Authors: John Drake
Billy Bones could never recall what it was that Flint said to him - for it was all done with words, and never a finger raised - but those few minutes in Dr Stanley's cabin became the evil dread of nightmares that woke Billy Bones, sweat- soaked and howling, from his sleep for the rest of his life.
After that - having been disciplined - he was made to hold Stanley's arms while Flint smothered the good doctor with his own pillow for the crime of being too clever by half. Next, Flint found the cabin where Lieutenant Hastings lay: just eighteen years old and already dying. Billy Bones was made to hold
his
arms too. Billy wept as he did it, but could not resist.
"And now only Mr Povey is left…" said Flint, and smiled.
Chapter
9
Early morning, 23rd March 1753
Upper Barbados
The Caribbean
The four forts that guarded Williamstown bay mounted between them nigh-on fifty twenty-four-pounder guns, and they were excellently placed, high above the sea, with a clear field of fire into the channel whereby ships entered the bay.
They were capable of resisting anything less than a major battlefleet, and even one of those couldn't be sure of forcing an entry: not with one pair of forts at the mouth of the bay, where it narrowed to less than a quarter of a mile's width, and the second pair placed to sweep the approaches just north of Williamstown's harbour. Thus, the last time the attempt had been made - British intruders vs Spanish defenders - the fleet was driven off trailing blood and wreckage, and the town was taken only by landing five thousand redcoats at Porta Colomba, ten miles to the south east, and marching them overland with a siege train.
"Huh!" said Israel Hands, as
Walrus
came through the jaws of the bay, right under the guns of the outermost forts. "Wouldn't believe this was safe haven for the likes of us!"
Long John frowned, irritably.
"And why not?" he said. "Ain't we flying British colours like them?" He pointed up at the forts. "And haven't we just saluted King George with all our guns?"
"Aye," said Israel Hands. And forcing a grin, he waved a hand at the smoke still hanging about the ship. "But you know what I mean, Cap'n. It's all down to Sir Wyndham, God bless him!"
Sir Wyndham Godfrey, governor of Upper Barbados, was a figure of fun among sailormen. He'd been a scourge of piracy until the bribes grew too great to refuse, and now he closed his eyes and opened his hand, such that men chuckled at the thought of him, and Israel Hands was hoping to cheer up Long John by the mention of his name. But Silver merely sniffed and turned away, stroking the parrot and staring at nothing.
Hands sighed. He'd been like that, had Long John, ever since Selena went off aboard
Venture's Fortune
to make her fortune in London. It weren't right for a seaman to take it so hard when he lost his doxy. There was always more of
them.
You soon forgot. Especially when you dropped anchor in a new port.
"Bah!" he said, and stopped fretting over John Silver, and looked instead at all the busy activity aboard
Walrus:
anchors were off the bows and hung by ring-stoppers at the catheads, bent to the cables flaked out on deck ready for letting go. The ship was scrubbed clean from bow to stern and under easy sail as she came up the dredged channel.
All hands, with the exception of Long John, were delighted at the prospect of going ashore. This was especially true of the two redundant navigators, who stood grinning at approaching freedom. But the shore party would not include the McLonarch, who was locked up below, or Mr Norton, who had been allowed above decks to check the course to Upper Barbados, only to be locked up again as soon as it was sighted. He was now the most miserable creature aboard.
Putting his glass to his eye, Israel Hands focused on the town, less than a mile away, with its whitewashed buildings tiers and layers of them, rising up the flanks of the bayside mountain still known by its Spanish name of Sangre de Cristo blood of Christ - for the rosy colour it took in the sunset, as did the white houses themselves. He shifted the glass to the excellent dockyards, which included dry docks capable of receiving anything up to a ship of the line.
And he looked at the offshore anchorage, which was full of every imaginable kind of vessel, with countless masts and yards, and busy boats pulling to and fro. There was one ship ahead of
Walrus
in the channel, coming into the wind to anchor, while yet another was astern of her, coming through the jaws of the bay.
It was a wonderful sight. After so many weeks at sea, alone on the empty ocean, it made
any
man cheerful to see such life. Overhead the gulls wheeled and called, the sun shone bright and hot, the sky was blue, the wind was fresh… and Long John was eating his heart out in despair.
Bugger!
thought Israel Hands.
Later, with
Walrus
moored, Israel Hands took his place in the launch with six oarsmen done out in their best rig, and Long John, Allardyce and Dr Cowdray in the stern. These chosen ones would make first contact with the shore authorities - just to be sure, just to be careful - for there was much to be done and arranged before any of the rest of the crew would be allowed to partake of the whoring and boozing and fighting that was any seaman's honest amusement, fresh ashore… especially gentlemen o' fortune.
"Give way!" cried Allardyce, and the boat began pulling for the harbour. All aboard looked back at the strange sight of the ship which had been their home, now seen in its entirety, bobbing at anchor among the innocent merchantmen… not that all of them were
quite
that innocent.
Walrus
wasn't the only ship with a black flag in her locker. Not in Williamstown Bay.
"Look!" said Allardyce. "She's down by the head. You'll have to haul some guns astern, Israel."
"Not I!" said Hands merrily. "Shift the sodding cargo aft!"
Allardyce grinned.
"What cargo?" he said. "Only cargo we've got is dollars!"
"Clap a hitch!" cried Silver nastily. "Who knows what bugger's listening!"
They looked round the harbour. There wasn't a human being within earshot. They made faces behind Silver's back and fell silent.
Ashore, Silver, Allardyce and Israel Hands went to the harbour master's office, while the six hands - chosen for their ability to stay sober - were let off the leash, bar one unfortunate who was left to guard the boat.
Dr Cowdray set off into town by himself in search of medical stores, and replacements for some of his worn-out instruments. Having found what he wanted, he then spent a pleasant couple of hours in the cool, shady streets, shaking off hawkers and beggars, enjoying the sight of women and children after so long in the company of men, and looking into the shops, especially bookshops. Then he searched for a tavern - a respectable one - for a drink and a meal, for the rendezvous was hours away yet.
He knew he had found just the place when he clapped eyes on the Copper Kettle. Situated on the shady side of King William Square, it looked bright and clean, with a long awning and tables in the fresh air. The clientele was entirely respectable, with waiters in long white aprons attending, while the vulgar populace was kept back by a fence of neat white posts with chains slung between. Cowdray stepped forward with purpose, but:
"Oh!" he said, and stopped with his bundle of books and his brown paper parcel of medical gear. He dithered and stuck his load under one arm so he could wipe the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. In amongst the respectable patrons of the Copper Kettle, seated at a table, his parrot on his shoulder, was Long John Silver. In his current foul mood, the captain made the worst imaginable company.
Cowdray stood in the hot, scented air of a tropical spice- island. It would soon be noon, and the sun was fierce. The streets were emptying as people headed indoors… and Cowdray was thirsty… then…
Ah!
Debate was irrelevant. Silver had seen him.
"Captain!" said Cowdray, advancing across the square, through the gate in the fence, to take the seat beside Silver. The latter nodded miserably. Cowdray unloaded his goods, and took off his hat in the welcome shade.
"Pffffff!" he said, and fanned himself with his hat.
"Salve, Medicus!"
said the parrot, greeting Cowdray in Latin as she always did. At least the bird was pleased to see him.
"Salve, avis sapiens!"
said Cowdray. "Hallo, clever bird!"
"Ain't she, though?" said Silver, stroking the green feathers. "And you love Long John, don't you?"
"Love Long John!" she said, and bobbed and nodded and rubbed her head against his with every sign of affection. Silver smiled, a real smile, and he turned to Cowdray to make apology.
"Sorry, Doctor," he said, "I ain't no use at present, not to man nor beast."
"Not you, Captain!" said Cowdray stoutly. Another sigh was Silver's only response.
Then a waiter came, and they ordered food and drink, and sat silent for a bit, and the victuals were served, and Silver went heavy on the drink, and at last the two fell into conversation. Perhaps it was the rum. Perhaps it was because Cowdray wasn't properly a gentleman o' fortune, and he certainly wasn't a seaman, and he
was
a surgeon - the one who'd saved Long John's life by taking off his shattered leg - but Long John's misery and trouble began to tumble out bit by bit.
"What am I to do, Doctor?"
"In what respect?"
"Taking prizes? Winning dollars? Choosing allies?" Silver shook his head. "All of it, Doctor. Living my bleedin' life!
What
soddin' life? What am I? Who am I?"
"Oh!" said Cowdray. He was a surgeon, but like any medical man he knew that men can be wounded in the mind as badly as in the body, and that such wounds could be severe. He glanced at Silver. To Cowdray, Silver was still young: thirty- two? Thirty-three? Cowdray could almost have been his father; moreover he liked Silver and wanted to help. He thought of something to say, to get Silver talking… to explore the wound.
"You let the prize go," he said, "
Venture's Fortune.
Why did you do that?"
"Had to," said Silver morosely, "or we'd not be refitting in that dockyard yonder."
"Is that arranged?"
Silver nodded. "It was just a matter of money," he said. "And plenty of it."
"Why didn't you keep the prize?"
Silver shrugged. "We'd get away with that once or twice, but
he'd
find out in the end."
"Sir Wyndham Godfrey?"
"Aye. He issues these
Protections.
I saw one in Cap'n Higgs's desk." Silver shook his head irritably. "You see," he said, "if
we… I…
am to follow this life, we need a port."
"Like this one?"
"This is the
only
bloody one, damn near! So we can't upset him what owns it."
"King George, you mean?"
Silver laughed and the parrot squawked loudly.
"And that's another thing," said Silver. "I've got to choose between them two under hatches aboard ship: Lord
fancy- drawers-McBollock,
and Mr
Bow Street
Norton, both of 'em reckoning they've a king behind 'em. So which do we favour?"
"You took Norton as a navigator…"
"Aye, but he might be useful as a go-between with the law."
"I see," said Cowdray. "And in the meantime you stole Bonnie Prince Charlie's dollars…"
"And how long would I've been cap'n if I hadn't?"
"Hmm," said Cowdray. "Of course, Allardyce is for McLonarch."
"Him and others! They worship the paper he wipes his arse on."
"What do
you
think?" said Cowdray.
Silver sighed heavily. "See here, Doctor, there could be pardons in this for all hands. McLonarch has offered one, but
only
if Prince Charlie comes home… while maybe we could get one out of King George for handing McLonarch over - if Allardyce would let us." Silver shook his head, and took another hefty pull from his tankard. "And there's civil war brewing if McLonarch gets home, and no way of knowing which side might win… or even if we should try to
stop
it, for the bloodshed it would mean for all England."