"Here, my jolly boys!" he said. "Bring your spades and your strong arms, and dig here!"
"Huzzah!" they cried.
"Shhhh!" said Flint. "Hush lads! We don't want the savages upon us, do we now? Helping themselves with their greedy fingers!"
They grinned, and dropped their spars and tackles, laid aside pistols and cutlasses, and took up their spades and began to dig furiously, while Flint sat on a rock watching them.
He fanned himself with his hat, for it was hot and dark in the glade, with legions of buzzing insects, and a stifling scent
of pine and wild garlic. He spread his fine coattails neatly on the rock so that they shouldn't be creased. He fingered the linen of his shirt, and the plume in his hat, and tried to put on a serious face… and failed totally. For he couldn't help chuckling at their bright eagerness, and the vigour with which they threw up the earth, and drove in their spades, already imagining themselves home in England, rogering tarts, gorging themselves on rum-duff, and riding in gilded carriages.
Look at them! he thought. Those bright eyes… those smooth cheeks! But that was too much. It was just too much. He doubled up laughing, for Ben Gunn was — even at this very moment — off about his duties, choosing men of quite a different kind, and Flint laughed at the thought of it.
The six men doing the digging grinned and nudged one another as they worked. It was a fine thing to see the captain so merry, for Christ help a poor sailorman when he wasn't! But they didn't stop digging. They'd been told most explicitly that this wasn't the great share-out they all dreamed of. Still… a man couldn't help but hope that just a little might — entirely accidentally and by chance — drop into his own pockets when nobody was looking. Or perhaps into the tops of his hungry boots… for no one would notice that, now, would they?
Thunk! Scrape! Thunk! went the spades. Then: CLUNK!
"Ah!" said Flint, up like a cat and among the diggers on the instant. He grinned. He looked into the sandy, earthy hole… There they were! Three fine chests of iron-bound wood. In fact, only one was visible, but Flint knew that two more were there. "Careful now, my boys — my jolly boys!" he said. "There's over five thousand Spanish dollars in these boxes, and I want them out of the ground, and not spoilt!"
"Oh?" said one of the diggers. "Is that all? We thought there was hundreds of thousands…"
"Aye!" said his mates, miserable as children denied a feast, and surly besides.
"No, my lovely boys!" said Flint. "Not here. But there's plenty elsewhere!"
And he said it so nicely, and tapped a finger against his nose with such an air of secrets shared among shipmates, that they nodded and smiled and beamed.
"AAAAH!" they said, and were well content. They remained content as their captain explained what was to be done, and why, and where the dollars were to be taken. And they marvelled at his foresight in bringing spars and ropes so a pair of men could easily manage one of the heavy chests by slinging it from a spar laid over their shoulders. And above all they thrilled at the knowledge that they knew where the treasure lay — some of it, anyway — and nobody else did!
And neither did they know that what they'd raised was worth considerably more than five thousand dollars, since one of the chests — the smallest but the heaviest — didn't contain silver dollars, but gold doubloons. Flint thought it best not to tempt their naughtiness with such knowledge as that. Especially as there were some stones in there as well… precious stones.
Fifteen men on the dead man's chest! he sang as he led the way. It was the good old song he always sang when happy. But he sang only to himself. He sang silently. He didn't want these poor souls bellowing out the chorus and drawing attention to the three chests swaying along to their new home. Aside from Van Oosterhout, six men now knew the whereabouts of at least some of the goods, and six was enough, because God alone knew how many Patanq savages were hiding in the woods, a-creeping and a-spying.
So Flint was merry as he walked, occasionally looking back to make sure that they were following. Indeed, he was so merry that it soon became very hard for him to deny himself the fun of ensuring personally and with his own hand that the shared secret went no further. But he managed to hold these urges in check. For one thing he wasn't about to carry three hundredweight of treasure by himself. And for another… there was a totally new and totally wonderful game to be played: a game he'd never played before, and he didn't want to spoil it.
When the work was done, Flint sent his spadesmen to get drunk at a quiet place he'd shown them, and where he would join them later. As soon as they were out of sight, he settled down to enjoy a little interlude by himself before returning to the camp and the enfolding arms of Bentham and the rest. He smiled. Things were shaping up nicely. Not everything had gone to plan, but there'd been compensating surprises. For the time being, a little of the raised coinage would keep the savages happy, and the promise of more should spur them on to greater efforts against John Silver. Alas, it would involve sitting down with the savages for yet another of their appalling formal councils — a dull task, but unavoidable. And then he must deal with Bentham, who was too nosy; and Cowdray and Van Oosterhout, who were too clever; and even Mr O'Byrne, who was too ugly! A lesser man would have trembled at the tasks ahead, but not Joe Flint.
Finally there was Selena… and the thought of her stopped Flint dead in his tracks. His mouth dropped open in horror. And this time he trembled like any lesser man. For he'd been on the point of making a most appalling mistake. He realised in that instant that it would be necessary to tell Selena everything. In particular it would be necessary to tell her what he was going to do with those who were surplus to requirements. Otherwise his wonderful scheme for killing almost everyone would end up with Selena among the dead.
And Flint could not bear the thought of anything harming Selena. Not a hair of her head. Not a fingernail. Not an inch of her lovely body.
As was her habit, Selena walked away from the camp, and into the darkness, as ever keeping the edge of the trees on one side and the waters of the inlet on the other. That way, even in darkness she kept her sense of direction. She had nothing to fear. There were no wild beasts in the woods and the only wild men were Flint's or Silver's or Dreamer's — none of whom would harm her. She was immensely privileged, and she knew it. The only trouble was that she had no idea which of these various parties she wanted to be part of.
Bentham was following her. She knew that too. He… she … still wouldn't let her alone. Whatever it was that burned inside Danny Bentham was stronger even than the lust that drove men to make fools of themselves. But Selena wasn't afraid of men or Danny Bentham any more, just tired of all of them, and their greed and their violence and the hideous things they did to one another. That, and the equally hideous knowledge that she could think of no better or finer place to run to… even if she could run.