Skull and Bones. John Drake

oars, you swab!” he said, and frowned heavily. “You were one of the mutineers, you blasted lubber! One of those that followed Flint! You were aboard the ship Betsy that Flint made on the island. You were aboard her, with Flint, when I was cast adrift!”

      “No! No!” groaned Benn Gunn, shaking his matted head in an agony of self-pity, betraying himself comprehensively by protesting too much. “Not poor Ben Gunn,” he moaned, “what-never-was-a-mutineer-nor-followed-Flint-on-the-island-nor-later-aboard-Betsy-nor-later-yet-aboard-Walrus-and-always-was-a-loyal-heart-and-true-God-bless-King-George-and-God-bless-England-and-bless-the-navy-too…”

      It rattled out non-stop, ending only when Ben Gunn ran out of breath.

      “Says you, Ben Gunn!” said Povey. “But you must come aboard and go before Captain Baggot to be examined.”

      “Yes! Yes!” said Ben Gunn. “Aboard ship and not marooned. Not left lonely with only the goats for company. For there’s only them now…what with the others being gone.”

      “What others?” said Povey.

      But a cunning look came over Ben Gunn, and he fell silent, as if realising he’d said too much.

      

      Within a sand-glass fifteen minutes, Ben Gunn found himself standing in the bright lights of Captain Baggot’s cabin with the blue coats and gold lace of officers seated in front of him, and red marines behind him, and Ben Gunn goggling at the astonishing fact that among the officers, though not in the king’s uniform, was Mr Billy Bones – Flint’s most loyal follower. Ben Gunn pondered over that, and perhaps he wasn’t so looney as he seemed, for he spotted two other things. First, most of those around the table looked like seasick landmen on their first cruise: pale and sweating heavily. And second, Ben Gunn could see that Mr Povey was as astonished as himself to find Billy Bones among the company. Alongside Bones was a clerical-looking gentleman who proved to be Dr Stanley, the chaplain, and he was treating Mr Bones with favour, almost apologetically.

      Povey caught Lieutenant Hastings’s eye where he sat with the other officers, and looked questioningly at Billy Bones. Hastings nodded at Dr Stanley. He risked mouthing the words:

      “It’s his doing!”

      For his part, Billy Bones stared fixedly at Ben Gunn, who had not featured in the instructions he’d received from Flint. Thus Billy Bones was forced to extemporise, which he did to such creditable effect as would have amazed the master down below, who believed him incapable of initiative. Though perhaps Billy Bones shone more lustrously by comparison with Captain Baggot, who was not himself, being now quite ill.

      Baggot did little more than extract a repetition of Ben Gunn’s whining innocence, attempting only half-heartedly to examine such interesting matters as just what the Hell had been happening on the island while Flint was there? Especially to the north where John Silver had escaped aboard Walrus? All such matters Ben Gunn refused to discuss, fearing self-incrimination. Finally, bleary-eyed, swaying in his chair, and with red blotches now livid on his face, Baggot turned to Billy Bones.

      “Will you have a word with him, Mr Bones? Were you not shipmates once?”

      “Aye, Cap’n. Aboard Elizabeth, at the beginning of all these troubles.”

      “What troubles, Mr Bones?”

      “Cap’n Flint’s troubles, sir…and the wicked conspiracy against him.”

      “Rubbish!” said Povey, who knew exactly what had gone on aboard Elizabeth.

      “Poppycock!” said Lieutenant Hastings who’d served alongside him.

      “Be silent, there!” cried Baggot irritably. “Do not interrupt your betters!”

      “Indeed not!” said Dr Stanley, and the other officers nodded.

      Hastings and Povey gaped. They couldn’t believe that they weren’t believed, for all England knew they’d been Flint’s shipmates. Had they been fit and well, they’d have fought for truth. But, like most others present, they were not fit and well. They were sick with headache and a nausea that was getting steadily worse as the day ended and the night came on. They hadn’t the strength for so fearful a task as opposing their superiors.

      Billy Bones, however, being immune to the peril that was bearing down on his shipmates, pressed on clear-headed and determined.

      “Now then, Mr Gunn!” he said, sending Ben Gunn quivering in fright.

      “I don’t know nothing,” came the response.

      “Yes, you do. For you was helmsman aboard of Elizabeth, wasn’t you?”

      “Aye, but it weren’t my fault she run aground.”

      “So whose fault was it?”

      “Cap’n Springer’s!”

      “That’s Springer as was cap’n of Elizabeth,” said Billy Bones for the benefit of his audience, before turning back to Ben Gunn. “So it were Springer as done it, not Flint?”

      “Not him!” said Ben Gunn. “It were that swab Springer, damn him!”

      “And who flogged you for it, Mr Gunn – you that was helmsman?”

      “Springer! He flogged me, though I was steering to his own orders.”

      “That he did, Mr Gunn. You that was innocent, as all hands knew!”

      “Aye!”

      “And when we was run aground, who was it as couldn’t get us off?”

      “Springer!”

      “And who was it got drunk day after day?”

      “Springer!”

      “But who was it built the Betsy out of Elizabeth’s timbers, to escape the island?”

      “Flint!”

      “So I akses you, Mr Gunn…who was the true seaman – Springer or Flint?”

      “Cap’n Flint, God-bless-him-and-keep-him!”

      And there Billy Bones stopped, being enormously wise to do so, for it was all truth thus far. It was plain truth, every word of it, and cast a most radiant light upon Joseph Flint, lately a lieutenant in His Majesty’s sea service, and now accused of mutiny and piracy. Billy Bones was doing wonderfully well.

      “The rest is lies and spite,” he said, inspired with the genius of simplicity.

      “Well?” said Baggot to Ben Gunn.

      “Couldn’t say, Cap’n. For I weren’t there, and took no part.”

      “Mr Hastings? Mr Povey?” said Baggot, turning at last to these vital witnesses.

      But by this time Mr Povey’s bowels were squirting hot fluid down the leg of his breeches, and he was staggering, grey-faced, out of the cabin, trying not to foul the neat-patterned oilcloth floor, while Mr Hastings was slumped glassy-eyed in his chair, under the impression that the ship was rolling in a hurricane. Neither was in a position to contribute much to the discussion of Flint’s guilt or innocence.

      Billy Bones smiled. He’d been lucky. He’d won a flying start to his campaign. One more heave and the irons would be struck off Flint’s legs as surely as they’d been struck off his own. It only awaited the next developments, as forecast by Flint.

      And looking round the cabin, Billy Bones could see those developments already going forward very nicely.

       Chapter 5

       Four bells of the afternoon watch

       18th March 1753

      Aboard