John Drake - Flint and Silver

As men do – when they lack the courage to fight – they went to law instead.

"You can't do that, Cap'n!" cried Allardyce, pointing at the two dead men, "It ain't according to articles!"

"No!" said the rest.

"And you're bugg'rin' mad, you are!"

"Aye!"

"Shooting at bugg'rin' parrots!"

"Aye!"

"And we ain't bugg'rin' having it! We's gennelmen o' fortune, we are!"

"Aye!"

"And you must take the black spot and you may not harm him as brings it."

"No!"

"'Cos it ain't according to articles!" roared Allardyce.

"Rubbish!" cried Flint, with the blood of his wounded scalp streaming down his face. "There's no mention of any black spots in the Book of Articles!" That was true. Flint knew it for a fact. Allardyce was thrown into doubt, because he couldn't read and was nervous of Flint, who could.

"Well… well… then… it's according to tradition,'" said Allardyce, who was one of those who'd been a King's Navy seaman. "It's… it's… according to the immemorial traditions of the service!"

"Service?" shrieked Flint, incredulously. "Service? You blasted nincompoop!" His temper snapped. He charged. Allardyce had the sense to run, but three others attempted to fight. It was a very brief combat. One found his right hand off at the wrist. One found himself bleeding to death from a slashed throat. One found nothing at all, being cut down, stone dead, on the instant.

Which marked the end of the mutiny. Those whom Flint had killed or wounded had been the boldest, the ones who'd actually dared to face him in arms. Now there was only groaning and bleeding from the survivors, and muttering from those who were whole. Nobody looked Flint in the eye, and nobody mentioned black spots again. They sat around in groups and did nothing. Flint wiped the sweat and blood from his eyes, caught sight of Selena, and gave a mad, mocking bow.

"Look!" she said, and pointed. They'd all been so busy with fighting one another they'd not seen the fire that was blazing aboard Lion. The stern was leaping with red flames.

"Ahhhh!" said Flint, and seized advantage in the instant. "There, my lads!" he cried. "See what your captain has contrived. Those swabs aboard Lion are roasted pork. Our ship's saved, and it's double shares of the goods for every man jack of us!"

They cheered him for that. They cheered and they jumped to his orders when he called on them to clear the decks and make all shipshape.

"Selena, my dear," said Flint, in a manner that was quite like old times, "you may not have noticed – not being truly a seafarer – so I shall tell you: while we are somewhat knocked about in the hull, we are entirely sound in our masts and sails!" He looked in satisfaction at Walrus's pristine rigging. "Israel Hands always did prefer roundshot below to chain- shot aloft, and today that will be the ruin of him!"

So Selena watched as Flint achieved the impossible. He turned the half-ruined Walrus back into a fighting ship. Wreckage was cut free and heaved over the side, with the dead and the dying. Small arms were reloaded, and able seamen promoted to fill ratings made vacant by death. Dismounted guns were hauled from the larboard ports, and others brought over from the starboard side, to assemble a complete seven-gun battery, and the guns were loaded…

"With, cannister, my dear," said Flint. "Which means a flannel bag filled with a good, round hundred of musket balls." He smiled. "Which is the best possible thing for men struggling in the water, having left their burning ship."

"Long John," said Israel Hands, "there's a dozen thirty-pound powder kegs down in the hold, just forrard of the magazine. We've got to abandon ship!"

"No!" said Silver. "We've lost her and no mistake, but I'm thinking of us ashore with nothing to eat but our boots and belts. So I want them stores!" He pointed to the men heaving Lion's stores out of the hold and into the skiff. The jolly-boat was already pulling for the shore with a full cargo.

"Go to it, lads!" cried Silver. "Jolly companions one and all! Heave together, boys!"

"Aye!" they cried, in their sweat and struggle, as Long John Silver did what the gods had made him for. He led his men in the face of danger and inspired them to do their best. He stumped about, cheering them on, slapping backs and calling them by name, and even managing a laugh as Lion burned beneath him and the decks grew fearfully hot. No King's officer, bred by years of training, could have done it better.

He had a team at the pump with a hose rigged and spouting into the open cavity where flames roared out of the stern. Beside them was a bucket-brigade of a dozen men, heaving sea-water onto the flames. At the same time, all hands that could share the task were trying to get Lion's stores of food and drink, and tools and arms, out of the ship and into the boats.

"Long John," said Israel Hands, "the fire's at the magazine. I've been down and cleared it, but them powder kegs is just forrard and they're already hot to the touch. We've got to leave the ship, John!"

"No, dammit! We're over seventy hands aboard of this ship, and the ship's lost and ourselves marooned, and I want pickles and pork and biscuit for all hands, and rum too, if we're to be stuck on that bloody island."

"But the powder, Long John, it won't wait!" Israel Hands was frightened. Nobody knew the strength of gunpowder better than a master gunner. If a dozen kegs went up in a ship with seventy men, there wouldn't be enough wood for kindling nor enough meat for seagulls.

Long John looked around. There was nothing more that could be done on deck. The hands were working well… and none had remembered the cargo of powder in the hold. Best not to tell them about that. All men have their limits.

"Mr Gunner," said Silver, "you were right to remind me that that-there powder is a danger to the ship." He clapped Israel Hands on the shoulder. "So let's you and I get it out of her!" That wasn't at all what Israel Hands had been hoping to hear, but he didn't dare show cowardice in front of Long John.

"Aye-aye, Cap'n," said Israel Hands miserably, raising a knuckle to his brow.

"And bring your hammer and chisel, Mr Gunner," said Silver. "It's time we let Mr Bones out. Can't let the bugger burn!" He turned to the men and raised his voice, "Keep at it, lads!" he cried. "Mr Hands and I have some instruments to recover." He looked around. "And you, George Merry, and you, Black Dog, come along o' me, for I'll need your help."

And down they went, down into the hot smoking dark – except that the hold wasn't dark any more. It was full of red light. It had never been so bright, not since the ship-builders had planked over the deck above, and shut out the sun. Silver led the way, with Israel Hands behind, and Tom Merry and Black Dog at the rear. Silver led one-legged, for his crutch was no use in narrow spaces and on ladders, and he'd left it up on deck.

"Billy-boy?" cried Silver, when they came to Billy Bones's little corner. But he found only a length of chain. He looked around.

"Where's he gone?" said Israel Hands.

"Bah!" said Silver. "Who knows. At least he ain't chained up here, a-waitin' for the flames."

He pressed on to the magazine – a small compartment sealed off from the rest of the ship. Its pine planks were dark and smouldering and giving up their resin in bubbling beads. It was very hot down here. Silver could smell his hair singeing, and the smoke stabbed his eyes.

"God help us!" said Israel Hands.

"Where's the powder, Mr Gunner?" said Silver.

"There, Cap'n." "Ah!"

Silver lurched forward, bracing his hip against the side of the magazine and reaching for the first powder keg, where it lay stacked on top of a line of water-butts.

"Back off, Mr Gunner," said Silver. "Get yourself to the companionway and hand this up to Mr Merry!"