John Drake - Flint and Silver

He was Long John Silver again.

Except that he wasn't quite the old Long John. He was something else. The men didn't clap him on the back as they would have done before. They pressed close and they nodded and saluted. But they didn't dare touch him. There'd been something serpent-like in the one-legged man leaping and hopping; and where the old Long John would have knocked down Billy Bones with his fists, the new Long John had won by cunning and by torture. Long John himself felt the change, but at least he knew by the respect – and fear – in men's eyes that there'd be no more reference to cripples. Not aboard this ship.

Billy Bones certainly felt the change, for he'd always feared Long John before and now feared him twice as bad, and never dared challenge him again. Flint saw it too, and knew there'd be no easy solution to the split in the ranks that left half following himself and half his rival. And Selena saw it and pushed through the men around Silver. She pulled at his arm, and he grinned, and waved the hands away, and they obeyed like sheep, and left him and the girl alone. She was puzzled.

"Why'd you do that?" she said. "If you'd fight Billy Bones, then why not Flint? Are you afraid of him?"

"Huh!" said Long John. He frowned deeply, and searched within himself for an answer. He might even have managed one, but he was interrupted.

"Sail-ho!" cried the masthead lookout.

"Where away?"

"Two points on the larboard beam!"

"Hands to quarters!" cried Flint.

At the sniff of a prize, all else was forgotten for the moment, and the ship cleared for action at a speed that would not have disgraced a man-o'-war.

It took a speedy, well-found ship like Walrus little time to come alongside of the vessel the lookouts had spotted. There'd not been so much as a reef-point torn free during the storm. As Long John had said, Flint was a fine seaman, and now Flint stood by the tiller, hands behind his back, parrot on his shoulder. Billy Bones, still nursing his wounded shoulder was already stamping up and down, bawling at the men, as Walrus bore down on a fine little brig that was rolling and wallowing as if no man were aboard of her.

Flint backed his main topsail and ordered a boat's crew to pull across to the brig. He looked at the vessel carefully, and turned to Israel Hands, the gunner, and grinned.

"You can send your cartridges below, Mr Hands," he said. "No need to burn powder today."

Long John also considered the new vessel. Flint was right.

There was nobody at the wheel, not a man in the rigging, and the remains of her sails were flapping in streamers where they'd been blown out of their reefs and repeatedly split by the force of the tempest. The brig yawed and staggered, coming into the wind and falling off as the waves and weather played with her. But for all that, she was an uncommon fine little craft and, despite the storm damage, she appeared quite new.

She was about ninety-five foot in the keel, a hundred and fifty tons burden, and of a most graceful and pleasing form. The hull was painted white, picked out in brown, with actual gold leaf glittering around the frames of her stern windows and the carvings round her broadside of four gun-ports. Her name was Susan Mary and a united murmur of appreciation arose from Walrus's men in contemplation of her, for any seafaring man takes pleasure in a beautiful ship.

Under Billy Bones's urging, the men swung out a boat and its crew pulled across to the brig. They went over the side with a customary cheer, and pistols and cutlasses in their belts. But it was more for form than anything else. Everyone could see there would be no resistance. Long John and Selena watched as they thundered across her small decks, whooping and yelling, and then vanished below. The sounds of their busy searching and breaking things open came clearly across the water.

Walrus's men shifted enviously and muttered to one another, feeling left out of the fun. More than that, they feared the natural tendency of small and precious items of loot to find their way into the pockets of the first finders, rather than into the general pile, whatever the articles said on the matter.

Then Black Dog, who was in command of the boarders, appeared at the rail and called across the short space of water.

"Five left living, Cap'n!" he said. "Six months out of London, and foul winds the whole while…" He paused, and looked at things hidden by Susan Mary's rail from the sight of those aboard Walrus. "'Tis the scurvy, Cap'n. The swabs ain't got a tooth in their heads, nor a limb without sores. These aboard is what's left out of twenty-three, and the rest buried at sea or swept away last night."

"What's her cargo?" cried Flint.

"Plantation goods, Cap'n: herring and slops for the slaves mainly, with bar copper and lead, and some powder and muskets."

"Well, my chickens," said Flint, turning to his men with a smile, "here's a piece of Flint's luck and no mistake. The ship and cargo will fetch a fine price at Savannah, and all without the effort of a fight." The men grinned and nodded to one another, and squinted at the brig and made their well-practised estimates of what might be their own shares from this excellent piece of business.

"Cap'n Flint," said Long John, and silence fell as Flint turned to face him and the good humour drained from his face.

"Aye?" said Flint, and his eyes wavered as Silver stared steadily back at him.

"Cap'n," said Silver, "all hands knows that there must come a parting, sooner or later, between you and I."

It seemed as if even the wind and the sea fell silent at these words, for it was the first open saying of a truth that all parties had tried hard not to notice.

"Either that," said Silver, "or this happy crew shall split, and messmates shall spill one another's blood." Flint looked about him, and his parrot hissed and clucked and shifted its claws, sensing the discomfort in its master. As for the crew, they hardly breathed. Even those aboard the brig could hear enough to know that a momentous event was taking place, and they strained their ears and leaned over the rail to catch what it was.

"Perhaps," said Flint, scowling and ever-suspicious of a trap.

"You know it, Joe Flint," said Silver steadily. "And I know it. And there ain't no perhaps about it." Flint still said nothing, but looked away.

"So I says this," said Silver: "Here's to old times and new luck!" He paused and took a breath and came out with it. "I'll take that vessel -" he pointed at the brig "- and them as takes the fancy may follow me… together with our share of the goods." Flint sneered nastily at this and shook his head emphatically. Silver ignored him and continued.

"And so," he said, "we'll sail in company. That way we shall be jolly companions still, without being forced to rub along together, Joe, for we ain't never going to do that again."

"And who's to set a course for you, John?" said Flint. "Or have you finally learned the way of it, while below decks these weeks past?"

"Bah!" said Silver, expecting the jibe but still smarting from it. "No need to worry about that, Joe. Just you give me Billy Bones, there, for you've told us many times it's only you and him as knows how to find your precious island. So lend me Billy-boy until we're done with the island and we come safe into Savannah, and I'll get me my own quadrant-monger after that. I'll hire one, as you would a coachman or a kitchen maid."

Billy Bones's jaw dropped to his very breast, and he turned to his master, shocked to the marrow, and terrified too. Flint stamped his foot in anger and the parrot squawked and fluttered its wings.

"And is that all then, John?" he said. "A brand-new ship, half the goods, the pick of the crew, and the best man among 'em, apart from myself?" he sneered. "John, your brains are rotted with the opium the surgeon fed you to stop you blubbering over your wound!"