"Aye!" cried Silver, hopping forward, the men parting before him. Towering over the few, bloodied remnants of Walrus's crew, he looked them over. "Bah!" he said. "I knows most of you, and you knows me!"
"Long John!" they cried. "Don't let them buggers slit us!"
"Over the side with 'em, John!" said Israel Hands. "Let the sods sink or swim or take one of our boats."
Silver looked around. The smoke was clearing. The beach was ringing with shouting. Boats were launching. There were two more ships in the anchorage that'd be clearing for action even this precious instant, with drums rolling and trumpets sounding. He studied the anchorage again. Deeper than Walrus was the sloop they'd pounded from Israel Hand's battery: Sweet Anne was the name on her stern. She'd taken a real hiding, and looked barely fit for the sea. Well done, Israel Hands!
But between Walrus and the sea, fit and ready for action, stood a big two-masted snow, a heavy ship with thicker timbers than Walrus, and they'd have to pass her on the way out to sea — assuming there was room in the channel for two ships, and assuming there was enough wind to get Walrus under way. He sniffed the air, he wetted a finger… yes… possibly.
And now everyone was looking at John Silver. They'd known from the start that taking Walrus was the easy part. It only got worse after that. Silver felt the load sitting on his shoulders, and laughed, as the thought made him wonder where the parrot had gone. Well, she'd have to take her chances like all the rest.
"John," said Israel Hands, "what do we do?"
"We best be under way!" said Mr Joe.
"What do we do with these here prisoners?" said Sarney Sawyer.
And…
"Good heavens!" said a voice. "John Silver, as I live and breathe! And Flint's own ship taken! Sic transit gloria mundi!"
"Dr Cowdray!" said Silver.
"Mister Cowdray," said the surgeon. "I was below." He looked at the wounds and the blood. "Can I offer help?" Cowdray was trying not to be afraid. He was trying to be calm. He was stunned at the turn of events. His world was overturned and he had no idea how Silver — or Silver's men — would receive him.
"Huh!" said Silver, and took off his hat and wiped his brow, and looked at the bookish, modest figure of the surgeon in his neat clothes and his tidy hair. It was just one more problem when he already had too many.
"John…?" said Israel Hands, and shook the sleeve of Silver's coat. The men looked at him in alarm. He was plainly dithering.
Pop! Pop! Crack! Muskets went off ashore and a lead ball thumped into Walrus's mainmast.
"Allll hands!" roared Silver.
"Aye-aye!" they cried.
"Mr Gunner, take five men and open fire on that ship!" He pointed at the snow.
"Aye-aye, sir!"
"And set another to the swivels to ward off boats!"
"Aye-aye, sir!"
"Mr Bosun, take the rest, cut the cables, and get this ship under way!"
"Aye-aye, sir!"
"Steer for the open sea, and as close to the snow as you can get!"
"Aye-aye, sir!"
"And now, you other buggers!" said Silver, and thumped over the planks towards the remnants of Walrus's crew. They were sat by the rail, with Mr Joe standing over them, cutlass drawn. There were six men fit and unwounded, and three more dripping blood and looking green. They cringed and looked up at Long John's huge figure, expecting a cut throat and a plunge over the side. "Ah, you swabs," he said, recognising still more faces from days past, and the nasty memories that went with them. "You no-seamen, bilge-rats!" he said. "You sods as voted against Long John and took Flint's part!"
They shook with fright, they trembled and quivered. They knew it was all up, and just hoped it might be quick.
"Now then, you useless turds of dogshite, listen hard, for I take my Bible oath that here's the way of things!" He drew a pistol and clapped it to the head of the nearest man. "I could pop you one and all — you knows that, don't you?"
Silence.
"Well?" said Silver. "Speak up! Is it aye or nay?"
"Aye," they mumbled.
"Aye, indeed!" he said, and put away the pistol. "But I'm gathering a new crew for this ship, and it'll be 'good times afore, and old sins aft'. Such arse-licking lubbers as you are, you'll do to haul on lines and pump the bilge." They blinked, they gaped, they hoped. "So… who'll sail with Long John, and sign articles, and be jolly companions with fair shares for all?"
"Me!" they said with one voice.
"Good, but you knows what you'll get if you're false!"
"Aye-aye, Cap'n," said one. "Never did like Flint, anyway."
Silver sneered. "Don't give me that shite!" he said. "I ain't simple! Just do your duty."
He turned to his officers.
"Mr Gunner! Mr Bosun! Mr Carpenter!"
"Aye-aye, Cap'n!"
"New hands come aboard. Take your pick of 'em and set 'em to work!"
"Aye-aye, Cap'n!"
He turned to Cowdray.
"And you, Doctor — for doctor you'll be on my ship — see to the dead and wounded, for I welcomes you into this crew by the limb that I ain't got — being as you're the one as saved my life by cutting it off!"
With three of his own men lost in the fight, and nine more gained, Silver now had a total of thirty-one seamen to man, fight and work the ship, which was a sight better than he'd hoped.
The bosun's men set to work, taking axes to the cables, and Walrus slewed in the current, then heeled to the press of the wind as the topmen loosed the topsails with a roar and a rumble, and yells of rage came from the boats pulling out from the shore, and men aboard them took long aim with muskets and opened fire. But Israel Hands himself, waiting his moment, set off the four gunwale swivels, steadily, carefully, one after another, and sprayed the boats with grape, thrashing the water white all round them, hitting a few men and warning the rest to stay clear.
"Get 'em reloaded!" he cried to Mr Joe.
"Aye-aye, Mr Gunner!"
"Quick, now!" said Israel Hands as a pair of bow-chasers opened fire from the big snow, sending shot roaring through Walrus's rigging and all hands ducked. But the quartermaster sang out merrily:
"She's answering the helm, Cap'n. She's under way!"
"Steer for the sea!" said Silver. "Set every inch of sail, Mr Bosun. Mr Gunner, why ain't our deck guns in action?"
"Savin' 'em for going alongside the enemy, Cap'n. Do more harm that way!"
With Walrus gathering way, Silver took station on the quarterdeck, by the helm, and sent more men to the guns, which according to Flint's preference were always kept loaded and run out, and needed only priming from the powder horns kept in lockers by each gun. That was another reason why Silver had chosen Walrus. Trimming the sails was now the bosun's work, just as the guns could be left to Israel Hands, while Silver himself had little to do other than urge the helmsman to run as close past the snow as was possible, to avoid the risk of grounding.
And it was a tight squeeze, with sandy, swirling, yellow water to larboard as Walrus slid past the snow at less than six-feet range with pistols and muskets blasting from the snow. But none of Silver's people were hit, for the snow's crew were mainly occupied in trying to open port lids, cast loose and run out guns — which, unlike Flint, Danny Bentham kept secured and snugged down; a seamanly preference, but one which meant a slow start when action came uninvited.
Within minutes the creaking and groaning of wooden trucks on wooden decks was clearly audible, and the black snouts of the snow's guns began to emerge. But their progress was soon halted when three of Walrus's guns threw shot, flame and smoke into the snow, blowing out ear-drums, searing flesh, blinding with smoke, ripping timbers and overturning guns. Swiftly the other four deck guns fired as Israel Hands ran down the line, setting off the guns at a range so close that the entire possibility of missing was annihilated and men aboard the snow were thrown down by the concussion alone, with never a scratch on their bodies, but them shaking and kicking and useless, and others of their mates hideously wounded and fires started aboard by the flash of the guns and the ship thrown into utter chaos and confusion as Walrus slid past, with her topmen cheering and her gun-crews furiously re-loading, and the snow's spritsail-yard, fouled by Walrus's bow, torn away with a rending crunch and a tear.