Authors: John Drake
"We were lucky too!" said Silver, and he looked at the hands on the maindeck, still exhausted and raw from heaving the ship from one dolphin to the next all night. "We got clear o' that battery, and now the wind's come round in our favour and we can 'vast hauling and be gone!"
"But the crew is split," she said.
Silver shrugged. "Why should you worry?"
"Because you're lying to them, John!"
"What else can I do?" Silver sighed.
All hands knew that Flint's papers were lost and Flint's treasure with them. He told them it'd happened in the heat of the moment and shared out the remaining store of McLonarch's coin as compensation. With that small store of wealth, some of the hands found that they wanted no more fighting, and thought they'd try honest seafaring in Savannah, where no questions were asked. These stood ready to go over the side, with John Silver's blessing, and into the waiting launch. Others though, had laughed and said they could always beat up and down and find new prizes, especially with a fine new war coming on, and Long John for their captain! So he'd laughed along with them, and slapped their shoulders and promised to lead them to new riches.
Of those who were leaving, most were hands before the mast. But two were not. Dr Cowdray and Mr Joe were standing alongside in their best shore-going clothes, with their trugs packed - which in Dr Cowdray's case included a great bundle of books and several boxes of instruments.
"Are you set on this, Doctor?" said Silver.
"Yes, Captain," said Cowdray. "I had plenty of time to think, when I was secured below, in irons!" He sighed and hung his head. "And I am ashamed that I was struck down, a useless wretch, when Flint came to steal your lady." He looked at Selena with hopeless feelings that he knew could never be returned. Then he smiled a little. "You know, I found myself happy when we sailed under articles, even if they were false, because I wanted to believe in them, but…" he looked Silver in the eye "… Captain, I know that I was wrong to serve Flint, and I know I was a
better
man when I served you, but I can't live this life any more."
Silver sighed, and shook Cowdray's hand.
"Thank you for this!" he said, looking down at his lost limb.
"You are not a bad man, Captain," said Cowdray.
"Nor a good one, neither!" said Silver, and grinned.
"Good bye, Doctor," said Selena, and she kissed him. Cowdray blushed.
"A-ha!" said Silver, Israel Hands, and Mr Warrington, looking on.
"A-ha!" said the crew, and nudged each other.
"Goodbye, ma'am," said Cowdray.
Now Silver turned to Mr Joe: the clever, talented lad who'd come to them as an illiterate runaway with a violent temper and a cane-cutlass, and was now the ship's best navigating officer.
"And you, Mr Joe?" said Silver. "Shall you leave us, as well?"
"Aye, Cap'n," said Mr Joe. "An' the lady knows why!"
"Oh?" said Silver, and frowned. "Him, too?"
But Selena shook her head.
"It's not me, John." She looked at Mr Joe. "It's him. He doesn't like slavery."
"That I don't," said Mr Joe.
Silver shook his head. "It's a trade, my son!" he said. "A trade, just like any other!"
"Aye!" said Israel Hands and Mr Warrington.
"Aye!" said all the rest, even the blacks among them.
"No!" said Mr Joe. "We are all God's children. From Adam and Eve onward!"
"Hmm," said Silver. "So what're you going to do, Mr Joe?"
"Stop it. Fight it!"
"Shall you, though?"
"That I shall!"
Silver shrugged. "Then good luck to you, lad, for I wish you'd stay among us, I truly do!"
"Aye!" they all said.
"Thank you, Cap'n… And there's a thing I'd ask for to take with me."
"What's that?" said Silver warily.
"A name, Cap'n. Something better than 'Mr Joe'!"
"Is that all?" said Silver. "Why, take mine and be Joe Silver!"
"No," said Mr Joe solemnly. "I'm asking Mr Hands for
his
name. He who taught me my letters and my numbers, and raised me up." He turned to Israel Hands and took off his hat. "Mr Gunner… may I be Joe
Hands?"
Israel Hands gulped and swallowed. He blinked and wiped his eyes. Then he threw his arms around the serious, earnest lad of whom he was more fond than he knew.
"My beautiful boy! My lovely lad!" he said. "Take my name and leave me proud! And if never again I see you on Earth, please God I should see you in Heaven."
So the boat was manned and pulled for the shore, and all those whose will it was to stay aboard stood silent and watched it go.
When it returned, with just two men pulling, they hoisted it aboard, made all shipshape, and set sail in the freshening wind. Within hours they were past the new batteries at the river mouth, which they saluted and were allowed to pass, for they sailed under British colours, and no man had reason to doubt them.
By nightfall, the mouth of the Savannah River was under the horizon, and
Walrus
was free and the whole world before her. Her people were happy, Mr Warrington was no more than decently drunk and well capable of setting course for Upper Barbados, where Captain Silver planned - so he said - to raise a new crew, new luck, and new riches.
"You're a skilful liar, John," said Selena as they stood together at the taffrail, with the ship heeling sweetly under sail. "Just don't ever lie to
me
again."
"I told you, my lass," he said, "once we drop anchor in Upper Barbados, then you and I can hop ship, and these lads can find themselves a new captain!"
"Why Upper Barbados?"
"Because that's where Charley Neal sent my earnings, in the old days."
"How much?" she said, and he winked and tickled her ribs so she laughed.
"Ah! You ain't so lily-white pure yourself, when it comes to money."
"But how much?"
"Enough to keep you and me cosy for life!"
"Doing what?"
"Running a business in England, the which I shall buy."
"An honest business?"
"Oh yes. No more gentleman o' fortune! Maybe a tavern? Maybe in Bristol? And how about 'The Spyglass' for a name?"
"Why that name?"
"So's we'll always be on the search… for opportunity!"
And John Silver put his arms around her, and kissed her, and for the moment was at peace, and the great green bird on his shoulder nibbled the ears of man and wife together, and chuckled in contentment.
Chapter 44
Morning, 21st July 1754
Chester's Grog Shop
Savannah
The Royal Colony of Georgia
"This is Doctor Cowdray!" cried Jimmy Chester. "He's John Silver's surgeon, and was Flint's before, and has Latin and Greek and all the tools of his trade, and is qualified at all the universities of England!"
"No," said Cowdray, protesting, "I am self-taught…
Ex uno disce omnes
… I learn from each case. My teacher was practice, not scholarship."
But nobody listened, for cries and groans arose from the horrors of the grog shop, which being the biggest public building in the town, and lavishly furnished with tables… was now its hospital, where five whores, three washerwomen, a man- midwife and the fort's horse-doctor were trying to attend nearly three hundred wounded men, some already dead in their bandages, others bawling loudly, still others shivering in pain, and the stink, noise and squalor beyond all contemplation.
"Did you know, Flint locked me up!" said Chester to Cowdray.
"He did!" said the clump of Savannian assemblymen at their president's heel.
Cowdray looked at them, and the way they held their noses, and tried not to see the horrors all around, but glanced constantly at the door and the sweet outside.
"And we set him free!" they said, praying to be free themselves.
"And I was summoned when your boat arrived," said Chester.
"Thank God, you are here!" said the assemblymen.
"Doctor!" said a fat, sweating washerwoman in blood- drenched clothes.
"Our men won the fight, but at huge cost!" said the assemblymen.
"We brought them all here!" said Chester, waving a hand at the rows of wounded.
"There's a boy here won't be stopped from bleeding," said the washerwoman.
"Spanish and English together!" said Chester. "For we are Christians!"
"There's another one here," said the man-midwife.
"Should we heat irons, Doctor?" said the washerwoman. "Is that the best way?"
"Can we leave you now…?" said Chester, backing towards the door.
"… to take command?" said the assemblymen, and fled.
"Doctor!" said a dozen voices, and horrific creatures advanced towards Cowdray: soiled, exhausted and slimy with blood. They looked like ghouls and monsters, but were those few noble, shining souls among thousands - and themselves some of the least in the city - who were doing their best, beyond duty, beyond praise, to save the hundreds of men slowly dying before their eyes.
But…
adveho bora, advebo vir
… come the hour, come the man, and Doctor Cowdray did what he'd done for twenty years. He sent for soap and hot water. He sent for braziers, charcoal and irons, which would indeed be needed. He cleared a table, laid out his instruments, went round the room… and divided the wounded into three groups: first, those who would surely die and who - in desperate extremity - must be set aside; second, those who would surely live, who were set aside for the present, and third, those whose lives could be saved only by treatment, and who were brought first to his table.
Thus it was many hours before Doctor Cowdray could rest, and he sank down trembling with exhaustion but deeply at peace within himself in the sure and certain knowledge that his skills had saved the lives of many men.
Barely had he sat down, when the fat washerwoman came up and bobbed him a curtsey, for all present now stood in awe of Doctor Cowdray.
"Doctor?" she said. "I sees you're done in, and done for… but we just found one poor sod - beggin' yer honour's pardon - what we was putting among the dead but what's still breathing."
"Oh…" sighed Cowdray, and tried to stand. He was sunk in weariness. He was so weak they had to help him to his feet.
"God bless you, Doctor!" they said, in their respect and admiration.
"Yes, yes," he said, "I'll come…"
"No need, your honour," said the washerwoman. "We brung him in a blanket."
Cowdray forced his legs to carry him to the table. He called for hot water and soap. He peered at this last patient: the one that wasn't dead after all. He couldn't see clearly. He was so tired he'd forgotten his spectacles. He found them. He put them on. But the lenses were smeared.
He rubbed them on a clean patch of shirt.
He placed aching hands on the patient's chest.
He gathered strength.
He blinked.
He looked at the face.
"Auribus lupum teneo!"
he cried, and fell back in horror.
The Beginning
Morning, 11th October 1754
The Royal George Inn
Polmouth, England
The usual collection of children, old wives and beggars was waiting to see the Bristol Lightning come in. But it was late. The church clock had already struck eleven, and no coach had yet come pounding up the road, which was therefore occupied only by plodding farm wagons, a drove of geese and a good number of respectable persons who gazed into the windows of the shops along Prince Rupert Street, which pronounced itself the most genteel emporium this side of London, and far superior to anything in Bristol - Polmouth's great rival for supremacy of the West.
"Ah!" said a lively beggar, nudging his mates, hitching up his "crippled" leg, and making ready to ply his trade. "Here it comes! Watch out, you little 'uns!" And all present cleared the way as a thunder of hoofs, a roaring of wheels, and the Crack! Crack! Crack! of the whip came from round the corner where Prince Rupert Street met the Bristol Road… and every eye turned… and the sound grew louder… then all cheered as the mighty vehicle burst in splendour into four-horse, four- wheeled, galloping sight, with the driver - high on his perch - laying on furiously to make up time, and to ensure that the expensive passengers in their expensive seats got value for money by arriving - if not bang on time - at least in all the glitter and dash of a crack stage-coach only eight miles from the last change, and the beasts full of fury, and striking sparks off the cobbles with their iron shoes.