Authors: John Drake
"Bloody shambles," mumbled Povey. He looked across the anchorage in the dimming light, taking in the idly swirling boats and ships, and the voices everywhere raised in bickering argument. There was no wind in the anchorage, so the squadron was kedging out: each ship launching its best boat, a light anchor slung beneath, waiting until the smaller vessel had pulled ahead and dropped anchor before manning the capstan to haul on the anchor cable, thereby laboriously drawing the ship forward. Then up anchor and do it again! Then again and again till the sails should feel the wind of the open sea.
The drill was simple. It was heavy work needing no unusual talent. The squadron should have been out of the anchorage and under way in a few hours. But they weren't. Everything had gone wrong: cables fouled, oar stroke lost, tempers gone and men falling exhausted at their duties who couldn't be roused, not even with a rope's end.
It was the island fever. The enemy that they were trying to escape was already among them! Povey grinned stupidly, thick-headedly. It was just like those dreams where you were desperate to run but couldn't because your legs were made of lead. The fever was doing its utmost to keep them on the island.
"Cast off hawser!" said Povey, and the hands made clumsy shift to loose the heavy rope by which the anchor was suspended beneath the boat. The boat wallowed heavily as the great load was shed, and the anchor went down to the bottom; they'd find it easily enough tomorrow by following the cable. "Back larboard, pull starboard!" said Povey, and the longboat turned in the water. "Give way!" he commanded, and they began pulling for their food and their grog, and a few hours' sleep. That should have cheered them up, but it didn't. Povey looked down the banks of oarsmen, most of whom were sweating heavily even though it was cool evening. Some - like the coxswain - were coming out in a rash.
Bounder
and
Jumper
were likewise recovering their boats and dropping their main anchors to moor for the night, as was the flagship. Povey sighed at the thought of all the heavy labour of weighing that would have to be performed again in the morning. But by this time they were bumping against the high oaken side of
Oraclaesus
and he was ordering "Toss Oars!" - the hands making a dog's breakfast of this simple command - and himself about to go first out of the boat and up the ship's side… when the officer of the watch leaned over the rail and called down to him.
"Mr Povey!"
"Aye-aye, sir?"
"I'd be obliged if you'd take the longboat and bring aboard the person who is calling from the shore."
"Sir? What person, sir?"
The officer of the watch frowned. He was feeling unwell and in no mood for explanations. "Obey your bloody orders and be damned, Mr Povey - and don't answer back!"
"Aye-aye, sir!"
Povey sank down into the longboat, almost in tears. He'd not realised how tired he was and how much he wanted to be out of the boat and into his bed. The crew obviously felt the same. They were moaning and snivelling.
"Oh, bloody-well-bugger the lot of you," said Povey. "And pull for the bloody shore."
Once they came round the ship, which happened to be between the longboat and the beach, Povey could make out the dark little dot of a figure outlined against the white sands of the beach, and he could hear a wailing cry coming over the still water. He'd not noticed it before, not with so many others shouting and the sick nausea rising in his belly again.
"Uuurgh!"
Povey retched over the side, bringing up nothing and wrenching the muscles of his stomach. He dipped a hand in the water and splashed it over his face. The crew stared as they swayed to their oars. Some of them felt as bad as Povey.
"What are you bloody sods looking at?" he snarled. "Bend your bloody backs!"
The forlorn figure on the beach grew and took shape in the twilight. It was a man kneeling right on the water's edge, with hands raised over his head. He moaned and wept and offered up prayers as, finally, the big boat ground ashore and Povey jumped out - and was astonished to be recognised.
"Mr Povey, sir! God bless and save you, sir, for it
is
Mr Povey, ain't it now?"
"Damn my blasted eyes," said Povey. "It's Ben Gunn!"
Memories flooded in. Bad memories of HMS
Elizabeth -
the vessel which had first brought Povey to this poisonous island - and Flint's mutiny, which had resulted in the death of her captain and loyal officers.
"Ben Gunn," said Povey in amazement, peering at the bedraggled figure with its straw-like hair, deep-lined, deep- tanned face, barefoot raggedness - and the wide, staring eyes of a madman. A madman who grovelled and pleaded before Povey, crouching to kiss his feet, and grasping for his hands to kiss them too. Povey pulled away, embarrassed.
"Back oars, you swab!" he said, and frowned heavily. "You were one of the mutineers, you blasted lubber! One of those that followed Flint! You were aboard the ship
Betsy
that Flint made on the island. You were aboard her, with Flint, when I was cast adrift!"
"No! No!" groaned Benn Gunn, shaking his matted head in an agony of self-pity, betraying himself comprehensively by protesting too much. "Not poor Ben Gunn," he moaned, "what-never-was-a-mutineer-nor-followed-Flint-on-the-island-nor-later-aboard-
Betsy
-nor-later-yet-aboard-
Walrus
-and-always-was-a-loyal-heart-and-true-God-bless-King-George-and-God-bless-England-and-bless-the-navy-too…"
It rattled out non-stop, ending only when Ben Gunn ran out of breath.
"Says you, Ben Gunn!" said Povey. "But you must come aboard and go before Captain Baggot to be examined."
"Yes! Yes!" said Ben Gunn. "Aboard ship and not marooned. Not left lonely with only the goats for company.
For there's only them now… what with the
others
being gone."
"What others?" said Povey.
But a cunning look came over Ben Gunn, and he fell silent, as if realising he'd said too much.
Within a sand-glass fifteen minutes, Ben Gunn found himself standing in the bright lights of Captain Baggot's cabin with the blue coats and gold lace of officers seated in front of him, and red marines behind him, and Ben Gunn goggling at the astonishing fact that among the officers, though not in the king's uniform, was Mr Billy Bones - Flint's most loyal follower. Ben Gunn pondered over that, and perhaps he wasn't so looney as he seemed, for he spotted two other things. First, most of those around the table looked like seasick landmen on their first cruise: pale and sweating heavily. And second, Ben Gunn could see that Mr Povey was as astonished as himself to find Billy Bones among the company. Alongside Bones was a clerical-looking gentleman who proved to be Dr Stanley, the chaplain, and he was treating Mr Bones with favour, almost apologetically.
Povey caught Lieutenant Hastings's eye where he sat with the other officers, and looked questioningly at Billy Bones. Hastings nodded at Dr Stanley. He risked mouthing the words:
"It's his doing!"
For his part, Billy Bones stared fixedly at Ben Gunn, who had not featured in the instructions he'd received from Flint. Thus Billy Bones was forced to extemporise, which he did to such creditable effect as would have amazed the master down below, who believed him incapable of initiative. Though perhaps Billy Bones shone more lustrously by comparison with Captain Baggot, who was not himself, being now quite ill.
Baggot did little more than extract a repetition of Ben Gunn's whining innocence, attempting only half-heartedly to examine such interesting matters as just what the Hell had been happening on the island while Flint was there? Especially to the north where John Silver had escaped aboard
Walrus?
All such matters Ben Gunn refused to discuss, fearing self- incrimination. Finally, bleary-eyed, swaying in his chair, and with red blotches now livid on his face, Baggot turned to Billy Bones.
"Will you have a word with him, Mr Bones? Were you not shipmates once?"
"Aye, Cap'n. Aboard
Elizabeth,
at the beginning of all these troubles."
"What troubles, Mr Bones?"
"Cap'n Flint's troubles, sir… and the wicked conspiracy against him."
"Rubbish!" said Povey, who knew exactly what had gone on aboard
Elizabeth.
"Poppycock!" said Lieutenant Hastings who'd served alongside him.
"Be silent, there!" cried Baggot irritably. "Do not interrupt your betters!"
"Indeed not!" said Dr Stanley, and the other officers nodded.
Hastings and Povey gaped. They couldn't believe that they weren't believed, for all England knew they'd been Flint's shipmates. Had they been fit and well, they'd have fought for truth. But, like most others present, they were not fit and well. They were sick with headache and a nausea that was getting steadily worse as the day ended and the night came on. They hadn't the strength for so fearful a task as opposing their superiors.
Billy Bones, however, being immune to the peril that was bearing down on his shipmates, pressed on clear-headed and determined.
"Now then, Mr Gunn!" he said, sending Ben Gunn quivering in fright.
"I don't know nothing," came the response.
"Yes, you do. For you was helmsman aboard of
Elizabeth,
wasn't you?"
"Aye, but it weren't my fault she run aground."
"So whose fault was it?"
"Cap'n Springer's!"
"That's Springer as was cap'n of
Elizabeth,"
said Billy Bones for the benefit of his audience, before turning back to Ben Gunn. "So it were Springer as done it, not Flint?"
"Not him!" said Ben Gunn. "It were that swab Springer, damn him!"
"And who flogged you for it, Mr Gunn - you that was helmsman?"
"Springer! He flogged me, though I was steering to his own orders."
"That he did, Mr Gunn. You that was innocent, as all hands knew!"
"Aye!"
"And when we was run aground, who was it as couldn't get us off?"
"Springer!"
"And who was it got drunk day after day?"
"Springer!"
"But who was it built the
Betsy
out of
Elizabeth's
timbers, to escape the island?"
"Flint!"
"So I akses you, Mr Gunn… who was the true seaman - Springer or Flint?"
"Cap'n Flint, God-bless-him-and-keep-him!"
And there Billy Bones stopped, being enormously wise to do so, for it was all truth thus far. It was plain truth, every word of it, and cast a most radiant light upon Joseph Flint, lately a lieutenant in His Majesty's sea service, and now accused of mutiny and piracy. Billy Bones was doing wonderfully well.
"The rest is lies and spite," he said, inspired with the genius of simplicity.
"Well?" said Baggot to Ben Gunn.
"Couldn't say, Cap'n. For I weren't there, and took no part."
"Mr Hastings? Mr Povey?" said Baggot, turning at last to these vital witnesses.
But by this time Mr Povey's bowels were squirting hot fluid down the leg of his breeches, and he was staggering, grey- faced, out of the cabin, trying not to foul the neat-patterned oilcloth floor, while Mr Hastings was slumped glassy-eyed in his chair, under the impression that the ship was rolling in a hurricane. Neither was in a position to contribute much to the discussion of Flint's guilt or innocence.
Billy Bones smiled. He'd been lucky. He'd won a flying start to his campaign. One more heave and the irons would be struck off Flint's legs as surely as they'd been struck off his own. It only awaited the next developments, as forecast by Flint.
And looking round the cabin, Billy Bones could see those developments already going forward very nicely.
Chapter 5
Four bells of the afternoon watch 18th March 1753
Aboard Walrus
Off Upper Barbados
With
Walrus's
keel sprouting too much weed for swift sailing, she was brought alongside of
Venture's Fortune
only by cunning:
Walrus
having hoisted British colours upside- down - a sign of distress - and left her sails hanging in a slovenly manner as if some disaster had befallen her people.
"Steady, boys," said John Silver to the armed men hiding behind the bulwarks, and anywhere else where they couldn't be seen from the approaching ship.