Selena sighed, stuck the pistols in her belt and pushed through the trees and undergrowth towards the beach, following the direction of the noise. She was acting on sheer curiosity. And where else could she go, in any case? She couldn't hide, she'd got no food or drink. She was as much trapped in the forest as if chained to Flint.
She gasped as she saw what was happening. Two boats were alongside Walrus. Distant figures were climbing aboard, and the ship was full of gunfire and smoke. But that wasn't why she gasped. Even at such distance there was one figure — seen in a flash as he went up the ship's side — that was different from all the rest. He moved differently. He was a one-legged man. He was Long John Silver.
Selena stepped out of the bushes not caring who saw her; not that anyone was looking — Flint's camp was in uproar, yelling and hollering and launching boats. And Flint wasn't there. Where was he? No matter. She stepped out and stared. She stared as Walrus cut her cable and swung in the current. She stared as Flint's men were blasted with swivel-fire that beat off their boats. She stared as Walrus got under way and battered Hercules and headed for the open sea, with cheers sounding from Silver's men.
She stared and stood with her hands by her sides and all the dark thoughts that she'd suffered during seven months with Flint rising to a crescendo. What did she want? Who did she want? And had she a ha'porth of choice in the matter? And clamouring loudest of all was the thought that white men didn't keep faith with black women. Not when pretty black girls could be bought for fun and sold for fieldwork as soon as they stopped being pretty. They were good for whores or mistresses, but what else? What could Selena expect from John Silver… when he was white and she was black?
"Mr Bosun," cried Israel Hands, "back topsail, and heave to! And I'll have a boat's crew mustered this minute to go ashore, loaded and primed for action!"
"What?" said Silver.
"What?" said the crew, and they scowled and growled.
"Belay that!" said Israel Hands, and jabbed a thumb at the big man that stood beside him. "This here's Long John Silver. Him what saved us when Lion was lost. Him what kept us together on this blasted island. Him what never lies, and what leads from the front, and what brung us safe from death, and here aboard a fine ship!" He glared at them all, and Mr Joe instantly came up and stood beside him.
"Ah, you buggers!" said Israel Hands. "Stand forward now, says I! Stand forward any one of you as won't pay what you owe when Long John needs a favour! For I'm going with him wheresoever he leads, and I'll have a boat's crew mustered and ready, and I'll pistol the first man as hangs back!"
The launch was manned and pulling for shore in seconds, being already in the water and dragged alongside of Walrus by the lines and grapnels used for boarding. Silver was at the helm, Israel Hands was coxswain, and six good men, well armed, were at the oars, while Mr Joe — to his intense disappointment — was left aboard ship, together with Black Dog, just to make sure that the thought of abandoning the launch never occurred to any of those embarked, God bless their darling souls!
Besides that, Mr Joe was told to open up a steady, aimed fire at Flint's camp and boats, to keep them busy and out of Silver's way. Thud-boom! Thud-boom! Walrus's maindeck, sent six-pound shot whizzing through the camp, ripping canvas, ploughing sand, and even scoring a lucky hit on one of the grounded boats, which sent the remnants of Flint's men running for cover — such as they were, for there weren't very many of them now. With twenty-four massacred by the Patanq, plus the losses they'd taken from Israel Hand's battery when they sailed in, and those killed in the battle for Walrus… there were now just two men aboard Sweet Anne, ten aboard Hercules and nine men and three boys running in terror.
Them… and another four on special duties with Flint… elsewhere.
So John Silver could look over the heads and shoulders of his chanting, heaving oarsmen and see a safe, cleared beach and no threat from the shore at all. Not until the boat's prow was seconds from the shore, and the hands already pulling shallow to avoid fouling the bottom, and Selena standing like a statue, giving no sign of any feelings at all — but at least not running away — only then did ferocious war-cries shriek from the trees a few hundred yards up the beach, followed by a dense mass of Patanq warriors charging towards Selena and the oncoming boat.
There were more than a hundred of them.
Chapter 39
Flint looked through the thick, green undergrowth which was entirely different from the undergrowth anywhere else in this strange place. Little lizards like salamanders — perhaps actual salamanders — were crawling across fat, glossy leaves, feeding on the tiny black ants that swarmed there. And the ground was firm beneath the trees, not damp and soft.
Flint looked and nodded quietly. There they were: four of them, the men picked out by Ben Gunn, according to orders. But there was no Ben Gunn anywhere in sight. Doubtless gone a-wandering. Still, the mad creature had done his duty all right. The four men were exactly what Flint wanted, that much was clear even from this distance.
Well done, Mr Gunn, thought Flint, while the four sat anxious and afraid and constantly looking over their shoulders. They'd obviously heard the sounds of fighting, for they'd got themselves into a nice tight corner, with a cluster of huge rocks behind, so they couldn't be crept up on. A-ha! thought Flint, taking in the boat: a fine big launch, hauled well clear of the tide. And Good! as he cast an eye over the timber slides laid out in front of the launch and greased, in accordance with his orders. The heavy boat would go smoothly down to the water, hauled by the few hands available. What fine lads they've been, and no mistake! thought Flint. Everything so tight and seamanlike.
Better still, staring hard at the boat, Flint could make out one of the chests that made up a fine fat half of its cargo, the same chests that had been left in the cove three days ago by his six spadesmen — a body of men who had now rejoined their comrades, but upon whose absolute discretion he could rely. He could rely on them because he'd extracted the most fearful oaths, given by moonlight, with round eyes shining, and right hands raised, and Flint blessing their smooth cheeks and knowing that in no time at all they'd be beyond all possibility of betraying anybody.
And so back to the present…
Flint deliberately rustled the undergrowth and the four men jumped up and levelled muskets.
"Who-zat?" they cried. Flint stepped forward.
"Who goes there!" he chided. "You must say that, lads. For it's proper."
"Who goes there?" they said, and "Cap'n!" for they were immensely relieved.
"We heard shooting, Cap'n!" said one.
"And gunfire from the ships!" said another.
"Aye!" they all said.
"Lads," said Flint, "there's nothing to worry about!"
"No?" they said.
"No! So let's sit down, and I'll explain."
So they sat down, and Flint smiled, and insisted they take a pull of the rum.
Then he explained as only he could explain, with his wonderful charm: the smooth, easy companionship that kept his audience enthralled, and more than that privileged to be part of so wonderful a scheme, and fully understanding why — temporarily — they alone must go forward to the Patanq Squadron, through the archipelago, taking two chests of silver and one of gold — happy smiles all round at this — together with that other half of their cargo, which lay square in the centre of the launch, covered in a tarpaulin.