taken Selena, the island — even the damned parrot. Flint half raised a hand to his shoulder to stroke the bird that wasn't there.

"Bah!"

And then he smiled. He smiled with the enormous relief that all Silver's preparations had been in vain. All that planning and calculating and back-breaking labour — all of it futile! A few forts, that was all it amounted to, of which all but one had fallen. Was that really the best Silver could do? Perhaps he'd-

"Sun Face!"

Flint jumped as if scalded. He'd not heard. He'd not seen. Damn! Damn! Damn! It was always the same.

Dreamer, Cut-Feather and some others had come out of nowhere, from some path in the woods. And they had a prisoner

"Well, bless my living soul!" said Flint, for trembling wretchedly between two of the tall warriors, his arms bound tight with leather thongs, was a man he knew.

"Good day to you, Ben Gunn!" said Flint.

"Cap'n! Cap'n!" cried Ben Gunn, desperate in terror. "God bless you, sir, for a Christian gentlemen, and don't let these heathen take me!" He shuddered and shivered and looked around. "I knows Indians, Cap'n. I been in the Americas years ago, and I seen what they done to their prisoners!" Ben Gunn fell to his knees, with the tears rolling down his cheeks. "Don't let poor Ben Gunn come to that, Cap'n! Not him! Not you, Cap'n…" On and on he went.

Well, thought Flint, here's Ben Gun, got hold of the wrong end of the stick! Unlike other Indians, the Patanq did not torture their prisoners. They killed and scalped them, certainly. But they didn't play with them. No need to tell Ben Gunn that, though, Flint decided.

"Shut him up!" said Flint. Dreamer nodded and one of the Patanq clouted Ben Gunn's head a heavy smack.

"Ugh!" said Ben Gunn, knocked half senseless.

"We found him in the forest," said Dreamer. "He has spied on us for many days. He treads softly and moves fast, but we caught him at last." Dreamer looked at Ben Gunn. "He is clever in the forest, but his mind is broken." He turned back to Flint. "And now he begs your protection, Sun-Face. He says he is your man."

"Mine?" said Flint, stepping forward and poking Ben Gunn with the toe of his shiny boot. "Are you mine, Ben Gunn?" He smiled his smile. "I thought you went over to Silver."

"No! No! Not I!" said Ben Gunn, and out poured a tumbling torrent of words, which were the adventures of Ben Gunn as told by Ben Gunn. He was particularly eloquent on the subject of monkeys. Flint listened, and a possibility twinkled elusively at the back of his mind. But first he must get a firm hold on the very slippery Ben Gunn.

"You're no use to me, Mr Gunn," he said. "I shall give you to the Patanq."

Ben Gunn howled in terror. It was a hideous death for him: death by slow torture.

"Or perhaps not," said Flint, once he was sure Ben Gunn had taken sufficient fright. "Dreamer — he is my man. He is under my protection. Release him."

Ben Gunn grovelled and slobbered and kissed Flint's boots when they cut him free, and followed Flint when he walked off towards the ruined ship, and the Patanq disappeared into the forest.

Flint found a quiet corner where the trees sheltered them from view but they could see the moss-grown timbers, and there were some rocks to sit on.

And there Flint had a very long and most fascinating conversation with Ben Gunn and pumped him dry of every scrap of information held within his miserable memory. And in that dark and tangled place — among the disconnected jumble of facts, fears and misapprehensions — Joe Flint found some gemstones.

Or at least they were gemstones to Flint. They were rubies, sapphires and diamonds, and this because Joe Flint perceived certain unique opportunities. He then concentrated his mind on devising a means to exploit them. The result was a plan that decent men would have despised and rejected. But Flint was proud of it. He was proud, and amazed that Ben Gunn — damaged, wretched creature that he was — should be the source of so much power.

So Flint turned to practicalities, and began to give Ben Gunn his orders, and to make arrangements… arrangements which, to his annoyance, were interrupted by the arrival of that peerless navigator, that esteemed friend of Selena, that confidant of Cowdray, that practitioner of the Batavian art of silat: Cornelius damned Van Oosterhout. For the Dutchman had chosen that moment to land his longboat right opposite the northern inlet camp, and having disembarked he began strutting up and down, and sending men to find Captain Flint so that he might proclaim the safe delivery of the women and children of the Patanq nation.

At first, Flint was taken aback. He had long since realised that Van Oosterhout was by far the most talented and intelligent of all his followers, and therefore the most dangerous. The last thing Flint wanted was the Dutchman joining the politics Bentham was brewing behind his back, and in any case he couldn't abide Van Oosterhout's solemn, self-satisfied face and just wanted him out of the way. But how? He could order him back to his ship, but what would he get up to there, out of Flint's sight?

Fortunately, Flint was seized with inspiration. He greeted Van Oosterhout with smiles, and called for fruits and rum, and sent an Indian runner to bring the good news to Dreamer and Cut-Feather. Then he had a private word with the master of silat.

"You're come not a moment too soon," said Flint.

"Why?" said Van Oosterhout.

"Because… the treasure is threatened!"

Van Oosterhout's eyes made circles.

"I can trust none but you!" said Flint.

"Me?"

"Yes! For there's mutiny and murder ahead, and we need new burial sites…"

They talked for nearly an hour before Van Oosterhout was convinced. Then he nodded firmly, shook Flint's hand and set off with map, notebook and compass, on a most privileged and trusted mission: to check that the treasure was still where it should be, and to survey new sites for its re-interment, in case of need. Flint even passed over some of his own notes for guidance, and when Van Oosterhout walked off, Flint congratulated himself on a job well done.

Van Oosterhout would be busy for weeks, especially once he'd dug up some of the treasure, and goggled over it — for Flint knew the key to Van Oosterhout. Otherwise what was he doing here? He'd had plenty of opportunity to run. With Van Oosterhout it was gold, gold, gold. And Spanish dollars, of course.

Fortunately, he'd be on his own, sworn to secrecy, and unable to take more than a handful or two for himself. Better still, during their intense conversation, Flint had taken a close look at Van Oosterhout's face beneath the sandy whiskers, and seen how easily the Dutchman's total silence could be assured.

And so back to Ben Gunn. Making haste, before Bentham and O'Byrne could close in, Flint found the mad creature and made completely sure that he knew what was expected of him.

"Tell me what sort of men you must find," said Flint.

Ben Gunn told him.

"And where must you take them?"

Ben Gunn told him.

"And what must they do?"

Ben Gun told him.

"And finally," said Flint, "tell me what shall happen to you, should you play me false."

Ben Gunn shuddered. He lowered his eyes. A thin stream of terror ran from his bladder and down his skinny leg, and made a dark patch in the sand.

"You'll give me to the savages."

"And what if you try to run away?"

"They'll catch me anyway."

"And what will they do to you?"

In a tiny voice, with eyes tight shut, and hands over his face, Ben Gunn told him. Ben Gunn knew, because Flint had told him. Flint listened and nodded and looked to the future, and saw all things smoothed and his plans going forward like a ship in a steady blow — never suspecting that another threat, one he'd thought dead and gone, was even now reaching out to grab him.

The maintop of a frigate in a lively sea was lavishly provided with opportunities for a man to kill himself.

It was a timber platform some twenty feet long by fifteen wide; rounded forward and square-cut aft (where, it must be said, there was a flimsy rail that might stop a man from going over and dropping a hundred feet to the hard deck or the hungry sea). Likewise, to either beam, the main topmast shrouds with their ratlines closed the maintop under a narrowing pyramid of black-tarred rope, making it almost impossible to go over either way. But forward, the top was entirely innocent of restraint, and inboard, where the platform admitted the great shafts of the mainmast and topmast, there were great gaps — lubbers' holes — that lay in wait for some fool to put his foot in, and proceed downwards by that swift route.

Which was one of many reasons why, aboard His Majesty's ships nine men were killed as a result of mishap, shipwreck or disease, for every one so fortunate as to be killed by England's enemies.

None of which worried Lieutenant Hastings or Mr Midshipman Povey, who'd been bred up to the sea and imagined no other life, and today were at the pinnacle of professional joy, finding themselves at the epicentre of such a manoeuvre as only men-o'-war could perform at all, and which, in their opinion, only King George's ships could do well.

Each had a telescope and each had a ship under observation.

The ships were Leaper and Bounder. Of these, Leaper — observed by Hastings — lay to larboard, and Bounder- observed by Povey — lay to starboard, each being some twenty miles off: the furthest distance from which signals were visible by the aid of a glass. Then to larboard of Leaper was Jumper, another twenty miles off. So, with four ships deployed in line abeam, and the outermost ships looking their twenty miles further out on each side… that meant a total width of one hundred miles was under observation as the ships proceeded on course.

"Signal coming up, sir!" said Povey as a hoist of flags ran up the halyard and broke into the wind. The signal read "Inquiry" — a challenge to ensure all ships were alert and smart.

Hastings and Povey studied Leaper and Bounder.

"Acknowledge!" said Hastings, as Leaper responded with signal flags. "Aye-aye Leaper!" he roared, for the benefit of the officer of the watch, below.

"Aye-aye Bounder!" cried Povey.

"Aye-aye Jumper!" cried Hastings, as Leaper hoisted the "Repeat Acknowledge", indicating Jumper too was awake and alert.

Thus ship spoke to ship in seconds across a hundred miles. A remarkable feat of seamanship, but routine to those involved. Which was just as well, because they had to keep it up day after weary day to find Flint's island, for the ocean is mighty and laughs at so small a distance as a hundred miles. Also, for all Mr Povey's natural talent for navigation, he'd not put his finger on quite the right spot. Nobody could have done better, but it was only a guess, and nothing less than the skilled teamwork of a naval squadron could have found the island based on that guess.

In the event, all was merriment and anticipation aboard Commodore Scott-Owen's ships, for they came within sight of the island's southern anchorage after only ten days of searching. It could have taken much, much longer, and every man of them knew it, and there wasn't one who didn't believe they were blessed with especially good luck. The future could only be bright.