"Shag my tits!" he said. "It's Walrus herself, with Flint aboard and flogging the arse off all hands!"
Merry gaped in amazement. He wasn't the sharpest pin in the cushion.
"What?" said he. "Can you see the swab?"
"No, you blockhead, but it's Walrus all right. I'd know her anywhere. Walrus and two others: a snow an' a sloop." He shook his head. "Long John was right an' all! Flint's come back with a bleedin' army!"
"Stap me," said Merry. "Just six days after the timber calendar ran out. That's precious close, ain't it? Long John got that right, near enough!"
"Buggered if I know," said Whitey, and looked at the distant flotilla: white sails and grey smudges of hull in the disturbed waters some fifteen miles north. "We got to pass the word. They'll not make landfall this night, but'll need to drop anchor offshore. Here!" He passed the telescope to Merry and slung a canteen of water over his shoulder. "You got the watch, George Merry. I'm off!" And he took off down the hill.
Next morning at dawn, Whitey Lowery was one of thirty men lying in hiding behind the earthworks in the northern inlet. Long John, Israel Hands and Mr Joe were there too. While most of the hands — including Whitey — were snoring deeply after a forced night-march, they were awake. But at least all hands were present and correct, likewise the six nine-pounders, with charges rammed and waiting.
"D'you think they'll see us?" said Israel Hands.
"No," said Long John, "they won't be expecting us. Leastways, I hopes not!"
"We'll find out, soon won't we?"
"Shhhhh!" said Silver. "They'll hear us!"
So they sat quiet, these three that were too excited to sleep.
They had just over an hour to wait.
Then the steady chanting of a leadsman was heard, and the clank of oars, and a longboat entered the mouth of the inlet at its northernmost corner.
"Beat to quarters, Mr Joe!" said Silver.
"Aye-aye, sir!" said Joe, standing and saluting formally. Then he ran from man to man: no fuss, no bother, no shouting. He roused them all, and the men stretched and ran to their stations, gun-captains priming touchholes from powder horns, then taking glowing matches from the match-tub to secure into the ends of their linstocks. Not a word was said. Every man knew his duty.
"Look!" said Israel Hands, telescope to his eye. "Damn my soul if that ain't him!"
Silver raised his own glass and nodded. It was Flint, all right, conning the boat.
"John," said Israel Hands, "we've loaded grape over the round-shot. We can smash the bastard as he passes!"
"No!" said Silver. "Wait!"
"Please, John."
"No! We must hit the ships, and them aboard. Not just a boat… look!"
First a bowsprit, then an entire ship came round the headland astern of the longboat, and entered the inlet.
"There's your target, Mr Gunner," said Long John.
"Ahhh!" said Israel Hands and nudged Mr Joe, for a great moment was coming.
They'd placed the battery very carefully. It was on the southern side of the inlet where the waters ran wide but shallow, and the deep channel — where ships must pass — was close to the rocky shore, such that the muzzles of the guns — hidden with palm leaves and driftwood — were less than fifty yards off, and placed to inflict murderous harm on any vessel coming in to anchor. Israel Hands of all people knew how vital it was to reserve the first fire, with carefully loaded guns, against an enemy that wasn't expecting it. You didn't waste that on a boat. But he was sorely tempted by the sight of Flint coming steadily into the arc of the guns' fire — for the guns were trained far round to the right, to enable as many salvoes as possible to be delivered before the target should pass beyond them to the left.
"Look'ee there," whispered Silver. "He's taking good care not to send Walrus in first!"
Three ships were coming to anchor in the tree-lined inlet with its white sands and circling gulls and lapping waves and bright cheerful light. The first was a medium-sized sloop, the next was Walrus herself, then a big snow. Shouts echoed across the water as the men aboard called out to each other and pointed out the sights. It was an idyllic scene… for the moment.
"Go to it, you sods," said one of Silver's men. "Ain't you just got it coming!"
"Silence between decks," hissed Silver. "I'll slit the next bugger as speaks!"
Now the longboat was right in front of the battery and still hadn't seen it. Silver watched Flint sweep his glass round the bay looking for just such a surprise as was waiting for him. But the front and sides of the battery were well hidden, and even Flint never spotted them.
"Please, Cap'n," whispered Israel Hands, "just a drop of grape…"
"No! We'd warn off the rest."
"Oh, bugger!"
"Shut up!"
Then the longboat was clanking past, and the sloop was coming into line. Men were at the rail and in her rigging, grinning and merry. But some were not grinning and merry. Some were tall and dark, and wore feathers and carried long guns.
"John!" said Israel Hands. "He's brought soddin' Indians!"
"So what? Who'd you think he'd bring — the bleedin' foot- guards?"
Israel Hands said nothing more. He pointed at the sloop. He looked at Silver. Silver nodded.
"See if you can't sink the bastard and block the channel."
Israel Hands beamed in delight.
Long Hatchet stood with his half-brother Fine Shirt, gazing in wonder at the shores of the island, which appeared to be sliding steadily past while the ship remained still. It was joyfully smooth after the constant motion of the past weeks and the hideous sickness as the wooden planks shifted beneath a man's feet.
"A happy day!" said Fine Shirt. "Soon we'll be done with ships."
"Let it be very soon," said Long Hatchet.
"What's that?" said Fine Shirt, and instantly whistled the bird-call that gave warning, such that every Patanq aboard Sweet Anne cocked his gun. "There!" he said. "See? There are men moving! On the shore, behind the green branches and that long mound."
"Men made that mound!" said Long Hatchet.
"And he didn't see it," said Fine Shirt. "Sun Face didn't see it." He looked at Flint, in the long boat ahead of the ship. "Sun Face Flint is supposed to be — "
Fine Shirt's words were lost in pulverising detonations as the shore-battery fired. It deafened and battered, and the muzzle-flash shrivelled men's hair. The smoke burst out in clouds and the shot pounded and crunched, not one single round missing its target, but smashing and tearing.
Fine Shirt was dismembered, Long Hatchet decapitated, and a dozen of their kindred instantly killed. A rain of sundered timber and wrecked gear came down, and the air was split with the screams of those so horribly wounded that not even Patanq stoicism could still their tongues.
Flint spun round, deafened and shocked. He saw the battery! He saw John Silver! And Danny Bentham, aboard Hercules saw the wounding of his precious second ship. The two stared in horror, but neither could do a thing to stop the gun teams from sponging and ramming and delivering their second salvo.
Aboard Sweet Anne, Captain Parry did what he could. Staggering through the smoke, clambering over mutilated men, he brought the gunwale swivels into action, he made the Patanq return cannon fire with musketry, he got together a crew for one of the maindeck six-pounders, and was giving the order to fire when a couple of grapeshot came aboard and struck him in the left hip, blowing the contents of his bowels and bladder spattering out through his right hip, and dropping him howling and unheard under the concussion of the busy guns that were beating his ship to pieces.