Pieces of Eight. John Drake

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       Chapter 6

       Dawn, 1st October 1752 The southern anchorage The island

      Billy Bones was pumping ship among the trees, only his broad back visible as he turned away for privacy, fumbling with the falls of his breeches and aiming at the roots of a big palm. Grunting in relief, he let loose a stream like that of a brewer’s dray horse.

      “Can you trust him, Cap’n?” said Israel Hands, a hundred yards off, preparing to help launch the jolly-boat. It was rigged for sail, with provisions for a week, two men standing by as crew, and Long John ready seated in the stern-sheets. Silver shrugged his shoulders.

      “We got to trust him, shipmate. There ain’t no other way.”

      “Then let me come along o’ you.”

      “Can’t do that, matey. There’s too much to do and too few to do it. I want you out with your party, along o’ Sarney Sawyer and Black Dog and their crews. I want this island mapped and charted, and not an inch that we don’t know the bearings of.”

      “But, John, it might be half a year or more before we sees Flint again.”

      “Not him, Israel!” Silver thumped the gunwale. “Not him, my cocker! He’ll flog all hands to their duties, and whistle up the Devil if need be.” He shook his head. “No, he’ll be back before you can blink, and we has to be ready.”

      “Then take the pistols off Billy-boy. At least do that,” said Israel Hands.

      “No,” said Silver, “them are to show we trust him.”

      “But we don’t.”

      “Israel!” said Silver, taking hold of his arm. “Yes, we do, and I’ll tell you for why…” He nodded in Bones’s direction. “I saw the look on the bugger’s face when he opened his sea-chest and saw the cargo untouched. He piped his eye like a babby.”

      “Looks as though he’s done,” said Israel Hands, for Bones was now busy shaking off the last drops. Heaving everything back into place, he turned towards the boat, making fast his britches as he stumped across the sand, head down, lips pursed.

      In addition to restoring Bones’s pistols and cutlass, Silver had issued him with a blue coat and tricorne to signify that he was, once more, an officer and jolly companion. Now he gazed upon these icons of resurrection.

      If a thing’s worth doing… he thought. But even then he knew that Billy would turn traitor the instant he caught sight of Flint.

      “Come aboard, Mr Bones,” said Silver with a smile.

      “Aye-aye, Cap’n,” said Billy Bones, touching his hat with utmost respect. The broad nose occupying the centre of his rough, heavy face was a constant reminder of the need to show respect to Silver, for it was Silver who’d flattened it, in past days aboard Walrus. Billy’s piggish eyes blinked nervously as–seaman born and bred–he gave a hand to shoving the jolly-boat out till she floated, before leaping aboard with the others.

      The two seamen immediately took up their oars in the rocking boat, set them in the rowlocks, feathered, and looked to Silver for orders.

      “Give way!” said Silver, and the boat shot forward, clear of the shore. “Take the tiller, Mr Bones, and set a course for Foremast Hill.” He looked at the oarsmen. “We’ll set sail, just so soon as she’s clear o’ the inlet. Wind’s fair from the west.”

      “Aye-aye, Cap’n.”

      Out they went, pulling through the land-locked waters where–surrounded by hills and jungle, and shielded by the mass of a craggy islet that was the island’s companion–the winds blew feeble and erratic. As soon as they cleared the narrows and came about, with the heights of Haulbowline Head on the starboard beam, the fifteen-foot boat began to lift and plunge, and all aboard her felt their spirits lift as the fresh salt smell, the wind and spray and the wheeling gulls blew away the foetid heat of the enclosed anchorage.

      “Make sail, lads,” said Silver, and in came the oars, and up went a gaff and headsail, to fill in the steady westerly blow, driving them onward. The speed was exhilarating. Too small for deep sea work, and dangerously stretched СКАЧАТЬ