Authors: John Drake
The dog-like expression on Billy Bones's face was bad enough, but when Flint turned to his officers he nearly ruined his entire performance… for the two young lieutenants and the elderly carpenter stood to attention and touched their hats the instant his eye fell upon them. And as for the hands in the waist, standing with their hats in their hands, awaiting his orders: Flint didn't dare
look
at them.
What
dupes
they all were! What credulous morons! He'd won them round in a few days, with a bit of seamanship, an absolute denial of guilt, and a firm protestation that all the tales against him were
spite and lies -
which phrase he'd lifted bodily from Billy Bones without bothering to say thank you: not for
that
nor for the superb job Billy Bones had done in extracting innocent praise for Captain Flint out of Ben Gunn, thus commencing Flint's redemption.
So Flint fought hard not to give way, he really did, for here he was, in front of them all, posing as a loyal sea-service officer with two lieutenants calling him
sir,
and Billy Bones in raptures of joy, and the lower deck ready to eat out of his hand if he filled it with nuts. And so, and so… Flint frowned magnificently, and dug the nails of his right hand into the palm of his left, where they were clasped behind him, so that the pain should kill his sole and
only
admitted fault: the unfortunate reaction that his inferiors drew from him on moments like this: a desire to laugh hysterically in their faces.
But…
hmmm,
thought Flint, that fine gentleman Mr Braddock - that blower of horns, that performer upon the sackbut and dulcimer, and in all probability the Jew's harp as well -
he
had a frown upon his face. Flint recalled that Mr Braddock had been the most reluctant of all to set aside Captain Flint's past activities. Indeed, he'd been most decidedly insolent, and had made reference to a store of "wanted" posters - now thankfully incinerated aboard
Oraclaesus -
that the squadron had brought out to the Colonies to be pasted on every wall between New York and Savannah, denouncing
former lieutenant Flint
as a pirate and mutineer!
Yes, Flint nodded to himself, it would soon become necessary for Mr Braddock to suffer a
tragic-and-ever-to-be- regretted accident
such as - sadly - was all too common in the dangerous confines of a small ship upon the mighty ocean.
Meanwhile:
"Gentlemen!" said Flint.
"Aye-aye, sir!" they cried, and Flint suffered agonies in choking the mirth.
"Our course is to England, and Portsmouth!"
"Aye-aye, sir!"
"Mr Comstock!"
"Sir!"
"You are officer of the watch."
"Aye-aye, Cap'n!"
That nearly did it. So nearly that Flint had to pretend to cough and to splutter before recovering himself. The fool had actually called him
Captain.
"A-hem!" said Flint. "You have the watch, Mr Comstock, to be relieved by Mr Baxter and he by others according to the standing orders I have drawn up."
"Aye-aye, sir!"
Then Flint drew upon his memories of another captain whom even Flint recognised to be a true leader of men: a man who had once been his dear friend and whom - in the dark depths of his mind - he still admired. Flint asked himself how John Silver would have behaved at that moment, and the answer came back bright and clear.
"Now then, my boys!" he cried, stepping towards the lower-deck hands. "We've come through bad times. We've come through fire and pestilence and we've seen good comrades die…" He paused to let the dreadful memories drag them down, then judged his moment and lifted them up: "But now," he cried, "we've forged a new crew. We've a good ship beneath us, and home lies ahead! So here's to new times and new luck aboard the good ship
Bounder.
For the ship, lads: for her and all aboard of her: hip-hip- hip -"
"Huzzah!" they roared, three times over.
"And three cheers for Cap'n Flint!" cried Billy Bones. "Hip- hip-hip -"
And they cheered, for there was indeed a damn fine officer inside of Joe Flint, along with all the rest, and Flint realised that as long as he had mastery of
Bounder
he must behave - of sheer necessity - as the very paragon of a naval officer, with no torment and exotic punishments, such as had been his way before. No! These pleasures must be set aside, and such true leadership displayed as John Silver would have done in his place, for Flint's own precious life might depend on the account of himself given by
Bounder's
crew should ever, and
if
ever, his case come to court.
Later, with the ship plunging gallantly along, sails trimmed and lines coiled down, and all hands content, if not actually merry, Flint had a quiet word with Billy Bones, down in
Bounder's
tiny, box-like stern cabin.
"I am optimistic, Mr Bones," said Flint.
"Are you, Cap'n? But we're sailing for England and a court martial."
"As we must! The ship's people would accept no other action. It is a vital part of our protestation of innocence. Any other course would betray us as seeking merely to escape."
Billy Bones licked his lips in fear. "Shall we go before a court then, then? One as could hang us?"
"Not if I can avoid it, Mr Bones! Much can happen on a long voyage…" And here Flint's talents turned to poetry:
Storm and adventure, heat and cold, Schooners, islands and maroons, Buccaneers and buried gold!
Flint laughed: "Thus some men can be lost overboard, and the loyalties of others changed…" He turned and looked thoughtfully at Billy Bones. He looked him up and down, and this way and that… and smiled. "And we must get you a new coat! I have just the thing, saved from
Oraclaesus."
"A new coat, Cap'n?" Billy Bones fingered the cuff of his old ragged coat. It was the same one he'd worn on the island. It never had fitted very well, and was now weather-stained and dirty.
"Indeed, Mr Bones," said Flint. "For it is in my mind to rate you as
acting second lieutenant!"
Billy Bones gasped in the joy of this wonderful promotion.
"God bless you, Cap'n. But… can you do that?"
Flint smiled.
"Of course! Such promotions are common enough in emergencies."
"Aye," said Billy Bones, nodding wisely, for it was true.
"Of course," said Flint, "their lordships of the Admiralty, would need to confirm the promotion with a commission."
"Of course," said Billy Bones, squinting furiously and working his jaw as if chewing, the better to measure his chances with their lordships. Flint smiled again, for he saw that Billy Bones was now entirely converted into the ludicrous condition of mind that accepted the present voyage as being in the king's service and Flint as captain under the Articles of War. But Billy Bones should not be blamed for that, since there were only two men in the ship who thought differently…
"Lieutenant Bones," said Flint.
"Aye-aye, Cap'n!" said Billy Bones, sitting bolt upright.
"There are two problems aboard of this ship."
"Problems, Cap'n?"
"Yes. A small one and a large one."
"Cap'n?"
"There is Mr Braddock, who has no status, no evidence, and no likelihood of influencing a court martial."
"Oh…" said Billy Bones, brought horribly back to the present.
"Mr Braddock," said Flint, "is the
small
problem."
"Is he?"
"Oh yes, Mr Bones." Flint smiled. "But it is my feeling that, were he to…
disappear
-" Billy Bones gulped, for he knew what that meant, and who was likely to be responsible for the disappearance "- few tears would be shed." Flint waved a hand. "Braddock is a landman, with ideas above his station; he is not loved by the lower deck."
"Is he not, Cap'n?" said Billy Bones, in awe of his master's insight.
"He is not, Lieutenant Bones." "Oh."
"But now we turn to the real problem…" Flint sighed.
"What's that, Cap'n?"
"Mr Midshipman Povey. He is one of those who was not immune to the smallpox, and who caught it, and yet survived!" Flint shook his head. "What a remarkable young gentleman he is! Despite all his cramps and pains, he kept on his feet, commanding
Bounder,
and never gave in until I arrived to take up his burden." Flint smiled. "He is now confined to his cot, in his cabin, where he is still weak but recovering."
"Aye, Cap'n," mumbled Billy Bones in despair, for he knew what was coming.
"Unlike Mr Braddock, Mr Povey is in the sea service. His word is evidence. And, most important of all, he will have the backing of the powerful Hastings family, whose son - now so tragically dead - was his close comrade." Flint looked straight into Billy Bones's eyes. "All this, upon his full recovery, gives Mr Povey as much power aboard
Bounder
as it would in a court martial, and this is a small ship, filled with sentimental tars who will watch over their brave young gentleman while he lays a-bed." Flint smiled. "So we shall have to move very carefully."
Then he laughed and looked at Billy Bones, who, so amusingly and so late, was developing a set of moral principles. They were little green shoots, tender and sweet… and awaiting the grinding heel.
"So there is much to do, Lieutenant…" Flint paused. "Assuming, of course, that you wish to keep your new rank? And your neck… unstretched? And your share of eight hundred thousand pounds?"
Billy Bones thought this over and hung his head in shame, for he found that he wanted to keep all these things.
"Good!" said Flint. "Now pay attention to me…"
Chapter 11
One minute before two bells of the forenoon watch
2nd April 1753
Aboard Venture's Fortune on course for Polmouth
The Atlantic
Dinner time aboard
Venture's Fortune
was an hour after noon, to allow Captain Fitch to take his observation, make his calculations and be ready at the head of the table to receive his passengers, which now included Miss Selena Henderson, the ship's darling, the delight and despair of every man aboard. It was her presence that demanded Fitch spend much more time in his cabin, before dinner, powdering his wig, washing his face, and peering into the mirror at his grimacing teeth to convince himself that they weren't too bad, and that he himself - while not the tallest of men - was a fine enough fellow for his age, and a master mariner besides.
Clang-Clang! said the ship's bell, and Fitch gave a tug at his wig, straightened his neck-cloth, took a final glance at the mirror, left his quarters and stepped the short distance to the great cabin. Aboard a big ship like
Venture's Fortune,
the cabin was spacious and elegant, and presently set for dinner with a service of fine china and real silver on the table, and a white cloth spread, and servants - foremast tars with white cotton gloves over their ever-black nails - standing by each chair, to hold everything secure against the ship's motion, which was now heavy, for they were getting the back end of a storm.
"Oof!" said Fitch, as the ship took a deep plunge. "And up she rises!" he said as the deck heaved up beneath him, and he grabbed one of the brass hand-rails that lined the cabin. They were intended for the succour of no-seaman supercargoes, but were damned useful even to himself on days like this.
"Gentlemen!" he said as Mr O'Riley and his son entered, looking green. They were father and son, the elder being a rich planter, a man in his fifties, who'd sold up and was on his way to England to become a country gentleman. They staggered and gripped the hand-rails, gazing fearfully at the big wet waves that rolled up and down on the other side of the windows that spanned the entire stern of the cabin.
"Urgh!" said the elder O'Riley as he caught the scent of food - fish soup - in the big tureen balanced in the hands of the cook's mate. Then
"Urrrgb!"
he said, and turned on his heel, and fought his way out of the cabin, past his son and past Mr Roslind, a middle-aged planter like himself and likewise on his way to the country life, but blessedly immune to the ship's motion. Roslind grinned as O'Riley went past, and nodded to Fitch.