Skull and Bones

Chapter 16

Captain Warrington stood proud at the helm as Walrus came up the two-mile stretch of water from Rotherhithe towards London Bridge, where the slow, brown river — swept by two tides a day — ran to mud-flats on either hand with ancient embankments shored up by massive timber piles that had been driven home when Queen Bess was a girl. To Walrus's people, the docks and the city they served seemed enormous beyond belief; veteran seamen though they were, they'd spent their lives out of England, and had never seen the like of London town. So all hands lined the rail and gaped as they passed row upon row of quays, wharves, warehouses and cranes, and ships whose number was beyond counting, and whose masts and spars arose like virgin forest.

Thus all aboard were merry except McLonarch and Norton, who were down below in irons: Norton bitterly resentful at his fall from first mate's rank, while McLonarch pretended calm understanding. And all the while, "Captain" Warrington strutted the quarterdeck, and the crew jumped to his orders and raised their hats… for Warrington had redeemed himself halfway across the Atlantic.

He did it during a heavy blow, when Norton was standing alongside Long John in the cramped master's cabin under Walrus's quarterdeck, testing Mr Joe's growing competence at navigation.

Norton had just nudged Silver and nodded at the back of Mr Joe's curly-haired head, as the lad leaned over the table, stepping his dividers across the chart and making neat pencil notes on a piece of paper, calculating his latitude and the previous day's run.

"See?" whispered Norton. "I told you!" Silver shook his head in wonderment. "He's natural born for it," breathed Norton. "Coming on at the gallop."

"Buggered if I could do it!" said Silver, and Mr Joe never even heard, so intense was his concentration.

"A-hem," said another voice, from the hatchway. Silver and Norton turned. It was Warrington, up from his sickbed at last, and washed into some semblance of cleanliness — even his fingernails were dark grey rather than black — though he bore a livid scar across his brow as a souvenir of the fracas that had landed him in trouble.

"Shhh!" said Norton, frowning and pointing at Mr Joe.

"Oh!" said Warrington, then mouthing the word "Captain?" he stabbed a grubby finger hopefully upwards a couple of times, towards the quarterdeck.

"Pah!" said Silver. He patted Norton on the shoulder and clumped out as quietly as he could. Since there was too much wet and wind above for talking, he led the way back to the stern cabin. "Well?" said Silver, getting himself into a chair and pointing at one for Warrington, who licked his lips, blushed a bit, and sat facing Silver.

"Captain," he said, "I have made a complete arse of myself."

"Aye," said Silver, "nicely put, Mr Mate, for indeed you have."

"Yes," said Warrington, "and I wish to apologise."

Silver shrugged. Warrington had the look of a man who would be apologising as long as he lived.

"Please yourself!" said Silver. "I got two men now as can do your work."

"Aye," said Warrington, and sniffed, "but I have something to say."

"Do you now?"

"Yes. That fellow who nursed me when I was… a-hem … ill."

"Jobo? Dr Cowdray's loblolly boy?"

"Yes. He said we are bound for London and told me of your plans."

"Did he!"

"He did, Captain." Warrington shook his head severely. "And it won't do!"

Silver frowned mightily and Warrington wriggled under his gaze and nervously picked his nose, and wiped his finger on a cuff that was already shiny with the fruits of previous pickings.

"And why not?" said Silver.

Warrington took a breath. "In the first place, sir, you must assume that Venture's Fortune has preceded us to England and spread word of a pirate ship led by yourself…" He paused and pointed at Cap'n Flint, perched on Silver's shoulder. "And you, sir, are a man easy to describe and to recognise!"

"Maybe," said Silver. "What if I am?"

"Then you must establish a new identity, sir, for yourself and this ship. A history, a purpose — and all of it backed with papers. You cannot sail into the greatest port in the world like bollocky-Bill the pirate and expect to be received with open arms."

"No?"

"No, sir you cannot! There must be letters, receipts, and a contract from your owner establishing your authority."

"What bloody owner?"

"There, sir! D'you not see?"

"See what?"

"See that you will have to deal with officials and persons of all kinds: Customs, Trinity House, port authorities, tradesmen, guildsmen, perhaps even officers of the law. You cannot behave as you might in Upper Barbados or Savannah."

"Can I not?" said Silver, already realising that he couldn't. He frowned and looked Warrington in the eye. "And who are you, then, what knows so much about bloody London?"

"I was born there, sir! Born and raised, and… a-hem… after other endeavours, I eventually went to sea out of the Port of London, where I am… to a degree… known and trusted."

"To a degree?" Silver laughed.

"Bah!" said Warrington. "I am no saint, sir, and I acknowledge the bottle as my invincible foe. But I know which palms to grease in London's port, and how much grease to apply … and I'll bet my soul that you don't!"

Silver fell silent. He was listening to wise counsel, and he knew it. He reached for the parrot and tickled its warm feathers. She squawked.

"Bet my soul!" she said.

Silver sighed. He took a breath and let out a great shout.

"Sammy Hayden!" he roared. "Pass the word for Sammy Hayden!"

Soon, Sammy Hayden, ship's boy, came running into the cabin, touching his brow and stamping his foot in salute.

"Sammy-my-lad," said Silver, "my compliments to Mr Hands, Mr Joe, Dr Cowdray and Black Dog, and beg them to repair aft to this cabin at their earliest convenience! At the double, now… Oh, and Blind Pew besides, for he's got a head on his shoulders."

The meeting that followed had shaped a new life for Walrus and all aboard, including John Silver.

"A cook!" he cried, aghast. "A sodding COOK?"

The rest howled with laughter.

"Aye!" said Blind Pew, whose idea this was. As he explained in his Welsh lilt: "It's na-tural in the king's service, see? The cook is always such as has lost a pre-cious limb."

"We ain't in the king's bleedin' service!"

"But it'll look right, see? For you can't be cap'n when others is aboard: pilots, revenue and such. And you'll only need to pre-tend to be a cook."

"Good! 'Cos I soddin'-well ain't soddin' cooking!"

"Not you, Cap'n!" they said. "Not 'less we needs poisoning!" And they laughed.

"But you'll be our Cap'n, as ever," said Pew, "when none's aboard than us."

Warrington proved even more useful when it came to documents. He had a fine literary style, was a fluent draughtsman, and made best possible shift with such papers as were in the ship: the original bill of sale for Walrus from her builders in Sag Harbour, the Colony of New York, joined Sir Wyndham Godfrey's letter of introduction and his Protection for Venture's Fortune — now duly altered to show Walrus's name, for Warrington was an accomplished forger. Drawing upon his imagination and knowledge of London, he made sure that all papers as might prove necessary were at their disposal.

Finally, seeing how fluently he conducted these arcane matters, it was decided by council of all hands that he should be captain for all purposes of negotiation with shore authorities. The meeting ended with Warrington chaired shoulder- high and blind drunk round the ship to celebrate his captaincy.

Thus Walrus sailed into the Pool of London, which enormous port only Warrington knew well — him and the Trinity House man piloting them up-river, and Captain Warrington stood tall in the clean coat, decent linen and proper hat he'd been given, and declaimed in a booming voice, pointing out the sights while the pilot conned the ship.

The hands sniggered at this, and Israel Hands, Dr Cowdray and Mr Joe smiled. But they all listened, because what he said was interesting. He spoke about trade and money and riches.

"Greatest port in all the world," he said, sweeping an arm towards the packed warehouses, "receiving some thirteen thousand ships per year, carrying a trade worth over one hundred million pounds. The revenue on the West India ships alone runs to over a million pounds, and that of the East India Fleet is…"

Long John alone was not listening. He was looking upriver, past the barrier of London Bridge through which no ship could pass for its line of close-packed piers, and the taverns, shops and businesses above: a village in itself. Beyond lay the smoke and spires of the metropolis, where lived — according to Warrington — over three-quarters of a million people, and growing day by day. He sighed in despair. Choosing between Norton and McBollock would be nothing compared with finding Selena in this monster! Where would he start? How would he start? Which question was all the worse for the ghastly answer that in all probability he should look for his beloved darling… in the brothels.

So that night, with the pilot gone, and the ship moored in mid-river, Long John took Warrington aside to test his knowledge of London, especially its tart shops. They stood by the taffrail, aft, the ship and the river silent, the night dark and only an anchor watch on deck.

"Oh," said Warrington, when clumsily, awkwardly and with great reluctance, Silver explained the nature of his quest. Despite his own failings, Warrington had suffered a rush of blood to the brain on being allowed to pose as captain, and was about to be censorious in the matter of whoring, when — "Listen!" he said, seizing Silver's arm. There was a soft rumble from the bow, then the sound of a muffled blow, and a man falling. Standing where they were, in the dark, the mainmast and foremast hid Silver and Warrington from the bow… and it from them.

"Shh!" said Silver, moving quietly to the mainmast with Warrington in his wake. Peering round it, he could make out the anchor watch — two men, one of them Tom Allardyce, captain of the watch — lying unconscious on the deck, while six dark figures moved about running bars into the head of the capstan and muffling the pauls of its ratchet with rags. More men were appearing over the side from the fore chains, and — all in deathly silence — they began to lean on the bars and to bring the cable in.

"The sods!" said Silver. "What the buggery-an'-damnation are they doing?"

"They're mudlarks, Captain," said Warrington, softly.

"What the bastard Hell are they?"

"River pirates — and they're stealing your cable and anchor."

"What? With all hands aboard, in the bloody Thames, in bloody England?"

"Oh yes! They bribe the authorities and — "

"Shh!" said Silver. He beckoned Warrington and the pair slipped below to rouse all hands, silently and stealthily.

The men rolling out of their hammocks grinned and shook their heads at the thought of what was going on above.

"Cheeky bastards!" said Israel Hands.

"Aye!" said the rest, but in a whisper.

Above, on Walrus's quiet maindeck, an exceptionally skilful team of men continued about their work under a thin moon, a few stars, with masts and furled sails above, and the deck gently rolling beneath their feet. Walrus was moored to two anchors by two cables, one of which had been slipped that the other might be hauled in and brought aboard… except that it wasn't coming aboard, but being passed over the side from the capstan and into a big boat made fast alongside the ship.

All was well. All was peaceful. All was the contentment of a good job being well done… when:

"AAAAAARGH!" roared the men who poured out through the aft hatchways.

"AAAAAARGH!" roared the men who poured out forrard.

And there followed five or six lively minutes of another good job being well done, as half Walrus's crew leapt on the busy gang at the capstan, and the other half leapt into the boat receiving the cable, and both lots set about delivering the most comprehensive battering the mudlarks would ever receive.

By Silver's command, it was all done with pistol-butts. But it was thoroughly done and lovingly done by men enjoying the finest sport they'd had since leaving the Caribbean.

Afterwards, those of the intruders who could stand were lined up in the waist, with Walrus's men grinning and laughing all around them, for it was indeed comical. There were ten of them, well caught and well battered.

"Who are you then, you swabs?" said Silver, stamping up and down the line.

The mudlarks stayed silent: snivelling, spitting teeth and dripping blood.

"Right!" said Silver, and grabbed one by the collar and dragged him to the side, yelling to his crew over one shoulder, "Fetch me a rope, and a dozen of roundshot in a sack!"

"Wassat for?" cried the mudlark.

"For you, my cocker. You're going for a swim!"

"You can't do that. We're King Jimmy's men! He'll have you, you — "

Smack! Silver let fly with a heavy fist.

"Ow!"

"Shut up! And who's King Jimmy?"

"King o' the fuckin' river, that's who, and he'll be asking after us, you wait!"

"A-hem, Captain…?" Warrington stepped forward.

"What?"

"These people have a certain influence…"

"See?" said the mudlark.

"Shut up!" Silver cuffed him backhanded and looked at Warrington. "Well?"

'"King of the river' is a sort of honorific for the biggest rogue among these people." He gestured at the men huddled on the shadowy maindeck.

"Is it now?" said Silver.

"They make so much money as to be able to bribe any officers of police as are sent after them, thus the forces of law pay no heed to their depredations in the night. Not even to the clash of arms! Not even to gunfire!"

"See? 'S'what I told yer!" said the mudlark.

"Aye!" said his mates.

"So you bleedin' let us go or it'll be the worse for you!"

"Aye!" said his mates, and Silver shook his head in amazement. Far from acting guilty or ashamed — or even fearful — the mudlarks were angry and resentful, as if some foul trick had been played upon them, and rules broken that decent men respected. Now they growled and muttered and glared at their captors.

"Shiver my timbers!" said Silver. "Well, I never did have hopes of putting the law on you, but here's two of my men beat unconscious, and you swabs trying to steal our cable. So I'll have a word with these good brothers, here — " he pointed to his crew "- to decide what's to be done with you."

After a swift debate, a motion proposed by Brother Pew was adopted, and soon after the mudlarks were sitting miserably in their boat: stark naked, shaven bald, with ship's tar coating their marriage tackle, while all aboard Walrus who could muster the necessary stood on the bulwarks pissing on their shiny white heads, and laughing fit to bust. All being finished, and shaken free of last drops, the mudlarks were allowed to cast off and pull away into the night.

It was a huge joke, enjoyed by all hands. But a few hours later, it didn't seem so funny.