Pieces of Eight

“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 even for a coastal cruise, the jolly-boat–chosen for the job because she was all they had–was rising to the occasion magnificently.

“Fine sport, there!” said Silver, pointing to the honking, trumpeting sealions that frolicked–fat, black and slippery–among the breakers pounding the rocks off Haulbowline Head.

“Fine for them, Cap’n,” said Billy Bones, with a broken-toothed grin, “but not for us.” It was the first time Silver had seen him smile. “And there’s the Cape of the Woods to clear, half a league ahead, so I’ll steer a point to windward, to give us sea-room.”

“Well and good, Mr Bones,” said Silver approvingly. “I see you knows your island.”

“Aye, Cap’n, ’deed I do. When I was here under…” His words died.

“Tell the truth and shame the Devil, Mr Bones!” said Silver. The two seaman were looking on with round eyes. “When you was here under Cap’n Flint…”

Billy Bones swallowed, studied the sea rather than Silver, and went on, “When I was here…before…we…that is he… charted her from north to south and east to west, and all the seas around.”

“So he knows the island well?”

“Every blessed inch.”

“And the seas to the north? Does he know what lies there?”

Bones bit his lip and mumbled. If ever a man wore his thoughts on his face it was Billy Bones, and Silver knew he’d touched on something important. But he let it pass, and waited until they’d forged further out to sea, where more of the island’s mysteries became visible over the line of cliffs.

“Mr Bones,” he said, “d’you see Spy-glass Hill, there, fair on the starboard bow?” he pointed at the great hill–more of a small mountain–that rose above all else on the island: heavily wooded at its roots, but almost naked near the peak.

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“And d’you see how it’s flattened at the top?”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“And I s’pose you know why Flint–who gave it its name–called it Spy-glass?”

Billy Bones said nothing.

“He called it that, Mr Bones, because it’s the finest lookout point on the island, except for one thing. D’you know what that is?”

“No, Cap’n…well…yes, Cap’n.”

Ah, thought Silver, so you’re coming about, Mr Bones.

“What is it, then?” he said.

“You can’t see to the north,” said Bones. “There’s a spire of rock in the way, right at the top. The Watchtower he called it, but it was one of his jokes. It’s smooth as a church steeple, and you can’t climb it, and short of months of work by engineers with gunpowder, you can’t get rid of it, nor get round it, nor cut a way to the top.”

“Thank you, Mr Bones,” said Silver. “So the Spy-glass is blind to the north.”

“That she is, Cap’n.”

“And can’t be cured. Not without months of work, as you say.” Silver paused. “So! How long have we got, Mr Bones? You’re the navigator. You know Flint better than any man. Where’s he gone? How long till he gets there? And how long till he comes back?”

There was a lengthy silence as Billy Bones considered his loyalties. Finally–Silver had been quite right–what brought Bones round was the thought of all his precious things, given back to him, safe and sound, in his old sea trunk.

“It’d be Savannah first, Cap’n, to get money out of Charley Neal, his agent.”

“Aye,” said Silver, who knew Charley Neal as well as Flint did.

“Then maybe to Charlestown, which is only a day’s sail north, given fair winds. It’s a big enough seaport for him to get more ships and men, and take on powder and shot and so forth.”

“And then back to us here?”

“Aye.”

“So how long till we see his blessed face?”

Billy Bones closed his eyes and did heavy sums in his head. He alone, of those on the island, knew exactly where it lay. Silver, Israel Hands, and one or two others could make a rough guess, but Billy Bones knew. After much pondering, he spoke.

“Best he could do is about three months, I’d reckon. But it could be much longer if there’s hurricanes, or if he’s becalmed, or if…”