A nasty growl came from the hands. Flint frowned. Billy Bones and Flint's parrot — attentive to their master's mood — blinked and shuffled, the one reaching for his cutlass, and the other moaning in anticipation. They didn't quite look at one another and share the moment, but it was damned close.
"Am I to understand, Mr Smith," said Flint, "that you cannot make even a guess?"
"No, sir," said Parson. "But the calculations, sir, they are… sir, most complex… sir…" Parson licked his lips, he looked into the depth of his papers. He found no answer there, and he began to tremble.
"Bloody Parson!" cried a voice from the deep of the crowd.
"He's thievin' it, that's what!" said another.
"Soddin' lubber!"
"How much have you stole, you bugger?"
"How much have we got left?"
"Avast!" cried Silver, stirring out of his sulk. "Belay that!" He stumped forward from where he'd been standing, a little separate from the other blue coats. He pulled off his hat in irritation. He wiped his brow and clapped on the hat again.
"Why, John!" said Flint, with a sarcastic smile, "Are you joining us, at last?"
"Maybe I am, maybe I ain't," said Silver and jabbed a finger at Parson Smith. "But shiver my timbers if I'll stand idle while this bum-sucking lubber pisses in our grog!"
"Go on, Long John!" said Israel Hands.
"Long John!" cried the mob.
"Now see here," said Silver, "this is a case for good round figures. First the gold coin…" He looked at Smith. "You say we've got ninety-six hundredweight of coin?" Smith nodded. "So," said Silver, "bugger your 'degrees of fineness' — let's say it was all in English guineas. That ain't precious accurate, but it's good enough. It's all bloody gold at the end of the day."
"Aye!" said the hands.
"Well," said Silver, "a hundred pounds' value, in English guineas, weighs roughly thirty ounces of weight, and there are roughly eighteen hundred ounces in a hundredweight…" he paused and looked round his audience "… as any gentleman of fortune knows."
They grinned guiltily, like schoolboys caught out not knowing their lessons.
"So," said Silver, "thirty goes sixty times into eighteen hundred, so a hundredweight of guineas is worth sixty times a hundred pounds, which is six thousand pounds. And since we've got near enough a hundred hundredweights of it, that means we've got — in gold coin — close on… six hundred thousand pounds."
There was a deep gasp.
"As for the dollars," said Silver, "each dollar weighs an ounce, and there's eighteen hundred of them to the hundredweight too. We've got two hundred and twenty hundredweights…" he frowned and closed his eyes an instant "… which makes three hundred and ninety-six thousand ounces. If we takes even the lowest value for dollars — the value in London, which is four to the pound — that's still close on… one hundred thousand pounds."
Another gasp and he turned finally to the stacked bars of silver.
"And it's near as damnit the same for them too! About two hundred hundredweights of silver, or… another hundred thousand pounds."
Now they were awestruck and helpless before such colossal sums of money, and all of it in precious metal.
"Aye, shipmates," said Silver, "I'll leave you to work out your shares, for I'm done and buggered, and I've said enough. But the grand total must be at least… eight hundred thousand pounds.'"
He was right about the arithmetic. He was wrong about saying too little. He hadn't said nearly enough. Not by a long way. The men were brimming with respect for him. They were as grateful as if he, personally, had conjured the money out of the air for them. If he'd seized the moment, he'd have won them back and dumped Flint's burial plan into the bog-house pit where it belonged. But he said nothing. He was still grieving over the loss of Selena and cursing himself for losing the previous debate.
So Flint seized the moment. He'd read the men's mood precisely and suffered a fearful stab of fright. But he bounced back fast and went among the men, laughing and joking, and calling them by name, telling them what wealth they'd enjoy, calling for food and drink, and proclaiming a rest day… And since, as ever, Flint was irresistibly charming whenever he chose to be, they hoisted him shoulder high and carried him round the camp, cheering and waving, with Billy Bones following behind, lost in joy at the triumph of the moment.
Silver gave up completely after that, and proceeded to get heavily drunk when the rum went round. Flint smiled happily and pressed on with the rest of his plan.
"Now, shipmates," he said, gathering them together, "here's how we shall continue. First we shall carry the goods off the beach, to an approximation of their three separate resting places: one for the gold, one for the dollars, one for the bar silver. That is a task which shall need all hands, in three crews. Then we shall draw lots for a final crew of just six men, which shall complete the burying in the final, secret places."
"Aye!" they said, nodding wisely — all except Silver, who was sitting on a barrel all by himself, emptying a mug.
"All hands but the lucky six and myself," said Flint, "shall then return to the ships and watch for my signal there — " he pointed to a big spar, raised up as a flag post by Sarney Sawyer's men, with a black flag waiting to be run up to the truck.
"All shall watch for the signal. And until it goes up, none shall interfere with the works ashore. Is that agreed?"
"Aye!"
"And is that sworn upon our articles? Sworn as free companions and gentlemen of fortune?"
"Aye!"
Flint congratulated himself. He smirked and tickled the parrot. He was so proud of himself. He'd won it all. He'd mastered John Silver, and done it with Silver's own jolly companions' lore. In the joy of the moment, Flint was moved to add a few more words which were not John Silver's lore but his own. This was entirely unnecessary, and a considerable mistake.
"Thus Lion shall guard Walrus," he said, "and Walrus shall guard Lion, and either shall fire into the other, should a landing party be seen going over the side."
"Aye," they said, and looked at one another, and were reminded — from that moment on — that they were not one crew of jolly companions, but two crews of rivals.
Chapter 33
It took six men to put Billy Bones in irons.
Two or three others went down, battered by Billy's fists as the tangle of bodies rolled across the main deck, and Silver clumped about yelling and bellowing while those not engaged in the fight shouted encouragement and blessed their luck that they'd not been chosen for this particular duty.
Finally, when Billy Bones's strength was exhausted and men were hanging on to each of his limbs, Israel Hands hauled off Billy's shoes and put a pair of U-shaped iron hoops over his ankles, then ran a short rod through eyes in the ends of the loops. One end of the bar had a head that wouldn't pass through the eyes, and the other end Mr Hands hammered over so it wouldn't go through either. That left Billy Bones's feet firmly fixed together so he could stand — or hop — but not walk. He was as firmly clapped in irons as any seaman ever had been.
"There you are, Mr Bones," said Israel Hands, "all snug and tight."
"Go fuck your mother," said Billy. "I'll do for you yet, you bastard!"
"Not if I do you first," said Israel Hands, and added mockingly, "Billy-my-chicken!"
Billy Bones found strength to shake off some of the men and lunged forward in a ferocious attempt to get a stranglehold round Israel Hands's neck.