Skull and Bones

The dog-like expression on Billy Bones’s face was bad enough, but when Flint turned to his officers he nearly ruined his entire performance…for the two young lieutenants and the elderly carpenter stood to attention and touched their hats the instant his eye fell upon them. And as for the hands in the waist, standing with their hats in their hands, awaiting his orders: Flint didn’t dare look at them.

What dupes they all were! What credulous morons! He’d won them round in a few days, with a bit of seamanship, an absolute denial of guilt, and a firm protestation that all the tales against him were spite and lies – which phrase he’d lifted bodily from Billy Bones without bothering to say thank you: not for that nor for the superb job Billy Bones had done in extracting innocent praise for Captain Flint out of Ben Gunn, thus commencing Flint’s redemption.

So Flint fought hard not to give way, he really did, for here he was, in front of them all, posing as a loyal sea-service officer with two lieutenants calling him sir, and Billy Bones in raptures of joy, and the lower deck ready to eat out of his hand if he filled it with nuts. And so, and so…Flint frowned magnificently, and dug the nails of his right hand into the palm of his left, where they were clasped behind him, so that the pain should kill his sole and only admitted fault: the unfortunate reaction that his inferiors drew from him on moments like this: a desire to laugh hysterically in their faces.

But…hmmm, thought Flint, that fine gentleman Mr Braddock – that blower of horns, that performer upon the sackbut and dulcimer, and in all probability the Jew’s harp as well – he had a frown upon his face. Flint recalled that Mr Braddock had been the most reluctant of all to set aside Captain Flint’s past activities. Indeed, he’d been most decidedly insolent, and had made reference to a store of “wanted” posters – now thankfully incinerated aboard Oraclaesus – that the squadron had brought out to the Colonies to be pasted on every wall between New York and Savannah, denouncing former lieutenant Flint as a pirate and mutineer!

Yes, Flint nodded to himself, it would soon become necessary for Mr Braddock to suffer a tragic-and-ever-to-be-regretted accident such as – sadly – was all too common in the dangerous confines of a small ship upon the mighty ocean.

Meanwhile:

“Gentlemen!” said Flint.

“Aye-aye, sir!” they cried, and Flint suffered agonies in choking the mirth.

“Our course is to England, and Portsmouth!”

“Aye-aye, sir!”

“Mr Comstock!”

“Sir!”

“You are officer of the watch.”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n!”

That nearly did it. So nearly that Flint had to pretend to cough and to splutter before recovering himself. The fool had actually called him Captain.

“A-hem!” said Flint. “You have the watch, Mr Comstock, to be relieved by Mr Baxter and he by others according to the standing orders I have drawn up.”

“Aye-aye, sir!”

Then Flint drew upon his memories of another captain whom even Flint recognised to be a true leader of men: a man who had once been his dear friend and whom – in the dark depths of his mind – he still admired. Flint asked himself how John Silver would have behaved at that moment, and the answer came back bright and clear.

“Now then, my boys!” he cried, stepping towards the lower-deck hands. “We’ve come through bad times. We’ve come through fire and pestilence and we’ve seen good comrades die…” He paused to let the dreadful memories drag them down, then judged his moment and lifted them up: “But now,” he cried, “we’ve forged a new crew. We’ve a good ship beneath us, and home lies ahead! So here’s to new times and new luck aboard the good ship Bounder. For the ship, lads: for her and all aboard of her: hip-hip-hip –”

“Huzzah!” they roared, three times over.

“And three cheers for Cap’n Flint!” cried Billy Bones. “Hip-hip-hip –”

And they cheered, for there was indeed a damn fine officer inside of Joe Flint, along with all the rest, and Flint realised that as long as he had mastery of Bounder he must behave – of sheer necessity – as the very paragon of a naval officer, with no torment and exotic punishments, such as had been his way before. No! These pleasures must be set aside, and such true leadership displayed as John Silver would have done in his place, for Flint’s own precious life might depend on the account of himself given by Bounder