Once Billy Bones had called for silence and healths had been drunk, Flint turned to business.
"We have a heavy task before us, shipmates," he said, "for this isn't a thing to be done in an idle moment."
"Not at all, if we wasn't block-headed!" said Silver.
"Now, John," said Flint, "be done! All hands have voted for this."
"Aye!" said every other voice, and they glared at Silver.
As far as they were concerned he'd lost and was a bad loser. He sighed. He said not one more word. He sank back in his chair, and ignored them all. He did nothing but constantly and uneasily glance round the ship. He was looking for Selena, but Flint had her locked up below. It was fine sport to see Silver tormented, but there were greater matters to consider now and Flint didn't want Silver's temper ignited with unpredictable results.
With nobody to oppose Flint's plans — which were in any case excellent — the business was rapidly concluded and Silver and his men went back to Lion to many good-humoured smiles and back-slapping from old friends aboard Walrus.
Billy Bones, however, did not go straight back to Lion. A word in his ear from Flint — spotted at once by Silver — informed Billy that he needed to search his old cabin for a lucky gold piece that he'd "lost". Flint declared that Billy might turn the cabin upside down, if he wished, and return to his new captain — he smiled at Silver — later in the day.
And so to the great works. First a landing party made up equally of Lions and Walruses was sent ashore under Sarney Sawyer to set up camp. Tents were raised, stores were unloaded, and tackles were rigged — ten-foot lengths of timber with lines in the middle to sling a load by — so that two men, or four if need be, could share the burden of carrying the goods over rough ground to the burial places.
That took most of the first day, which on the island meant working from dawn till noon, then stopping for three hours while the sun did its worst, and then working another three or four hours, depending on how well things were going. Flint had planned for a working day of just seven hours, which was a wise and sensible allowance given the sweltering humidity of the southern anchorage.
On the second day, Walrus's hatches were opened and three teams put to work: one under Billy Bones, who had a dozen men as stevedores to hoist the goods out of the hold; a second under Parson Smith, who had six men and Walrus's twenty- five-foot cutter; and a third under Israel Hands, who led a party of four men in Lion's fifteen-foot jolly-boat — these being the biggest boats belonging to each ship.
Flint's plan called for the cutter to be loaded — she would take up to forty hundredweight — and then her crew would pull for shore while the jolly-boat was being loaded with her twenty-five hundredweight. He allowed an hour for each boat to be loaded by Billy Bones's men, another hour for Sarney Sawyer's shore party to unload them, and a thirty-minute pull each way between Walrus and the shore.
In theory, this would deliver two complete boatloads every three and a half hours. In practice, with the heavy current that swept the anchorage, and the debilitating effect of the climate on men not used to such work, it was found that a mere three boat-loads could be got ashore each morning, and two in the afternoon. So in the end it took four days of heavy work to empty Walrus's hold and get the goods ashore. The final load — greeted with cheers from both ships and the shore party — grounded two hours after dawn on the fourth day, since the mortally tired teams had failed to get it ashore before sundown the previous day.
In celebration, Flint ordered all hands ashore. The boats were heaving with merry crews, as one hundred and forty- seven men, and six boys were brought ashore, leaving only Selena still locked in Flint's cabin, by Flint's orders.
Laid out in neat rows, just to one side of Sarney Sawyer's camp and under the lines of bending green palms, where they took advantage of a bit of shade, the goods stood finally revealed like a regiment on parade.
There were seventy-one chests of gold coin;
There were one hundred and sixty-five chests of silver coin;
There were four hundred and forty-six bars of silver.
Men gaped and stared. They pushed back their hats. They scratched their chins. They goggled and blinked and wondered. A dull murmuring rose from the mass of men, clinking and glittering in their finery — for they'd come ashore in their best rig for the occasion. Fearful concentration was on most faces as they bent to the inevitable question.
Stood together in their long blue coats, their leaders were at the same game. Even Flint's parrot seemed to be calculating.
"Bugger me!" said Billy Bones. "What's it all worth, Cap'n?"
"A very great deal, Mr Bones," said Flint, and turned to Parson Smith. "Mr Smith, have you made the calculations I asked of you?"
"Ah," said Smith, "ahem!" And he studied his sheaf of papers. He'd laboured long and hard over these calculations, and now was his moment of fame. "Captain," he said, "I have made efforts to weigh the cargo…" He pointed to a neat mechanism of spars and ironwork, improvised by the ever-adaptable skills of seamen. Silence fell as the hands realised the subject of which he spoke and gave themselves up to intense concentration.
"We have built a balance, using six-pounder shot as weights, and I have weighed each chest and box with the help of Mr Sawyer's men, whom I commend to you for their efforts."
"Well done, Mr Sawyer," said Flint.
"Aye-aye, Cap'n," said Sawyer.
"Indeed," said Parson, gravely, "and here is my tally…" He fumbled with his papers. "Of gold coin we have a total of ninety-six hundredweights. Of silver coin we have a total of two hundred and twenty hundredweights, and of silver bars we have approximately two hundred and nineteen hundredweights."
He paused and looked around his audience, swelling with importance.
"As you will appreciate, where the chests and boxes are concerned, those weights are inclusive of the containers themselves, though these will be but a small proportion of the total. You will also appreciate that all weights are approximate, given that our standard of measurement was no more than common roundshot."
"Aye," they murmured, still deeply in the dark.
"So give us a sum, Mr Smith," said Flint. "A sum in English pounds, however approximate."
"AYE!" they cried.
Here Parson faltered. He gulped and sweated. He polished his spectacles on a shirt-cuff. He fumbled among his papers.
"The problem is, Captain, the nature of the goods. Considering first the gold coin…"
"Ahhh," said the audience, eagerly.
"Taking that example," he said, pointing to one particularly large chest — obviously oriental, with foliate brass hinges and beautiful orange lacquer-work. "I have opened that, and found it to contain the coinage of half the world. There are Georges and Louis d'ors, doubloons and moidores, and the faces of every king of Europe these past hundred years. Each has a different degree of fineness — which is to say content of gold — and may not be compared simply by weight. Thus each — "
"No doubt," said Flint, not pleased. "What about the silver coin? That's Spanish dollars. Give us your tally of them!" "AYE!"
"Ah! Ah!" said Parson. "There, too, we come to grief, for the dollar has different values in different places. In England it passes at about five shillings, in Massachusetts at six shillings, in Pennsylvania at seven shillings, and in New York at eight or nine. It depends heavily upon the availability of silver in the place concerned. There is a great crying up of the silver dollar, sir, throughout the colonies."