John Drake - Flint and Silver

"Can't open the bugger," Bennet sobbed, his weakened fingers fumbling with the lid of the tinder box as he sat.

"Oh Jesus," cried Povey, "she hasn't seen us! We'll lose her."

A groan went up from the longboat as the distant ship ploughed onward with no sign of having spotted them.

"Give me that!" said Hastings, snatching at the tinder box. "I'll do it!"

"No!" said Bennet, determined to complete his task.

"She's passin' us by! She's leavin' us!"

Bennet heaved afresh at the box, which sprung suddenly open, scattering its contents over the bottom of the boat – except for the vital piece of flint, which went over the side with a tiny splash.

"AHHHH!" said Bennet as salvation sank into the depths.

"No!" gasped Hastings. "Who's got a tinder box? Who's got a flint? Search, you buggers! Search!"

There was a desperate moaning and muttering and a clumsy fumbling as the men did their utmost to find that which wasn't there.

"Hasn't anybody got one?" said Hastings, "Not even you bloody marines? Ain't you all supposed to carry spare flints?"

"Oh!" said one of the marines, his dulled mind clearing. He dipped into a pocket. "Here you are, sir," he said, and held up a big square musket flint.

"Pass it here!" screamed Hastings, and hand-to-hand the flint sped back to Corporal Bennet, who was busy retrieving steel and tinder and a stump of candle from the bottom of the boat.

Then, hands trembling, Bennet struck steel and flint together, shed sparks on tinder, raised a red glow, blew it into a flame, lit the candle and dropped it into the beacon and ran the beacon up its spar. Soon, white smoke was streaming on the wind and the boat was dry, croaking cheers from stem to stern.

"She's seen us!" cried Povey. "Look, she's coming about!"

The cheers redoubled and then died. The ship was most definitely coming towards them, but she was flying the banner of Spain.

25th June 1752 Aboard Walrus The South Caribbean

It was night. Walrus was plunging and twisting in heavy seas. Sharp-bowed as she was, she was a wet ship in a blow and the fo'c'sle was battened down tight.

Jobo had lashed the wounded into their hammocks and Long John swayed and swung with the others. He was boiling hot and delirious. The wound throbbed and burned, and worse than that he was tormented by the knowledge he was now a cripple. He groaned and wept and prayed to the God he'd long since abandoned. He begged for his leg to come back. He cringed and sobbed and implored the maker of the universe to make him whole again, and not turn him into a pitiful one-legged ruin.

And when he couldn't get that, he begged for death. He yelled and swore and called out for an end to it all. He'd have done it himself, there and then, if only he'd had a loaded pistol. So he called out to them all to bring him one. He called to Jobo, and Israel Hands and to Selena. Nobody came, except in his mind. And so he dreamed of Selena. His sanity was hanging by a thread at that moment, but he had just enough wit left, and enough humour too, to cackle with laughter when the desire stirred within him as it always did when he thought of her.

"Well, John Silver," he said, "there's still one limb sound out of the three." And he thought of the first he'd learned of her, even before he'd met her. He thought of a bill posted on a wall in Charleston harbour, South Carolina:

He slept for a while, dreaming of her, and then woke suddenly. Flint was there. Silver could tell by the cackling of the parrot and the uneasy scratching it made as it shifted its claws on the cloth of Flint's coat. He opened his eyes. He tried to force away the dull nausea and weakness. It didn't do to be weak in Flint's company.

"John!" said Flint, in what passed for tones of anxious inquiry. "How are you, shipmate? Missing the limb?"

Long John fought to remember where he was and what was happening. He looked around. He was under the fo'c'sle, in a hammock. He peered at Flint's blurred figure with the green shape of the bird bobbing and darting its head and nuzzling at Flint's ear.

"John, my dear fellow," said Flint, "'Tis your old comrade Joe Flint, come to call." There was a smile on Flint's face and a hard fright gripped Long John as he realised that he was alone with Flint. The other hammocks were gone, their occupants either recovered or dead.

"How long have I been here?" said Long John.

"Long enough, old friend," said Flint, his big white teeth gleaming in the darkness. Flint could charm the angels when he wanted.

"Jobo," called Long John, "fetch the rum, you lazy sod!"

"He's not here, shipmate," said Flint, leaning over the helpless man. "I came down specially, my chicken, just to catch a word with you in private."

"Jobo! Israel! Geor-" Long John's thin shout, barely more than a whisper, was shut off by Flint's right hand.

"Now isn't this pleasant?" said Flint. "Just two old comrades together. What a shame it can't last."

Flint produced a knife with a remarkably long and narrow blade. He shifted so his left hand covered Long John's mouth, clamping like a vice, while the right hand took the blade. Carefully Flint positioned the tip of the stiletto inside one of Long John's nostrils, and there came a fluttering and flapping of wings as Flint's parrot took itself off and found its way out of a hatchway.

"There," said Flint softly, "I'll do it as quick as possible, shipmate, for old time's sake. But it has to be done, you see, and it has to be done right, so that nobody shall know." He tensed for the strike: the swift thrust, crunching through bone and into Silver's brain, and then a vigorous corkscrew to mangle and mince. It could be done in a second. Silver would hardly feel it… would he? And in any case, too much had passed. Too much had changed, and there was no room left for sentiment. Flint tensed again. Sweat broke on his brow. He looked at Silver's yellow-white face and his staring eyes. Flint blinked. It could be done and must be done. For a third time he tensed to strike…

"What are you doing?" screeched a loud and furious voice.

It jolted Flint like a blow. He was proud of his ability to detect those who tried to creep up on him unexpected, and it was galling to be caught out. Perhaps it was because he was so absorbed in his work. But he moved quick enough and the stiletto flickered out of sight.

"Selena, my dear," he said, without looking round. Long John heard the quick steps and saw her head and shoulders loom above him beside Flint. He saw Flint's big smile and her fury.

"Israel Hands!" she called. "Come here this instant!"

More footsteps and Israel Hands appeared. Now there were three of them, blurred and swimming in front of him. It was like a play, a performance in which Long John Silver had no part. They were there: Flint who hated him, Selena who he hoped did not, and Israel Hands who'd been drooling at the mouth for Selena these many months past, but didn't dare touch her, and who now did her bidding like a slave.

Selena ignored Flint. There was no reasoning with that one. She spoke to Israel Hands.

"He must be watched night and day," she said, pulling Flint's hand off Long John's brow, where Flint had quickly placed it to give an appearance of affection and concern.

"Aye-aye, Miss Selena," said Hands.

"You fix that, do you hear?" she said. "You and your mates: watch on, and watch off, by the ship's bell, all shipshape and Bristol fashion – d'you hear?"

Selena had never been to Bristol. She didn't even know it was a place, let alone what its fashion might be. But she'd been long enough among sailors to learn their language and to bark it out with authority. Flint snorted with laughter at her doing so, but Israel Hands did not. He knuckled his brow and stamped a foot in the lower deck's most formal salute.