"Huh!" said Silver, and singled out three of the biggest men. "You there! Take up this swab — " he jerked a thumb at Billy Bones "- heave him outside the fort, and tie him fast to a tree. And you two — " he chose two that were passing sober "- look to Mr Hands, and get him shipshape."
Later, in Silver's tent, with a candle lit and Israel Hands's head bound up with strips torn from a shirt, and over some more rum — because Silver needed it after the day he'd had — Silver asked what had happened.
"Well," said Israel Hands, "we was arguing over Flint."
"Flint, eh? And Billy Bones arguing the loudest?"
"Aye."
"So who hit you, Israel?"
"Dunno, Cap'n. We was throwing bottles."
"You too?"
"Me too."
Silver sighed, and slumped into a chair. What chance was there, if all hands didn't pull together? And in the morning it was worse, for Billy Bones was gone, and nearly half the men in the fort had gone with him, taking arms and ammunition and supplies. Silver was plunged into guilt.
"Why didn't I set a proper watch? How did they do it? Why didn't I wake up?"
"John," said Israel Hands, "you've done the work of ten these last weeks and — beggin' your pardon, Cap'n — you're a one-legged man that's gone from end to end o' this island, where any whole man would be wore out! So it ain't no mystery that you sleep sound."
As ever when anguished, Silver reached up and stroked the parrot, which nuzzled and nipped his ear and muttered words and bobbed her head. She was a great comfort to him, and he smiled.
"This old bird's got more sense than me!" he said. But then he set to and sent out men to find Billy Bones, and made sure the fort kept proper watch and proper duties, including the daily removal of a calendar peg as the ship's bell struck noon. There were forty pegs left after that day's peg was removed.
Finding Billy Bones wasn't hard. Knowing that he'd not be welcomed in any of the other forts Silver had built, Billy had gone to the one Flint had built, years ago: the log blockhouse, up in the trees above the southern anchorage. His sole plan was to wait for Flint's return, and fall on his mercy so that he might again bask in the grace of his hero. So there he sat with the ten men that had followed him, and who now spent their time sweeping and cleaning, and polishing everything made of brass or steel, all the better to win the Cap'n's favour on his return. Thus for a little while Billy Bones was happy, since he'd been used all his life to chasing men to their duties, and was never happier than when doing so.
He was a simple soul at heart, and his simple pleasure lasted until noon on the second day of his rebellion, when — convinced that Silver had seen sense and left him alone, and dozing comfortably inside the blockhouse, confidant that all decent men were doing much the same — Billy Bones's teeth rattled, and the heavy timbers of the blockhouse shook, to the thunder of a ship's gun fired close by. A great cloud of smoke followed, rolling choking and stinking through the blockhouse fence, and in through its open door.
"Mr Bones!" cried John Silver from outside. "Can you hear me?"
Billy Bones jumped up, and ran round kicking men awake and thrusting weapons into their hands.
"Alllllll hands," he cried, "stand by to repel boarders!" Up they got and stumbled dozy-eyed to their stations, and slid their muskets out through the loopholes and clacked their locks, and stood in the dark, hot shadow, peering out over gleaming barrels into the blazing sun.
"Mr Bones," cried Silver, "I'm willing to speak to you if — "
"Go fuck yerself!" yelled Billy Bones. "Go fuck your one-leggity self!"
"I'm warning you, Billy…"
"Bollocks!"
"Give 'em another," said Silver.
The gun spoke again, deafening at close range, and the shot howled, screaming over the blockhouse roof. When the smoke and noise died, Silver spoke again:
"Last chance to all within the blockhouse," he cried. "Next round is fired for effect, and fired by Mr Hands who never misses, and is the first of as many after that as it takes to knock you mutinous swabs into splinters!"
"Bugger…" said Billy Bones, which he shouldn't have, for it gave the game away to all hands, and they pressed forward to the side of the house facing Silver, and looked out… and saw the tall figure, in his familiar long coat and hat, and the green bird on his shoulder, and a four-pounder gun, mounted on an improvised land carriage, with solid planked wheels that somehow — at enormous labour — had been built and dragged through the forest and brought to bear on the blockhouse at the very hour when Billy Bones and his men would least expect it. Bones groaned. That was Silver, that was. Only Silver could do a thing like that… and Flint, of course… so he thought.
"Stap me vitals!" said Billy Bones, as the men round the gun aimed it square at the house, and Israel Hands swung a match-cord to make the tip burn bright. The gun wasn't six feet from the fence, and so close it couldn't miss.
"Last chance!" said Silver.
"Stand fast all hands!" cried Billy Bones.
"Fire!" said Silver.
Boom! said the gun and smoke billowed and a thundering blow struck home and every log in the blockhouse jumped and spouted dirt and muck, and the roof timbers cracked open and sunbeams stabbed the darkness, bearing oceans of swirling dust.
"Give 'em a volley!" snarled Billy Bones, and Bang! Bang! his own pistols spoke. Two men pulled triggers, but only two. They were half-hearted, and soon the four-pounder roared and the blockhouse trembled as Israel Hands put a second shot into the same spot as the first, knocking the jagged ends of a log into the dark inside, and killing a man stone dead with his teeth smashed out through the back of his head.
Which was the end of the rebellion. The men in the blockhouse threw down their arms and jammed the doorway to get outside. Once there, they fell to their knees, raised their arms, and begged for mercy, which Long John granted, as he had to. There couldn't be any hangings or shootings for he had too few men as it was.
Long John knew that from now on he would have to abandon all other plans and keep most of the men in one place, under his leadership, for his command of the island depended on it. To delegate would risk losing the lot of them in this endless fighting.
It was a dire prospect. Even Long John, in his heart, was beginning to give up.
Chapter 21
Seven men sat in a circle on Lucy May's quarterdeck, all lesser persons having been removed: Dreamer, the medicine sachem, and Dark Hand, the war sachem, sat for the Patanq nation; Captain Flint, Mijnheer Van Oosterhout and Mr Charles Neal, sat for the men of the schooner Walrus; Captain Daniel Bentham and Mr Brendan O'Byrne sat for the men of the snow Hercules; and Captain Lewis Parry sat for the men of the sloop Sweet Anne. It was Danny Bentham who'd explained to the white men that, if they were to be taken seriously by the Patanq chiefs, they must be introduced as representing more than just themselves.
For Danny Bentham knew Indians, having grown up among them as a fighting tomboy, wearing breeches and running wild with the Mohawk boys from Cana-Joharie, the Upper Castle, and Tion-Onderoga, the Lower Castle: the Indian villages near Warrensburgh in the colony of New York. The whites called them "castles" because of their heavy palisades, which made them a damn sight more impressive than Warrensburgh itself. Danny even earned an Indian name: One-who-understands, for his fluency in the Mohawk tongue, and interest in all matters having to do with hunting, fighting and woodcraft.