John Drake - Flint and Silver

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

"Now, get out of here!"

"Aye-aye, Miss Selena," said Israel Hands, and vanished.

Selena glared at Flint. Flint was considering this interesting turn of events. This was his ship. His to command. And yet it was not. It was his and Long John's. Each had his following. Just as Billy Bones was Flint's man, so Israel Hands was Long John's, and each with about half the ship's company behind him. Thanks to the recent skirmish, there were less of each now, but numbers were still equally divided. Flint cursed behind his gleaming smile and wondered how long it could go on.

He broke off as shouting and laughter came from the quarterdeck. He frowned, cocked an ear and attended for a while. He judged it was merely some horse-play that the men were indulging in. Nothing to worry about. He turned to Selena.

"Bless you, my dear," he said. "I'll leave you to minister unto this poor Christian, for I fear the Almighty may have forgotten the bearings of him where he lies at anchor." He looked down at Long John. "Isn't that so, my old chicken?" And then he was gone.

Selena leaned close to Long John and took his hand. The hammock swayed.

"What did he do?" she said. "Are you hurt?"

"No," said Long John with great effort, delighted at her interest. A little spark of joy twinkled deep inside him, driving away the dark of pain and weakness that was bearing him down.

"Drink…" he said, and she disappeared and came back with a pannikin of water.

"Here," she said, and raised his head so he could drink. Then she laid him back and wiped his brow. The lovely ebony face never smiled. It showed no expression at all. She was a hard creature to read. But her actions spoke, and she stayed for a while, standing guard until Israel Hands came back with Cowdray the surgeon and Jobo the surgeon's mate, who was dripping wet and swaying on his feet.

"Ah, Mr Silver," said Cowdray, "I rejoice to see you awake." He blinked guiltily and added, "I regret that you were left alone. I ordered this wretch to stay with you." He looked disparagingly at Jobo. "But it would seem Captain Flint gave him a bottle and a guinea, and told him to get drunk."

"Aye," said Israel Hands, "but we found the bugger, put a bowline under his arms and heaved him over the side on a line to the yardarm, then all hands hauled him up and down and dunked him till he was sober." He leered at Jobo. "You're right enough now, ain't you, shipmate?"

"Aye…" said Jobo uncertainly.

"You'd better be!" snapped Selena. "You," she said to Israel Hands, "stay with him. I'm putting you in charge!"

Cowdray's eyes widened, as Flint's had done, to see a black slave-girl giving orders among men, and Long John tried to laugh. But the effort sickened him and he fainted.

When he recovered, only Israel Hands and Jobo were there. They were bickering and yarning and playing dice for each other's share of the loot. Long John looked at them in fright. He doubted if the pair of them together could keep Flint off, should he choose to come back.

3rd July 1749 Morning The Governor's Mansion Puerto Espaсa, Trinidad

George Hastings and David Povey sat in the incredibly cool, elegant room and clutched their drinks. Remembering the long thirsty days, Hastings took a swallow. It was some sort of fruit juice, but like no fruit he'd ever tasted. He emptied the goblet and set it on a table.

Don Felipe Avilia Carreсo, Governor of Trinidad, caught his eye and smiled. He spoke slowly, carefully, in Spanish, trying to make himself understood.

Instantly Hastings struggled to his feet, and Povey got up beside him, blinking and frowning.

"I'm sorry, sir," said Hastings, "it's no good – we can't speak Spanish."

"No-no-no!" said Don Felipe and rushed forward to help them back into their seats. Though much recovered, they were still very weak. But at least they were clean – their filthy clothes having been removed and laundered while they slept. Even their uniform coats had been carefully brushed and the brass buttons polished.

Don Felipe turned at the sound of quick footsteps from the corridor outside, and doors swung open to admit a lady followed by two maids.

Once again, Hastings and Povey shot to their feet, this time entirely appropriately, for they needed no Spanish to tell them that they were in the presence of a great lady.

As Dona Alicia Maria O'Donnell de Avilia Carreno entered, doors closed smoothly behind her, maids deployed left and right to stand as statues, and her husband the governor stood forward, bowed and kissed her hand. She was a woman in her forties, statuesque and of regal bearing.

Hastings and Povey stood to the strictest attention of which they were capable, and bowed as Don Felipe presented them. She smiled.

"I came as soon as I could," she said in excellent English – easy for a girl who'd grown up in Dublin. "Mr Hastings, Mr Povey – you are heroes! You shall be returned in triumph to England, at the head of your men, and my husband shall send a letter telling of everything that you have achieved."

For thirty long days, Hastings and Povey had acted like men, and brave men at that. They'd taken command, made decisions, overcome threats and never wavered in doing their duty. They had, in addition, thoroughly absorbed the lower deck's morbid dread of Spain. After all they had endured, the kind words of this lady proved more than they could bear… for George Hastings was just fourteen years old and David Povey was twelve. They began to tremble and shake.

Dona Alicia looked at the tall but desperately thin Hastings, who'd sprouted, as some boys do, without filling out to a man's strength. And she looked at the childlike Povey. However grand she might be, she was a woman, and she was touched to the heart.

"My brave boys," she said, stepping forward to embrace them. This broke the last of their reserve and the midshipmen were reduced to tears.

Don Felipe motioned to the maids to leave the room, and quietly went out after them.

Within three months Hastings and Povey were back in London, their promotion assured, Society at their feet. Henceforward, both would be driven by a grim determination to see Joseph Flint pursued, captured and hanged.

1st July 1752 Aboard Walrus The Southwest Atlantic

"Diem adimere aegritudinem hominibus!" said Mr Cowdray, as the latest dressing came off Long John's stump. "D'you know your Horace, Mr Silver?"

"No," gasped Long John, teeth and fists clenched in anticipation of the pain that came with any handling of his wound. Even now Jobo was hanging on to one of his arms while Israel Hands held the other. Long John had thrown himself clear out of the hammock during previous dressing changes, what with his fighting and screaming.

"In other words," said Cowdray, '"Time heals all wounds'!" And with that he deftly removed the last of the long-tailed ligaments that hung out of Long John's stump. This wretched remnant of a powerful limb looked like the fat end of a leg of lamb on a butcher's hook, only paler. But there was no trace of inflammation, and granular scar tissue was forming, fresh and healthy, over the raw end, with the bone well covered and invisibly buried within.

" Venienti occurrite morbo, as Persius has it," said Cowdray. "Which is to say: 'Meet the disease in its first stage' – as indeed we have, and so effected a cure."

Cowdray was blathering on in Latin because he was delighted with this beautiful stump, and proud of his undoubted feat in saving Silver's life despite his appalling injury. As he chattered and applied a fresh dressing, Silver found to his surprise that there was no pain in Cowdray's attentions. This was a first. Silver finally began to believe that he might recover.