The Traitor of Treasure Island: The truth at last by John Drake

Author:John Drake [Drake, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2019-08-19T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 21

Selena and Flint stood by the ship’s wheel, with Hitchin the first mate and others who were awaiting orders. All were wrapped in heavy sea-coats because it was so cold, and a thick fog was everywhere. The sea was lively, the wind erratic, the ship carried no more than reefed topsails, and was barely under way, with a man in the fore-chains heaving the lead and chanting as the ship inched forward.

‘By the mark five!’ then another swing of the line, and a plunge of the lead, and ‘by the deep five!’ then another swing, all steady and slow, then a louder shout, in warning; ‘by the mark four!’

‘A point to larboard,’ said Flint. ‘There’s shoal ground here.’

‘Aye-aye!’ said the helmsman, and glanced at the sails and would have nudged the ship closer to the wind. But the wind shifted, the sails shivered, the fog lifted, and suddenly, far ahead to the south, the island showed black against the horizon, and the sands, rocks and breakers of the archipelago were visible in between.

‘Steady! Hold her steady!’ ordered Flint, feeling the wind about to recover, which it did, and the sails filled, the helmsman steered his point to larboard and Selena stared at the archipelago. It was a death trap of swirling waters, vicious rocks, and hungry sandbanks, some displaying the wooden bones of ships: barnacled, weed-draped and rotting, and all the more dangerous because at any time the fog might come down again, thick and impenetrable, so that it was impossible to see more than the ship’s own bowsprit ahead.

‘Why is there fog here,’ she asked ‘in the tropics?’ She looked at Flint and saw his smile, knowing he would explain, because he loved to explain. He was always explaining; always seeking to impress.

‘It’s due to a great upwelling of cold water, ma’am,’ he said. ‘It comes up through the archipelago, and is so cold it’s almost freezing, and it meets the warm air and turns it into fog.’

‘Where does it come from,’ she asked, ‘the cold water?’

‘Who knows?’ said Flint. ‘From the icy north, or the icy south? Or perhaps the Devil sends it?’

‘And is that what causes the currents?’

‘Again, who knows?’ replied Flint. ‘But something does, because there’re whirlpools and eddies that I’ve never seen the like of.’ He paused and pointed. ‘And rocks, too. See there!’

She looked and saw white water thrashing around gleaming rocks, off to the lee side of the ship. The rocks were covered with glistening, black monsters like giant slugs. They honked and barked, and they plunged into the deadly waters with easy grace and total assurance.

‘What are those?’ she said. ‘Sea lions?’

‘Ah, you remember, ma’am!’ he said. ‘Because of course, you’ve been here before.’ He looked at her closely. ‘We all have: you, me and John Silver.’ She chose not to pursue that. She was unsure where it might lead.

‘And how shall you find your way into the safe channel?’ she asked.

‘By sending a boat ahead,’ he said, ‘and sounding as we go.

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