"Aye!" they said.
And Billy Bones hung his head and wept.
With that, Long John led his men out of the fort. It was very dark. There was still plenty of noise from the squadron, but they were moored at the westward end of the anchorage, and Fort Silver was to the east, and it was further eastward still that Silver went, and all hands as silent as could be, moving together in a bunch for protection against the Indians, should they strike.
It was fearful work at first, with every man expecting an attack, or a shot from out of the dark, or the bird calls that they'd learned weren't bird calls at all but the savages talking to one another. There was none of that.
"Where are the bastards?" hissed Israel Hands.
"Not here — that's all I care!" said Long John. "And shut up!"
Silver wanted no talking. He wanted silence, as the dark block of men shuffled down on to the beach and struck out towards the long spit of land surrounded by sandbanks that closed the eastern end of the anchorage to ships. To ships but not to boats, and Lion's two boats — the launch and the jolly- boat — had long since been hidden at this end of the bay, as far as possible away from Flint, should he have chosen to come into the southern anchorage. Well, it weren't Flint they were afraid of tonight, but the same facts applied: the squadron was at one end of the anchorage, and the boats nicely at the other!
There was only the Indians to worry about, and it was Silver's guess that there never had been very many of them around the fort: just enough to keep them under fire should they get the chance, and enough to summon reinforcements, should anyone try to break out in force — like now. It was an unpleasant thought. Silver hopped and swayed along, conscious at every step that he stood head and shoulders above any man present and would likely be the first target for the blasted Indians if they were making ready to fire.
So they scuttled across the sands, splashed through the shallows on occasions, and headed for the looming dark of the land spit. The hands cheered up wonderfully as bushes and trees reared up out of the dark, offering cover and a place to hide, and nearly all of them were into the safe darkness and off the beach when finally the Indians struck.
Four dark figures came tall and leaping out of the undergrowth where they'd been waiting, and fell on the three hindmost of Silver's men. They made no sound. They moved fast. They struck from the side.
Thunk! Thunk! Two seamen went down, stone dead with hatchets in their skulls. The third man — the hindmost — was Mr Joe, who'd been ordered to follow up the formation to chase stragglers. He never saw where the Patanq came from, but he saw his comrades go down and his cane-cutter was out in a flash, and swinging at the demon coming in from his right.
Chunk! The heavy blade curved up and through the down- swinging tomahawk, sliced an arm off just above the elbow and Mr Joe spun like a top, carrying round his stroke and found himself facing another Patanq charging with knife and hatchet, whom he killed with instant unthinking speed and a tremendous down-slash that landed just to the right of the Indian's neck and buried the blade a hand's breadth into the chest, slicing lungs, pipes and blood vessels and dropping his man beside the two tomahawked seamen.
And then they were gone. He didn't even hear them run. He didn't even see where they went. They just fled into the bushes. If it weren't for three dead men and half an arm laid out on the ground, he'd never have known they'd been there. But Silver was hopping back with a pistol in his fist and the rest behind him.
"Where are they? What happened?"
Shhhhk! Mr Joe hauled his cutlass, two-handed, out of the dead Patanq's chest. He was sweating, his heart was pounding and his head was thick.
"Don't know, Cap'n," he said. "They's gone, that's all."
"God damn and blast 'em," said Silver, looking at his two dead.
"It was a sneak attack," said Israel Hands. "They ain't minded to face us all."
"Aye," said Silver, "which means they ain't out in strength, and the sooner we're gone from here the better. Come on, all of you! And some of you take the firelocks off them poor brothers what's dead. No use letting the savages have 'em!"
Quickly they found the boats, they dragged them to the eastward of the landspit, they launched them, muffled the rowlocks with rags, and pulled away into the darkness: Long John Silver and twenty-five men, on the cool black sea.
And the parrot, too, this time. She squawked and flapped, until Long John spoke to her.
"None o' that you silly sea-cow! There ain't no way but this way. Will you not be quiet and sit still?" He made a bit of a fuss of her, and put down his hat as a nest for her to curl up in, and finally she accepted her fate.
"See?" he said. "Clever bird, that!"
Meanwhile they pulled steadily out into deep water, clear of the rocks and sandbanks that fringed the island. Once safely out, and heaving on the big waves, with the island on their larboard beam, they rigged sail on the launch and took the jolly-boat in tow. It was slow progress, but better than rowing. That would have left all hands tired at the end of a long, hard pull… and they were going to need their strength.
Twenty-five men and a boy was a heavy load for the launch and the jolly-boat, and they were bailing non-stop, from start to finish of a journey which was a fearful risk, in so small a craft in the dead of night, on a perilous coastline — a voyage which had been risked only because the alternative was certain death of every man aboard.
But with Long John at the tiller of the launch, they came safe and sound past the shoals and the rocks and the sandbanks, and the powerful currents that swept the eastern side of the island. And finally, just before sunrise, Silver gave the order to strike the sails and mast, and the two boats lay side by side, heaving and rolling in the heavy swell. For the massive, southerly headland of the northern inlet was visible now, even in darkness, and it was time to take to the oars for the final, careful pull that would take them into the inlet. Though nearly a mile wide at its mouth, the many rocks and shallows made the inlet so treacherous that even small boats dared not risk entering until daylight.
"Now then, Sammy lad," said Silver to Sam Hayden, ship's boy, who was in charge of their store of victuals. "A fair tot of rum to all hands, to warm their bones, and a bite of food, while we've time."
"Sending the hands to breakfast, Cap'n?" said Israel Hands.
"Aye, Mr Gunner, they'll fight all the better for that!"
Sammy Hayden filled the men's mugs to be passed from hand to hand, and from boat to boat, in the clammy wet darkness, followed by some cold ship's biscuit that'd been softened, days before, by a good, long immersion in the fat and juices of their last hot meal. The biscuit was still tough, and it was coated in gobs of cold grease, but nobody complained and there was none left when they'd finished chewing. Like ail seamen, they were never short of appetite and they scraped their plates of whatever was offered.
Long John looked at the dark, huddled figures. There were men here that he'd trust with his life: old shipmates like Israel Hands, Black Dog and even Blind Pew — mad sod that he was. And there were newer hands like Mr Joe, who was a likely lad too. As for the rest, there were some good lads among 'em, and there were some who'd slit their granny for the price of her drawers. But there wasn't one who wouldn't fight. And that was good.
"Drop more rum for all hands, Cap'n?" said Sammy Hayden, dim in the darkness, with a pannikin in his hand. Silver couldn't see the boy's face; he was just a smaller figure than the rest, greys and blacks and shadows, nothing more. Silver thought of Ratty Richards and hovered on the edge of misery, which wouldn't do at such a time as this.