Pieces of Eight. John Drake

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СКАЧАТЬ Mr Joe! No, Mr Joe!” they said, levelling their muskets at nothing, just to keep him quiet.

      They all thought him a bloody fool, until early next morning when the expedition made its second discovery. As the sun came up, those on guard duty saw a figure peering at them from behind a tree: looking, but afraid to come forward.

      “There he is, Mr Hands!” said one of the sentries. “It’s a white man, not a savage. Miserable-looking sod, though.” He cocked his musket. “Shall I take a pop?”

      “No!” said Israel Hands, as the camp stirred and men gathered around him. “I think I know who that is!” He stepped forward and called out:

      “Ahoy there! Come alongside! We’re all friends here. Friends and jolly companions.”

      There was a stir of surprise as the bedraggled figure left the cover of his tree, and–with utmost nervousness–crept forward, hunched over in humble supplication, with fearful eyes staring out of a simple, pleasant face. He was bareheaded, bare-chested and barefoot, deeply sunburnt with a sprouting beard and hair like broken straw. All that he had in the world was a pair of breeches, an old belt, and a sailor’s knife in a sheath. But the thing that drew gasps of surprise was the creature holding his hand like a child and scampering along beside him: a large and most beautiful monkey.

      The ape was handsomely marked, with thick fur–mostly dark brown, apart from its creamy breast, arms and face–and a shock of black, upstanding hair on top of its head. It had the most appealing and intelligent face and came forward entirely without fear.

      When the man thought he was close enough, he stopped, and began to speak in a self-pitying whine.

      “I’m Benn Gunn, I am,” he said, shaking off the monkey and clapping his hands together as if in prayer. “Poor Benn Gunn, what’s lived alone for weeks with not a bite of Christian food, nor what’s not spoke to a Christian soul.”

      “Step up, Ben Gunn!” said Israel Hands. “You know me, don’t you?”

      “That I do, Mr Hands,” said Ben Gunn. “An’ you knows me, for I’m Ben Gunn what was blown clear o’ the old Walrus in the battle, and what clung to a shattered timber and what floated ashore and what’s lived on fruits and roots these past weeks and never a taste of pork nor cheese…especially cheese.”

      Ben Gunn was duly fed and watered, and the monkey became an instant favourite for its friendliness and cleverness. Jumping from man to man, it took the bits of fruit they offered, and looked its benefactors in the eye with the most charming expression.

      “Bugger’s almost human!”

      “Ain’t he a jolly little bleeder!”

      “Look at the little face on him–he’s laughing!”

      “Chk-chk-chk!” said the monkey, climbing into Mr Joe’s arms and reaching its small, inquisitive hand towards one of the pistols hooked to his belt.

      “Belay!” said Joe, laughing. “Don’t touch that, child, else you be blowin’ me bollocks off me!” And the men laughed.

      But always the creature ran back to Ben Gunn.

      “Followed me, he did,” said Ben Gunn, stroking its head. “There’s a whole tribe of ’em in the trees, up that way–” he pointed vaguely into the forest. “Don’t reckon they ain’t never seen men before, and they’s tame as pussy-cats…ain’t you, matey?”

      “Chk-chk-chk!” said the monkey.

      The rest of Israel Hands’s expedition was uneventful, except that it took nearly five days to reach the far north of the island and return to Camp Silver in the southern anchorage, not the two days they’d expected. Sarney Sawyer and Black Dog told the same tale on their return–the island was at least twice the size they’d supposed it to be, based on what Flint had told them.

      There was just one further discovery to be made, which awaited Israel Hands on his return.

      “Look, Mr Gunner,” said one of those who’d been guarding the camp. He was holding out the remains of a small, broken egg. “Long John’s parrot laid it. It’s a she!”

      “Well bugger me tight!” said Israel Hands. He looked at the big green bird, rocking on its perch nearby. “That’ll tickle Long John when he gets back!” Hands halfway reached out to stroke the bird, but then recalled Black Dog’s missing fingers and thought better of it.

      “Bugger me tight!” said the parrot.

      Silver’s voyage round the island, taking bearings and soundings, took a week. The morning after the jolly-boat had finally grounded in the shallows of the southern anchorage, he called a council of his leading men in his tent–the biggest in the camp–where there was a table and some chairs saved out of Lion.

      First on the agenda was the matter of Ben Gunn. With his monkey trailing along behind him, Gunn was brought before them. He stood outside the big tent, in the cool of the early morning, awaiting their judgement.

      “Well, Ben Gunn,” said Silver, “it appears you’ve been Flint’s man. So, whose man are you now?”

      Ben Gunn blinked in fright. He shuffled his bare feet in the sand, and looked up at the tall figure of John Silver in his blue coat. He marvelled at the sight of Captain Flint’s parrot on Silver’s shoulder, nuzzling his ear as once it had Flint’s. Ben Gunn was further puzzled by the presence of Mr Billy Bones, standing alongside Israel Hands, Black Dog and Sarney Sawyer. The latter three, he knew to be Silver’s men…But Billy Bones was Flint’s to death and beyond…or so Ben Gunn believed.

      “Mr Gunn’s been living wild,” said Israel Hands. “He’s more than half witless and he was frightened to come near us. He was starving when we found him, weren’t you, Ben Gunn?”

      “Aye,” said Ben Gunn. “Mr Hands gave me some cheese!” He smiled. “He likes cheese, does poor Ben Gunn!” The smile died. “An’ he don’t like bein’ hungry, an’ he don’t like bein’ lonely, an’ he stands ready now to sign articles and do his duty…if only he might have permission to come aboard.” And with that he raised a dirty finger to his dirty brow, and held it there, mouth open, awaiting Silver’s decision.

      “Huh!” said Silver. “Come aboard, Benn Gunn! There’s work to do, and a need for hands to do it. You shall sign articles, and be judged afresh.” He pointed to a gang of men standing ready with their tools for the day’s work clearing the final remains of Lion. “You join them there. At the double now!”

      “Aye-aye, sir!” said Ben Gunn joyfully, and he skipped off at great speed before Silver should change his mind.

      “Poor sod!” said Sarney Sawyer.

      “He were a good man once, Mr Bosun,” said Israel Hands. “He were a prime seaman, till he got flogged and it turned his mind.”

      “Flint’s work?” said Sawyer.

      “No,” said Billy Bones stoutly, “Cap’n Springer’s! That no-seaman swab as ran the Elizabeth aground. Ben Gunn was at the helm, and Springer flogged him for it, though it were Springer’s fault, as all hands knew!”

      “Aye,” СКАЧАТЬ