John Drake - Flint and Silver

The cause of all this happiness was that Billy had just spent a week ashore, galloping every tart he could get his leg across, and drinking himself roaring drunk every night. Best of all, he had enjoyed a most delightful, and profitable, prizefight with a sergeant from the garrison who was reckoned the best exponent of fisticuffs in all the American colonies. A huge crowd had gathered to witness the encounter, which took place at night, by torchlight, on the West Common by the bay.

After only twenty-five rounds of bare-knuckle fighting, the sergeant was showing signs of wear, while Billy Bones was just nicely settling down to work. Taking advantage of the slackening of his opponent's attack, Billy Bones put him down with a cross-buttock, and began industriously to kick him in the kidneys, until he was hauled off by a band of soldiers who broke through the ring to rescue their man.

When the beaters-out had cleared the ring with cudgels', and the fight resumed, the sergeant having been revived with cold water and brought up to scratch, the military man found that his heart wasn't really in it any longer, and Billy Bones polished him off in four or five easy rounds. Later, Billy still had the appetite for three bottles of French wine and a hoggish portion of pork and corn, and he still had the strength to give the redoubtable Mrs Polly Porter one of the most vigorous servicings she'd known in all her professional experience. Indeed, it was the talk of Savannah that Mrs Porter was unable to receive customers for three days afterwards.

Besides all this, Billy Bones was merry because Captain Flint was merry, and that long-nosed, yellow-haired sod, John Silver, was not. Billy had seen the black girl that Flint brought aboard, and had whistled to himself at the look of her and the shape of her. Billy didn't like black girls normally, and would pay over the odds for a white girl, or at the very least a mestiza. But this one, by God, was different. She had a figure like a sand-glass and the prettiest little face, and the most enormous eyes, and the shiniest hair that Billy Bones had ever seen. And all the lower deck thought so too.

Billy turned this over in his mind, since, in the normal way of things, it was bad luck to bring a woman on board – any woman, let alone one like this. But Flint was captain, along with that swab John Silver – even Billy Bones had to admit the truth of the double command – and the crew would take their lead from the captain as long as he brought home the goods. So… the girl being Flint's property, no man dared oppose her being on board, and it was beyond all imagining that anyone would even think of laying a hand on her. Billy Bones alone would see to that, never mind Flint.

So Walrus rounded Tybee Island and forged out into the open sea, and the wind came on to blow, and Billy summoned all hands to shorten sail. The thundering rumble of feet on the planks and the yelling of the boatswain's mates brought Flint up on deck, and he smiled his wide smile at Billy Bones. This simple instant of approval from the man whose slave he was provided the capping joy for Billy Bones. His simple, brutal heart soared to the heavens and all around him was happiness to the far horizons.

Meanwhile, beneath his feet was the living, straining timber of a fine ship, and above him the topmen leapt to their work among the crackling roaring sails, and above them the gulls wheeled and turned and cried. On deck men were hauling on the braces to trim the mainyard and the well-greased blocks hummed and clacked with the strain. From forrard the salt spray came up like mist from the plunging bow, and the smell of the sea and the freshness and newness of it was all around.

Every seaman knows the thrill of that moment of setting out, with the land falling astern and the whole world opening ahead, and Billy Bones knew it no less than any other. It was the very heart and soul of why men went to sea, and gloried over the miserable landsmen who stayed ashore and never knew such wonders.

Flint came to stand by Billy Bones, alongside the helmsman at the tiller. He studied the set of the sails and then the compass in its binnacle.

"Well enough, Mr Bones," he proclaimed. "What course, helmsman?"

"A point north o' southeast, Cap'n."

"Well enough," repeated Flint. Billy Bones could see the satisfaction on his captain's face.

He grinned to himself, for he knew exactly what was making Flint so sweet. Billy Bones thought what he'd like to give that little piece of black mischief, if only he could get his hands on her, and never a doubt but that the Cap'n was giving her just the same. Billy Bones imagined the high, jutting breasts and the swell of her black rump from the slender waist, and he cursed hard and silently to himself, and wished mightily that it was himself doing the work and not Flint.

"Ah, John!" said Flint, as the hulking figure of Silver emerged from the quarterdeck hatchway. "Come and keep me company. I feel the need for honest conversation."

"Aye-aye, sir!" said Silver with that eternal cheerfulness that turned Billy Bones's stomach. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't the Cap'n have honest conversation with Billy Bones? Weren't he an honest man?

And so the happy moment was broken, and Billy Bones suffered the bitter jealousy of a child whose best friend has been taken away by another. For Billy Bones loved Flint. He loved him as a son loves his father or a patriot loves his country. He was sunk in awe for Flint's cleverness and his quickness and his terrible ability to strike fear into the hearts of men. And since Billy Bones's admiration of Flint was without end, he didn't mind that Flint treated him like a donkey, because such a man would do that to anyone.

What Billy Bones did mind, was the easy equality with which Flint treated John Silver. As far as Billy Bones could see, there wasn't anything that Silver did that merited this, and Billy Bones sneered. But he turned his head away to do it, and walked to the rail and stared into the sea, that his expression might not be noticed.

"Now where have you been these days past, John?" said Flint.

"Enjoying my shore leave, Cap'n," said Silver. "And doing it in those ways that the tradition of our trade requires!"

Flint laughed. "And myself busy all the while, in action against Neal the Irishman, making the best of our business."

"And yourself the best man of us to do it," said Silver. They both laughed and Billy Bones ground his teeth to see the friendship between them, and the obvious pleasure that each took in the other's company. But then there was a stirring and a whispering and a curious murmuring among the hands.

"Bugger… me… tight!" said the helmsman, each word forced out between gritted teeth. Billy Bones turned to see the cause of this.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he said, turning piously to religion in the extremity of his emotion, for he saw that Flint's black girl had come up on deck and was standing, holding on to a rack of belaying pins on the weather side to keep her footing, which she couldn't do without hanging on, what with her being a landsman… lands woman, rather.

She had her hair bound up in a silk handkerchief of deep scarlet, and she was dressed in a shirt and a pair of white duck slops, secured round the waist with a black leather belt. The clothes had belonged to one of the ship's boys: a scrawny, undersized twelve-year-old, and had been given to her on Flint's orders as being nearest to her size. But the result was a tightness around the behind, and bare legs from just above the knees, and a want of buttons around the neck that left more velvet-black skin gleaming in the sunshine than was entirely wise.

She was nervous with the motion of the ship. Billy saw that she'd be casting up her accounts before long, like any green sailor. Then he looked around and saw that there wasn't one man on deck who wasn't staring pop-eyed at her, and those below were being called up by their mates so as not to miss the treat.