In many ways the assembly was far more democratic than the one which sat beside Father Thames in London, for no man aboard Walrus had bought his way in, or was subservient to the will of a political party. And while those aboard Walrus had little education — only ferocious prejudices and ignorant opinions — exactly the same applied to the members at Westminster. There were even further similarities: each member had one vote, all motions were decided by simple majority, and decisions were usually arrived at by the previous and secret leverage of promises, threats and bribes: the standard practice of every legislative assembly that has ever sat in the entire history of mankind.
On occasions, however, this time-honoured system breaks down, and the debate over the burying of Walrus's goods was one such. The reason for this was that Flint — who was for the motion — had been denied access to half the members who were aboard Lion, while Silver — who was against the motion — had been denied access to the half aboard Walrus. This left only the wildly unpredictable system of members being obliged to listen to the arguments and make up their own minds on the day. But nobody should blame these gentlemen of fortune for turning to so desperate a resort, since the same thing occasionally happens even in the House of Commons.
Flint spoke first and laid out his case.
"Brothers," he said, "let's bury what we have, here and now, so we can't lose it by storm or misadventure." He paused for effect, and looked around at those present. "And most of all, my chickens, so we don't lose it by spending the whole pile during the first week in port. For isn't that what you always do?"
"Aye!" they said, and grinned and nudged one another and nodded.
"So," said Flint, "we bury the goods, then we beat up and down until we have another cargo as good as the present one, and we bury that too, and maybe another besides. And then we return, and lift the whole lot, and divide it up — fair shares for all — and then we go home to England and live like lords for the rest of our lives!"
"Aye!" they roared.
"A carriage and pair for every man!" cried Flint, and others of his men, duly prepared, joined in.
"Ten thousand acres of rolling England!"
"A great house with servants and gold plate!"
"An alderman's daughter for a wife, and a plump tart every Sunday!"
"AYE!" The hands laughed and cheered, and pressed forward to shake Flint's hand: Silver's men and Flint's together. The rivalry between the crews was vanishing like a joint of beef under a dozen carvers.
"Silence on the lower deck!" cried Billy Bones. "All hands and jolly companions give silence for Captain Silver!"
Brother Bones was at his most officious, like a lord mayor at the opening of a home for orphan paupers. He was grimly determined to be fair to all comers, no matter how undeserving. Give a man public office and he'll bust himself living up to it — at least as far as public display is concerned. So Silver stumped forward, the long crutch thumping on the deck, and his one leg swinging behind. The cheers for Flint were drowned by cheers for his rival, and Billy Bones waved his hands to hush them into silence. This was willingly given and they listened to what Long John Silver had to say.
"Brothers, one and all!" he cried. "Answer me one question and I'll haul off and not get myself athwart the hawse of this plan, no more." There was an interested murmuring about this, and a few jeers from the back, where those out of Long John's sight found the courage to oppose him. "One question, brothers," repeated Silver. Balancing on his one leg, he beat the deck twice with the stave of his crutch. "ONE QUESTION!" he cried.
Now there was even more murmuring and jeering, and Flint sneered and tickled his parrot's feathers. This didn't sound like much of a speech.
"Below hatches in this ship," said Long John, "leaving aside the bar silver…" Profound silence fell over the company. Long John had struck a spike into the one subject that overwhelmed all others in importance. "… there's such a pile in gold and silver coin as we don't even know how much it is!
Such a pile as the hold won't take no more. Such a pile as a few more drops the same would sink the bloody ship!"
He looked around and nodded to himself. Aye, you lubbers, he thought, that's made your ears stand up. He raised his voice again. "Seven years I've been a gentleman o' fortune, and others among us longer than that! And never has any man of us seen such a pile as sits below these planks!" He slammed the staff of his crutch booming down on the deck. "Lads, it's gelt that kings'd give their daughters for! It's gelt to build navies! It's gelt to raise armies!"
Flint gulped in alarm as Long John's oratory got into its stride.
"You could buy Savannah with it! You could buy Jamaica with it!" cried Long John. "You could buy half of bloody England with it!"
Silver nodded grimly; by thunder, he'd got 'em now. Their tongues were hanging down to their boots.
"There's roughly a hundred and forty of us here," he said, "leaving aside the extra shares for cap'ns and mates. But even so, the pile's so great that every man shall take enough to live out his life in rum and pickles, and pork and tarts, in his own fine house with his own servants, and his family provided for after he's gone.
"But!" he said, falling into the style that another famous speech-maker had used elsewhere, "Commodore Flint says you'd spend your share in a week, and Commodore Flint is an honourable man. So, if you'd spend that much in a week, why not twice that, or ten times that?"
Now they were nodding. Such wealth was beyond their understanding, but they'd got the main point. The likes of them would blow their pile no matter how tall it stood.
"So," said Silver, "the whole idea o' burying the goods don't make no sense, brothers. You may as well heave it over the side and mark a cross on the sea with ink, in the hope o' coming back to find it."
"Aye!" they said, and they turned and growled at Flint with the sullen, stupid faces of fools who think they've been duped.
"Avast!" cried Flint. "Avast there, mateys!"
"Silence for the commodore!" thundered Billy Bones.
"Aye!" cried a few others — those who'd believe shit was gold if Flint told them. "Let's hear the commodore!"
So Flint got a hearing. And he exerted himself mightily and worked wizardry with words. In all truth, Long John gave the better argument from first to last. But Flint was the better speaker. Flint made them laugh with jokes about one-legged men. Flint made them drool for a triple fortune. And Flint made them afraid of losing their all if they didn't bury it safe in the ground.
But more important than all of that… and the thing of all things which won the day, was the doomed, crass willingness of mankind to be seduced by beauty.
For Flint was a splendid creature and Long John was not. Flint stood firm on two legs while Silver went on a crutch. Flint was handsome and gleaming; his clothes were magnificent, his bearing and movements were graceful. Long John Silver was merely big and broad and grim… and went hopping on a wooden crutch. No man dared fight him, most would choose to follow him, every one of them respected him … but nobody wanted to be like him. And so they were going to believe Flint and spurn Silver. Flint could see it, Silver could see it, even before Flint had finished speaking.