And he looked at the offshore anchorage, which was full of every imaginable kind of vessel, with countless masts and yards, and busy boats pulling to and fro. There was one ship ahead of Walrus in the channel, coming into the wind to anchor, while yet another was astern of her, coming through the jaws of the bay.
It was a wonderful sight. After so many weeks at sea, alone on the empty ocean, it made any man cheerful to see such life. Overhead the gulls wheeled and called, the sun shone bright and hot, the sky was blue, the wind was fresh…and Long John was eating his heart out in despair.
Bugger! thought Israel Hands.
Later, with Walrus moored, Israel Hands took his place in the launch with six oarsmen done out in their best rig, and Long John, Allardyce and Dr Cowdray in the stern. These chosen ones would make first contact with the shore authorities – just to be sure, just to be careful – for there was much to be done and arranged before any of the rest of the crew would be allowed to partake of the whoring and boozing and fighting that was any seaman’s honest amusement, fresh ashore…especially gentlemen o’ fortune.
“Give way!” cried Allardyce, and the boat began pulling for the harbour. All aboard looked back at the strange sight of the ship which had been their home, now seen in its entirety, bobbing at anchor among the innocent merchantmen…not that all of them were quite that innocent. Walrus wasn’t the only ship with a black flag in her locker. Not in Williamstown Bay.
“Look!” said Allardyce. “She’s down by the head. You’ll have to haul some guns astern, Israel.”
“Not I!” said Hands merrily. “Shift the sodding cargo aft!”
Allardyce grinned.
“What cargo?” he said. “Only cargo we’ve got is dollars!”
“Clap a hitch!” cried Silver nastily. “Who knows what bugger’s listening!”
They looked round the harbour. There wasn’t a human being within earshot. They made faces behind Silver’s back and fell silent.
Ashore, Silver, Allardyce and Israel Hands went to the harbour master’s office, while the six hands – chosen for their ability to stay sober – were let off the leash, bar one unfortunate who was left to guard the boat.
Dr Cowdray set off into town by himself in search of medical stores, and replacements for some of his worn-out instruments. Having found what he wanted, he then spent a pleasant couple of hours in the cool, shady streets, shaking off hawkers and beggars, enjoying the sight of women and children after so long in the company of men, and looking into the shops, especially bookshops. Then he searched for a tavern – a respectable one – for a drink and a meal, for the rendezvous was hours away yet.
He knew he had found just the place when he clapped eyes on the Copper Kettle. Situated on the shady side of King William Square, it looked bright and clean, with a long awning and tables in the fresh air. The clientele was entirely respectable, with waiters in long white aprons attending, while the vulgar populace was kept back by a fence of neat white posts with chains slung between. Cowdray stepped forward with purpose, but:
“Oh!” he said, and stopped with his bundle of books and his brown paper parcel of medical gear. He dithered and stuck his load under one arm so he could wipe the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. In amongst the respectable patrons of the Copper Kettle, seated at a table, his parrot on his shoulder, was Long John Silver. In his current foul mood, the captain made the worst imaginable company.
Cowdray stood in the hot, scented air of a tropical spiceisland. It would soon be noon, and the sun was fierce. The streets were emptying as people headed indoors…and Cowdray was thirsty…then…Ah! Debate was irrelevant. Silver had seen him.
“Captain!” said Cowdray, advancing across the square, through the gate in the fence, to take the seat beside Silver. The latter nodded miserably. Cowdray unloaded his goods, and took off his hat in the welcome shade.
“Pffffff!” he said, and fanned himself with his hat.
“Salve, Medicus!” said the parrot, greeting Cowdray in Latin as she always did. At least the bird was pleased to see him.
“Salve, avis sapiens!” said Cowdray. “Hallo, clever bird!”
“Ain’t she, though?” said Silver, stroking the green feathers. “And you love Long John, don’t you?”
“Love Long John!” she said, and bobbed and nodded and rubbed her head against his with every sign of affection. Silver smiled, a real smile, and he turned to Cowdray to make apology.
“Sorry, Doctor,” he said, “I ain’t no use at present, not to man nor beast.”
“Not you, Captain!” said Cowdray stoutly. Another sigh was Silver’s only response.
Then a waiter came, and they ordered food and drink, and sat silent for a bit, and the victuals were served, and Silver went heavy on the drink, and at last the two fell into conversation. Perhaps it was the rum. Perhaps it was because Cowdray wasn’t properly a gentleman o’ fortune, and he certainly wasn’t a seaman, and he was a surgeon – the one who’d saved Long John’s life by taking off his shattered leg – but Long John’s misery and trouble began to tumble out bit by bit.
“What am I to do, Doctor?”
“In what respect?”
“Taking prizes? Winning dollars? Choosing allies?” Silver shook his head. “All of it, Doctor. Living my bleedin’ life! What soddin’ life? What am I? Who am I?”
“Oh!” said Cowdray. He was a surgeon, but like any medical man he knew that men can be wounded in the mind as badly as in the body, and that such wounds could be severe. He glanced at Silver. To Cowdray, Silver was still young: thirty-two? Thirty-three? Cowdray could almost have been his father; moreover he liked Silver and wanted to help. He thought of something to say, to get Silver talking…to explore the wound.
“You let the prize go,” he said, “Venture’s Fortune. Why did you do that?”
“Had to,” said Silver morosely, “or we’d not be refitting in that dockyard yonder.”
“Is that arranged?”
Silver nodded. “It was just a matter of money,” he said. “And plenty of it.”
“Why didn’t you keep the prize?”
Silver shrugged. “We’d get away with that once or twice, but he’d find out in the end.”
“Sir Wyndham Godfrey?”
“Aye. He issues these Protections. I saw one in Cap’n Higgs’s desk.” Silver shook his head irritably. “You see,” he said, “if we…I…am to follow this life, we need a port.”
“Like this one?”
“This is the only bloody one, damn near! So we can’t upset him what owns it.”
“King George, you mean?”
Silver laughed and the parrot squawked loudly.
“And that’s another thing,” said Silver. “I’ve got to choose between them two under hatches aboard ship: Lord fancy-drawers-McBollock, and Mr Bow Street Norton, both of ‘em reckoning they’ve a king behind ‘em. So which do we favour?”
“You took Norton as a navigator…”
“Aye, but he might be useful as a go-between with the law.”
“I see,” said Cowdray. “And in the meantime you stole Bonnie Prince Charlie’s dollars…”
“And how long would I’ve been cap’n if I hadn’t?”
“Hmm,”