Flint was doing this only because they were now downwind of him, and Betsy was incapable of anything other than running before a fair wind. It was his fixed intention to pass through them, or by them, to make his escape, and he'd had guns manned strictly to assist this principal objective. But Lieutenant De Cordoba knew none of this. He only saw a second ship, flying the black flag, coming to join the one that was already his equal.
De Cordoba hung his head, heaved a sigh, and asked God and his king to forgive him. Most of his powder and shot was used up. His guns were so hot that the carriages were smoking. His men were exhausted. They were in no condition to fight two ships, especially if it came to close quarters, since the men of two ships must surely outnumber his one.
With utmost reluctance, De Cordoba therefore hauled out of the fight and ran before the wind. From his point of view, it was an un-heroic decision but a wise one.
But to Flint and his men, it was joy. It was relief. It was repeal, redemption and resurrection! They cheered and yelled with delight to see the Spaniard go. And other cheers came across the water from the schooner. This broke the first wave of delight. With El Tigre growing smaller with every minute, the schooner swung out her cutter and manned it, and the cutter pulled briskly across to Betsy.
When this happened, Flint, and those left standing of his crew lined the shot-broken sides of their ship and wondered if they'd been rescued or simply taken by a different enemy.
They were glad to see the Spaniards go, of course, for the Spaniards would've hanged the lot of them without so much as a trial. But what did the schooner want? Who were her people? They flew the black flag, like Betsy did, but what did that matter? It wasn't like one of King George's ships coming to the aid of another. Flint frowned and bit his lip, and considered the oncoming cutter. He'd never go to help another ship; not him! He'd take his Bible oath on it! But there was nothing to do but wait, for even the cutter was faster by far than the half-ruined Betsy, and soon it bumped and ground alongside, and men were scrambling aboard by the main chains.
The first of them was a tall man with a mane of fair hair starting out from under his hat. He had long limbs and an active, alert face. He had the air of a man used to authority. He shook his head at the damage done to the ship.
Flint stepped forward and the fair-haired man looked him over.
"English? Français? Portugês?" he said.
Chapter 13
Billy Bones was the happiest man on board as Walrus worked her way downriver and out past Tybee Island. He chucked and smiled, and he kicked the men to their duties in the most good-hearted way, punching their heads cordially and with humour.
"Haul away, you buggers!" he cried to the waisters running with a line to raise the mainsail. "Pull, you whores' abortions!" he bellowed at the boat's crew labouring to get out a kedge anchor for warping the ship when the wind failed. He laughed and beamed and showed the mettle of his wit by flicking men's ears with the tip of a rope's end and tripping the unwary down hatchways. And all the lower deck nudged and winked, and thanked their lucky stars that Mr Bones was in so jolly a mood.
The cause of all this happiness was that Billy had just spent a week ashore, galloping every tart he could get his leg across, and drinking himself roaring drunk every night. Best of all, he had enjoyed a most delightful, and profitable, prizefight with a sergeant from the garrison who was reckoned the best exponent of fisticuffs in all the American colonies. A huge crowd had gathered to witness the encounter, which took place at night, by torchlight, on the West Common by the bay.
After only twenty-five rounds of bare-knuckle fighting, the sergeant was showing signs of wear, while Billy Bones was just nicely settling down to work. Taking advantage of the slackening of his opponent's attack, Billy Bones put him down with a cross-buttock, and began industriously to kick him in the kidneys, until he was hauled off by a band of soldiers who broke through the ring to rescue their man.
When the beaters-out had cleared the ring with cudgels', and the fight resumed, the sergeant having been revived with cold water and brought up to scratch, the military man found that his heart wasn't really in it any longer, and Billy Bones polished him off in four or five easy rounds. Later, Billy still had the appetite for three bottles of French wine and a hoggish portion of pork and corn, and he still had the strength to give the redoubtable Mrs Polly Porter one of the most vigorous servicings she'd known in all her professional experience. Indeed, it was the talk of Savannah that Mrs Porter was unable to receive customers for three days afterwards.
Besides all this, Billy Bones was merry because Captain Flint was merry, and that long-nosed, yellow-haired sod, John Silver, was not. Billy had seen the black girl that Flint brought aboard, and had whistled to himself at the look of her and the shape of her. Billy didn't like black girls normally, and would pay over the odds for a white girl, or at the very least a mestiza. But this one, by God, was different. She had a figure like a sand-glass and the prettiest little face, and the most enormous eyes, and the shiniest hair that Billy Bones had ever seen. And all the lower deck thought so too.
Billy turned this over in his mind, since, in the normal way of things, it was bad luck to bring a woman on board — any woman, let alone one like this. But Flint was captain, along with that swab John Silver — even Billy Bones had to admit the truth of the double command — and the crew would take their lead from the captain as long as he brought home the goods. So… the girl being Flint's property, no man dared oppose her being on board, and it was beyond all imagining that anyone would even think of laying a hand on her. Billy Bones alone would see to that, never mind Flint.
So Walrus rounded Tybee Island and forged out into the open sea, and the wind came on to blow, and Billy summoned all hands to shorten sail. The thundering rumble of feet on the planks and the yelling of the boatswain's mates brought Flint up on deck, and he smiled his wide smile at Billy Bones. This simple instant of approval from the man whose slave he was provided the capping joy for Billy Bones. His simple, brutal heart soared to the heavens and all around him was happiness to the far horizons.
Meanwhile, beneath his feet was the living, straining timber of a fine ship, and above him the topmen leapt to their work among the crackling roaring sails, and above them the gulls wheeled and turned and cried. On deck men were hauling on the braces to trim the mainyard and the well-greased blocks hummed and clacked with the strain. From forrard the salt spray came up like mist from the plunging bow, and the smell of the sea and the freshness and newness of it was all around.
Every seaman knows the thrill of that moment of setting out, with the land falling astern and the whole world opening ahead, and Billy Bones knew it no less than any other. It was the very heart and soul of why men went to sea, and gloried over the miserable landsmen who stayed ashore and never knew such wonders.
Flint came to stand by Billy Bones, alongside the helmsman at the tiller. He studied the set of the sails and then the compass in its binnacle.