In fact, Springer need not have worried about Phillips's greed, because the commodore would soon be incapable of enjoying that deadly sin. In a matter of weeks, a violent storm would run Phillips's squadron on to a reef off Morant Point, Jamaica, with the loss of over a thousand men. This catastrophe would leave all knowledge of the island of Sao Bartolomeo exclusively in Springer's command, to the degree that even the name Sao Bartolomeo would never be heard again.
What Springer should have worried about was the temper of his crew under Flint, whose reign over the lower deck was unpredictable in the extreme. On the positive side, Flint had some excellent qualities. He knew the name of every man on board, and all their characters and peculiarities. He was a superb seaman and navigator, and his exacting standards were evident in the gleaming brass and snow-white decks. Above all, men leapt to his orders like lightning.
Many of the crew, led by Billy Bones, would have followed Flint into the cannon's mouth. Billy Bones was a big, plain, simple man with a dog's need for a master. He had enough education to find his latitude and plot his course. He had enough — plenty enough and more — of muscles to knock down any man he didn't like. Beyond that, he had the wit to recognise Flint's talents, and to envy the swaggering style and bearing of the man — a style and bearing which shone so brightly compared with his own, with his leathery face, his knotted hands and his tarred pigtail.
But Billy Bones saw no further and no deeper, and certainly acknowledged no fault in Flint. This was partly because he didn't want to: he'd found his idol and that was that. But there was more. There was fear. There was a great fear that Billy Bones bowed down to and which made his idol all the greater.
With Flint, everything hinged on fear. At a deep and instinctive level, all men look at each other on first meeting to assess who'd prevail in a fight, but no man had ever looked into Flint's eyes without blinking, for there was something about Flint that was manic and unholy, something best left unchallenged. Something that resonated with the horrors hinted at by Ben Gunn.
In some officers, this could have been a strength: an instant source of discipline. But in Flint's case it was an iron lid screwed down on a boiling pot. As his cruelties grew steadily worse and resentment festered among the men, Captain Springer, who could not bear what Flint was doing, stayed mostly below decks, thereby removing the restraint his presence would have had on Flint's behaviour. It was a situation that could not last. The lid must eventually blow off the pot.
But Phillips's mysterious island came first. Having run up the Trades to get wind of the island, according to the rough chart, Elizabeth ran south-southwest and made a commendable landfall. Springer and Flint (and even Billy Bones, with deep-furrowed brow and tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth) had completed a most effective piece of navigation.
The hail of "Land ho!" from the masthead brought a surge of excitement, and the hands ran to the fo'c'sle and into the foremast shrouds to see. Even Springer came up on deck, bringing his chart. Flint raised his hat and smiled. All hands cheered, and for a moment everyone was happy.
"The anchorage is to the northeast, Mr Flint," said Springer, offering Flint his first sight of the dead Portugee's map.
Flint studied the crude sketch and sneered.
"Pah!" he said. "Damn near useless. No soundings, no bearings. We shall have to go in like an old maid in a dark bedroom."
"Not at all, Mr Flint," said Springer. He'd become protective of the old chart and, besides, he hated Flint. "This is a good, safe anchorage, and we have no need to fear."
"Hmm," said Flint, spotting the bleary-eyed look on Springer's face and wondering how much drink he'd got down him. "We'd be as well to sway out the launch, though, and sound ahead as we go, don't you think, Captain?"
"Aye-aye, sir!" said Billy Bones, at Flint's elbow, and he turned to give the order. Springer's face filled with indignation.
"Belay that!" he cried. "Mr Bones, keep your bloody trap shut, you insolent sod! I'm master here and I shall con this ship safe to her anchorage, and there won't be no need for bloody boats!"
Flint blinked in amazement and Billy Bones's jaw dropped.
"But — " said Bones.
"Shut your mouth, you mutinous bastard, and attend to getting the guns run out!" said Springer, and turned to his bulldog. "Sergeant Dawson," he cried, "muster your men! I'll have an armed landing party ready against any eventualities." Springer turned to Flint and Bones: "Against all eventualities!"
Some hours later, the big ship worked round the northernmost tip of the island, keeping well out to sea, for vast rollers thundered ashore at every point, throwing up clouds of spray off huge rocks where hundreds of black beasts, glistening like monstrous slugs, cavorted and displayed themselves in the angry waters. Those who'd seen the like before named them for their mates as "sea lions".
A line of great hills, one a small mountain, rose up from the island, and trees of every kind covered the land. Huge pines towered above the rest, and sea-birds swooped and rose over all. There was some muttering that this was too small an island to be another Jamaica, but for all that the spirits of the crew lifted as it rose from the sea and revealed its secrets.
"There!" said Springer. "See the anchorage, Mr Flint? Good enough for a first-rate, say I!"
Flint looked through his glass and nodded.
"Room enough, Captain," he said. "But I'd still like to know what depth of water was under my keel as I went in." Having already heard Springer's views on the matter, Flint paused and chose his words with utmost care, before adding, "Could we not send the launch ahead, sir, sounding as she goes, just to be sure?"
"Nonsense!" said Springer, so poisoned with hatred for Flint that he would deny his own half-century of experience in order to prove the man wrong. He was damned if he would pay attention to anything Flint said. Not if the sod fell on his knees and begged.
"Strike the courses and reef the topsails," said Springer loudly. "And I'll slide her in as pretty as poke up a tart's arse!"
He glared at all around him defying any of them to say otherwise, and men sniffed and muttered and went about their business, while Flint shook his head and turned away. Springer was captain and Springer had his way.
The eastern side of the island was more sheltered and less battered by the waves. The anchorage was about three cable- lengths across at the mouth, which opened between low cliffs like a softer, southern version of the fjords of Norway. Inside, it widened somewhat and ran for a couple of miles to a sandy, white-and-yellow shore, with thick undergrowth and green- top trees bent over the beach. Behind that, the land rose fast and sharp to high ground on all sides. It was indeed a fine anchorage, fit for a squadron of the line.
In a ship steered by a whipstaff, the helmsman — Ben Gunn on this occasion — wielded the big, vertical lever from beneath the quarterdeck, and looked out through a scuttle, giving him a view of the sails and the sky. He had a compass to steer a course by, but could see nothing else. Consequently, when coming into an anchorage, he relied entirely on the orders of his officers. Thus Springer stood by the scuttle and Ben Gunn awaited his commands.
Meanwhile, the marines remained ready to defend the ship, the gun crews stood by their pieces; the boatswain's crew assembled at the cathead to cast off the ring-stopper and let go the anchor; the few idlers aboard got themselves where the best view was to be had, and all hands enjoyed the thrill of expectation that comes from exploring a new land. There might be gold, silver, tigers, unicorns, drink, savages… women!
The island stretched out its arms and folded them in, and waited dark and mysterious. The waters were calm, the wind was fair, the ship glided deeper and deeper into the anchorage. She came in bold and confident at a cracking pace, so that Captain Springer might show Lieutenant Flint how to come to anchor like a seaman, and not a lubberly fop… And just at the very second Springer was drawing breath to give the order to drop anchor, eight hundred tons of timber, spars, rigging, iron, brass, biscuit, salt-pork, gunpowder, canvas and men came to a full and shocking stop as the Elizabeth ran judderingly aground.