Authors: John Drake
"Ahoy, Selena!" he cried, and pointed at the carefully hidden ship. "There, my lass! All ours! All legal!" And so she smiled.
She smiled because she was young and the young don't stay miserable for ever. And the weather was glorious and the scenery magical. So - accepting she was where she was, and not where she might have wanted to be - she made use of her natural talent for making the best of things.
"Ah-ha!" she cried, and stamped her booted foot, slapped her thigh, and struck a heroic pose: legs apart, hands on hips, head back… just as she'd been taught by little Mr Abbey for pantomimes on the London stage, and the crew whooped and cheered every bit as loud as the audiences in Drury Lane. Like any artist, Selena responded to applause, and so she acted a little more. She mimed the act of drawing a telescope. She studied the bough-covered ship and turned to Silver with a mock-serious expression.
"How shall we take her, Cap'n?" she said, affecting a manly voice. "For it's a narrow creek! We'll not get the ship alongside of her!"
The crew roared with delight. Silver laughed, Israel Hands laughed, Mr Warrington cried, "
Brava! Brava!"
and clapped his hands.
"Quite the master mariner, madame!" said Silver. "But you're right. We'd not get the old ship up there without warping." He took a breath and lifted his voice and bellowed: "Boats away! Boarders away! Look lively!"
And so, the warm sun of the Carolinas shone, the little waters chuckled, the sky was blue and the gulls sang alongside the fowl of the salt marshes, and all was rum and plum duff… until suddenly it wasn't. Suddenly one lookout remembered his duty, and took a glance astern, which he'd not done for a while, being entirely concerned with looking for prizes. So he turned… and gaped… and gasped.
"Sail astern, Cap'n!" he cried. "Three of 'em!"
All hands looked astern. They let go the lines they were hauling to launch the boats. They left off checking the priming of pistols and the edges of blades. All who had telescopes raised them and looked at what was coming behind them.
Silver studied the three ships in the round eye of his telescope, which revealed their secrets for all that they were three miles away. They were in line abeam, and he didn't need the scarlet and gold of their banners to know their nationality, for they bore crosses on their topsails in the old way, proclaiming Christ, Salvation and Spain.
Two were frigates, and big ones, heavily built in the Spanish style. They'd have eighteen-pounders at least in their main batteries. They'd be spacious, comfortable ships, with room for men to live who might be at sea for years. They'd be strong ships to withstand the battering of an enemy's guns, and the violence of the seas. Oh yes! The Dons knew how to build, for their empire stretched not only across the Atlantic, but the vast Pacific too, and circumnavigation was nothing to them, nor rounding the Horn in a gale.
Silver focused on the middle ship, and sighed again, for it was old and massive, with a high stern, a spritsail under the bow, and a steep tumble-home that told of a powerful battery on the gun deck. It was almost a ship of the line, and might have been considered one in its day, with a complete row of guns below and more in the high stern and in the bow. It rolled slow and ponderous, proclaiming its weight and its power… Twenty-four-pounders on the maindeck, thought Silver.
In open water, he'd have snapped his fingers at the three of them, for no ship can serve all purposes and these weren't built for speed, which
Walrus
was. He'd have sailed them hull under in an hour. But these weren't open waters…
He slammed shut his glass, and saw every man aboard gazing at him and the boarders frozen in the act of hoisting out the boats.
"Huh!" he said. "You can belay that, my jolly boys, for we won't be taking no prizes today!" He turned to Warrington and his French map. "Is there any way out than that way?" He pointed at the oncoming ships. Warrington swallowed and gulped and peered pitifully over the chart, trying to find that which didn't exist.
"No, Captain," he said finally. "Only rivers that would take us inland."
"Well then," said Hands, "looks like that Spanish squadron found us after all. Looks like they've come early."
"Aye!" said Silver. "Either that, or that Dago captain sold me a pup!"
"What we going to do, Cap'n?" said Hands. Silver said nothing. He didn't know.
Chapter 34
Night, 27th May 1754
A forest, west of the Colony of Pennsylvania
On the borders of British territory
Flint shook Billy Bones awake, clasping a hand over his mouth so he should make no sound. Billy Bones nodded: he'd been well briefed. Black Dog was likewise woken, and the three men, with their packs and guns, silently got up and made their way out of the camp. They hadn't far to go. They'd laid themselves down close to the edge of the camp.
It was dark and the only sentries were Black-Ear and five others: Mingos like himself. They followed Flint. Thus three white men and six Indians vanished into the dense trees. Then there was a pause, while Black-Ear's men silently brought in the remaining Indians: four more Mingos, and four Iroquois, who were close followers of Colonel Washington. They came merrily and willingly, assured that Sun-Face had a new and secret game to play, in the darkness away from the other white men.
And indeed Sun-Face greeted them warmly: Mingos and Iroquois together, and he motioned for them to come close and to stand in his presence, which they did, while Sun-Face smiled and raised a finger to his lips for silence, and drew the antler-hilt knife, along his finger.
"Ah!" he said sharply, and waved his finger as if cut.
"Wuh!" they said and shuffled forward still further, with the Mingos quietly giving the Iroquois pride of place, closest to Sun-Face, and in front of themselves. Flint watched, and saw that all was good, and smiled… and cut the throat of the nearest Iroquois in a single slash, while the Mingos fell on the remaining Iroquois with the skill of a lifetime of ambush: grappling, stabbing and slicing, with tight hands to crush their victim's mouths, and each Iroquois seized by at least two men, so he should make no noise as he fell, nor Flint's victim either, for Flint imitated the Mingos and threw his arms round his blood-gargling victim and hung on hard while he kicked and choked and slumped into death.
Not even a bird awoke as the Mingos laid out the dead, and Flint watched in uttermost fascination as they slid their scalping knives busily round the hairlines, put a knee into each man's chest, and wrenched off the blood-dripping scalps with single, sharp pulls.
RRRRRIP!
said the flesh as it tore away from the bone. It was the loudest sound of the entire operation, and even
that
didn't disturb the forest… But Billy Bones did. He retched and heaved at the sight.
"Shut up, you fool!" hissed Flint.
"Sorry, Cap'n… I can't help it…"
"Just shut up!"
"Aye-aye, Cap'n."
Billy Bones fell silent, but he groaned within.
"Sun-Face," said Black-Ear, "will you fetch Washington now?"
The Mingos were clustered around him, grinning, while those who held the scalps showed them off to the rest, for the night was going well… but they'd been promised a far greater treat. They'd been promised the removal of one leader by another.
"Oh yes!" said Flint. "I'll fetch him. Just you good fellows wait here."
Minutes later, Flint moved through the white men's silent camp. He didn't creep, for that might have caused suspicion. Instead he went confidently but quietly, as a man might who'd gone to empty his bladder in the night, and didn't want to wake his mates. So nobody stirred: not even when Flint knelt down to shake Washington's shoulder, and whisper in his ear. For why should they be suspicious? Weren't the Indians alert for danger?
"Colonel?" said Flint.
"What is it?" said Washington.
"Sir, I have been thinking." "Oh?"
"Your appeal to my patriotism, sir…" "Ahhhh!"
"Could we talk, Colonel?"
"Of course…"
And so, in his wish to fund a war chest for his homeland, George Washington found himself alone and unarmed in a dark forest clearing, away from his men, following Joseph Flint, who turned to face him with a nasty, sly expression on his face that Washington didn't like. As yet, Washington was merely angry. He was not afraid, being a big man who cherished the belief that he could deal with Flint if he had to.
But then Black-Ear and his men silently appeared out of the trees, and stood behind Flint, as did Flint's own followers, though with considerably more noise.
"Flint! Black-Ear!" said Washington. "What is this?"
"Colonel," said Flint, "I have explained to these excellent fellows -" he waved a hand at the Mingos "- that your luck is broken and that they should follow
myself
instead of
yourself!"
And he laughed.
"What!" cried Washington.
"Shut up!" said Flint, and drew a sea-service pistol from his belt, and levelled it at Washington.
"You contemptible traitor!" said Washington.
Flint laughed again. "Whatever you say, Colonel. But don't cry out…or you're dead."
Click! said the pistol, as Flint cocked it.
"You pompous, uncultured, colonial oaf," said Flint. "You pretentious, ignorant, tin-soldier! By George, I'm going to enjoy this!"
"Pah!" said Washington, and pointed at the Mingos, "D'you think these men will follow you for shooting an unarmed man? Is that how you'd win their respect?"
"Oh no!" said Flint. "Not at all!" And he uncocked the pistol and threw it aside, and did the same with the other that he wore. Then he drew the antler-hilt knife and threw it to stick in the ground, between himself and Washington. "There!" he said. "Will you move first, or shall I?"
"Wuh!" cried the Mingos and rushed forward for a better look. What a fine night this was, and no mistake! They clustered round Flint and Washington, and stared like the front row at the Roman games.
"You bastard!" said Washington, and trembled, for he'd seen Flint's speed.
"Afraid?" said Flint merrily, and stepped back a pace. "There," he said. "Now I've given you every chance." And he grinned and waited in such confidence… that he nearly lost everything, for Washington leapt not at the knife - which Flint was expecting -
but straight at Flint himself
, with hands outstretched to strangle and mangle and crush.
"WUH!" cried the Mingos.
"Cap'n!" cried Billy Bones and Black Dog.
Only Flint's speed saved him. He was moving as Washington struck, diving to one side such that the huge, broad hands caught his coat-tails not his throat, but even that pulled him over, kicking and struggling, with Washington hammering a fist into his back and the two rolling on the ground, and the Mingos yelling and Black Dog trying to find a clear shot for his own pistols, and Billy Bones pulling him off for fear of hitting Flint, and Flint jamming a heel into Washington's shoulder and Washington punching Flint in the belly and the two gasping and cursing and Flint knowing himself the weaker man, and Washington roaring and hauling himself hand over hand towards Flint's throat and Flint flailing out a hand
and chancing on one of the pistols!
And Washington thumping an elbow into Flint's chest and Flint aiming the pistol… which split the dark, with a bang and a flash, and the ball went nowhere, and Washington got a grip on Flint's neck and squeezed and squeezed… and:
Thump! Flint swung the heavy pistol by the muzzle and caught Washington on top of the head, the thick butt landing with the force of a hammer.
"Ugh…" said Washington.
Thump! said the pistol, again. Thump! once more.
And Flint was getting up, and swaying on his feet, and Washington lying still.
"Give me a knife!" screamed Flint, eyes white round the pupils, and froth on his lips. "
Give me a knife!"
he shrieked, and the Mingos sped forward, entranced with the entertainment, each seeking the honour of lending his knife to Sun Face, and Flint snatched a knife, and dropped to his knees and felt for Washington's hairline and put the sharp point to the warm flesh…
"No!" cried Billy Bones, and threw himself down and grabbed Flint's hand, such that the knife wavered and trembled and Billy Bones heaved to pull it clear of Washington's face, wrestling nose-to-nose with his wildly angry master.
"Don't do it!" gasped Billy Bones, in anguish. "Not that! We're seamen, not bloody savages. Ain't it good enough you beat the bugger fair an' square?"
"You blockhead! You deadeye! You swab!" cried Flint, and wrenched free, and leapt up with the knife in his hand and death in his eyes. He would have fallen on Billy Bones, but Black-Ear pushed between them with wide eyes and arms raised.