Authors: John Drake
"Thus I am confident, in the end, of your patriotism, Mr Flint," said Washington.
"Ya-rrrrrumph!"
said Flint, striving heroically to hide a snigger behind a cough.
"Hmmm?" said Washington, frowning and wondering. For he was no fool.
"Your pardon, sir," said Flint in a strangled voice.
"Quite," said Washington. "But this game with the knife…"
"Oh?" said Flint. He scented chastisement. It killed his laughter stone dead.
"You must play it no more, Joseph."
Flint frowned.
"It is but a contest of skill, sir."
"No! It is contemptible cruelty, for none can match your speed."
Flint said nothing. "And so," said Washington, "I charge you by
that high Craft
which we both revere, that there shall be no more of this! Not it, nor anything like it, for it shames you and makes you less of a man."
Slowly Flint bowed his head and trembled. Washington kindly laid a hand on his shoulder.
"We shall speak of this no more," he said. "I am moved by your contrition." And he walked back to the firelight, more wrong than ever he'd been in his life, for Flint was blinded with anger, boiling with outrage, and his hands were trembling for the antler-hilt knife, which stayed in its sheath
only
because he knew that he couldn't run and find the coast. Not with Washington's Indians on his trail.
Thus the life of the camp proceeded smoothly and, before dawn, the Indians were sent scouting: looking especially for Hurons, their counterparts on the French side, while the white men stood on the edge of the forest, looking down on two great rivers which merged and flowed towards the Ohio: the route into the unknown interior, but also into French territory, now only a day's march to the north.
The weather was mild, and a camp table was set up with surveying instruments and a supply of paper. Flint and Washington stood at the table with Billy Bones and Black Dog, and behind them stood Washington's men. All but Washington, who was in uniform, wore faded, practical trail clothes, with fringed shirts, slouch hats, and strong boots, with a musket, powder horn and bullet-bag slung across their shoulder.
"Now, Mr Flint," said Washington, "it is time for you to display your skills!"
"With pleasure, Colonel," said Flint, and smiled as best he could, for his bitterly regretted joke about a fleet controlling the great rivers had been taken seriously. Hence this expedition, and the supposed reason for his being with it: to give expert guidance on building the
fleet of the Ohio.
"There is the Monongahela," said Washington, pointing to the gleaming waters. "It is navigable all the way to the Ohio, and the Ohio is navigable for hundreds of miles beyond. So, Mr Flint - can a fleet be built from these timbers?" He looked into the mighty forest. "A fleet to keep out the French."
Flint thought, and found grudging interest in the matter.
"Yes," he said, "the Monongahela could float a squadron of the line…"
"Ah!" said Washington, eagerly. "That was my belief. But I am no expert!"
"I said
could
," cautioned Flint. "There are problems."
"Name them, sir," said Washington. "That is why you are here."
Flint nodded.
"There is a need for stores and provisions of every kind," he said.
"We shall build a road to supply them!" said Washington.
"And a fortification must be built, to protect the shipyard," said Flint, looking at Washington's excellent chart of the rivers. "Here, where there is flat ground and deep water." Washington nodded. Flint turned to Black Dog. "What is your opinion, Mr Carpenter?"
"Well, Cap'n," said Black Dog, "we could fell trees, and cut timber to suit. But
properly,
we should wait a year or two for the timber to season."
"No!" said Washington. "There is need for haste."
"Then, sirs," said Black Dog, "that means buildin' out of green wood, which hasn't good strength, and will warp and twist besides." He saluted, and puffed out his cheeks in relief at being done. "I take my Bible oath on it, sirs," he said.
"But will such vessels last a season or two?" said Washington.
Black Dog pondered mightily.
"Aye-aye, sir," he said. "But no more."
"Good!" said Washington. "And can you, Mr Flint, contrive vessels for the purpose?"
Flint nodded. "Some sort of flat-bottomed sloop or cutter would be needed. Not too big, so they can be worked with sweeps, should the wind fail or be contrary. Vessels of perhaps fifty tons, with a few big guns and a line of swivels." He smiled, pleased with his solution to this interesting problem… and instantly wished he'd kept his mouth shut.
"Well said, Mr Flint!" cried Washington. "The Ohio valley will need your skills for years to come!"
Years
? thought Flint.
YEARS?
But he had no time to boil and seethe, for in that moment the camp's Indians - gone not an hour ago - came running back through the woods, led by Black-Ear, their chief. A line of black-eyed, eagle-nosed, tattooed men ran with him, swift as birds and silent as smoke.
"What is it?" said Washington.
"Hurons!" said Black-Ear.
"Dammit!" said Washington. "What numbers?"
"Many dozens."
"Strike the camp!" said Washington, "We shall retire at once."
His followers were expert woodsmen, who broke camp, triced up their gear and moved off in loose single-files without another word, with the Indians scouting ahead and covering the rear. The whole formation moved through the woods like the veterans they were, using bird calls to signal to one another, while Billy Bones and Black Dog lumped along like trolls in the middle, to the obvious disapproval of the rest.
As he walked along, trying to be as silent as the Indians, Flint noted this disciplined, skilful behaviour, but noted something else, too. When the Indians came back into the camp, and when Washington wasn't looking, Black-Ear had looked at Flint, and bowed his head, and placed a hand to his heart.
Flint smiled. It seemed that his diligent cultivation of the Indian interest had finally reached the tipping point, such that it was time to bid farewell to Washington's expedition… but not before dealing with the colonel himself…
Chapter 33
Dawn, 13th July 1754
Aboard Walrus
St Helena Sound
The Royal Colony of South Carolina
The sea was calm, the wind fair, and the warm sun rose out of the east from the depths of the sea, eating the darkness and lighting the limitless, rolling depths of the American continent, and the limitless, glittering expanse of the Atlantic, now in beauteous and peaceful mood. All the world was fresh and clean and it smiled to itself as it awoke. And with the beautiful sights came gentle sounds: ripples and breeze and birds; the quiet, morning voices of men, and the soft clunk and chatter of ship's gear.
It was such a moment as makes a seaman's heart tingle and his soul to soar unto Heaven; such a moment as can only be understood by those who have felt the pitiless cruelty of the same ocean when its wrath breaks lofty masts and mighty timbers as if they were twigs that an infant snaps with his tiny hands.
All aboard shared the moment, and stood quietly to their duties, proud of themselves and of their ship, and of their trade, and eager to swell their wealth with another such prize as
Inez de Cordoba.
Better still, they grinned with the happy knowledge that their captain now knew exactly where to find another prize, since he knew exactly what the Spanish were up to!
"Look!" said Warrington, standing over a chart on a barrelhead by the tiller, with Mr Joe, John Silver and Israel Hands beside him. "The whole coastline here is ragged with rivers and creeks, and with islands close offshore. This one is St Helena Island."
Mr Joe leaned over the chart.
"Is this the best we've got?" he asked. "This chart's old and it's French!"
"Perhaps," said Warrington, "but it is drawn fair and clear, and it has soundings and sandbanks, and all such perils as mariners must fear." He was defensive, for the chart was his own.
"Well enough," said Silver, and laid a hand on Warrington's shoulder. "And the Frogs is fine seamen, an' all. So! Where's them other islands what Ibanez told us about?"
Warrington drew his telescope and swept the seas ahead.
"There!" he said pointing. "And there! We are in mid- channel, having passed into the mouth of the sound, clearing the sands off St Helena, and having two miles of water on either beam. The islands we seek are about three miles ahead."
"Which one is El Tercero?" said Silver.
Warrington blinked. "The French gave them no names…" he said.
"Aye, but the Dons did," said Silver. "See! Working
in
from the coast… down the north side of the sound…
El Primero, El Segundo, El Tercero
and
El Quarto:
First, Second, Third and Fourth." He raised his own glass and looked ahead. "And them supply ships, they anchors between Tercero and Quarto, and waits for the squadron. That's their orders."
"And there's three ships in the squadron?" said Israel Hands.
"Aye," said Silver. "Two ships of thirty guns and one of sixty."
"We don't want to be meetin' them!" said Mr Joe.
"No danger of that!" said Silver. "They ain't due for a week, and Captain Ibanez said they're usually late. Meanwhile, they's out charting this here coast of the Carolinas - this
arky-pel-argo
of islands - and seeing where big ships can anchor… for to land troops and guns."
"So there
is
going to be a war?" said Israel Hands. "With Spain?"
"Every bugger says so!" said Silver, and he straightened up, and raised his voice: "
Allllll
hands!" he roared.
"Aye-aye!" they cried.
"Can you hear me in the tops?"
"Aye-aye!"
"Can you hear me forrard an' aft an' all?"
"Aye-aye!"
"Then listen well!" he said. "Lookouts keep sharp! Guns run out and matches burning! Stand by, boarders! And a double share for him as first sights a prize!" They cheered. Silver grinned.
"Quiet,
I said!"
"Aye-aye!"
Slowly, carefully,
Walrus
ran up the sound, picking out El Primero, then El Segundo, and then things got difficult. The shoreline on the starboard bow was idyllically beautiful: first dunes and salt marshes alive with water-fowl, then sandy beaches with dark green forest behind them. That, and so many river mouths that it was hard to tell which was an island and which was not, and the old French map didn't quite show what was really there.
But no man complained. Not when a prize might be waiting just around the next corner.
Walrus
was king of all the world. There wasn't another ship in this glorious expanse of shimmering water, and no sight nor sound of any other man. This was pure, primeval wilderness, holding no power greater than
Walrus'
s guns and
Walrus's
men.
"Ahoy, foretop!" cried Silver.
"Aye-aye!" cried the lookout.
"Don't look for topmasts! They'll be…"
He was about to warn that the supply ships would strike all above the lower masts, and hide themselves with leafy branches cut from the shore. That's what Captain Ibanez had said. But the lookout wasn't listening. Not now.
"Fair on the starboard bow!" he cried. "That's my double share!"
"Huzzah!" cried all hands, and they ran to the starboard rail in a thunder of boots and a roll of the ship. Even Selena was among them, and even she was smiling.
"Ah!" said Silver, and raised his telescope. It was just as Ibanez had said. Yards and topmasts struck, and the vessel green with boughs.
"Well done, John!" cried Israel Hands. "This is all your doing!" he beamed.
"Aye!" said Silver. "Ain't it just?"
Israel Hands came close. He spoke soft.
"How'd you do it?"
"What?"
"Get that Dago to talk. He wouldn't say nothing before."
But Silver merely peered down his nose at Israel Hands, and tickled the parrot's green feathers… and looked away.