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Gray and hunter were the first to come forward. Well `
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armed, they stole out of the stockade, but it proved a `
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useless mission. The mutineers were bolder than we `
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fancied or they put more trust in Israel's gunnery. `
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For four or five of them were busy carrying off our `
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stores and wading out with them to one of the gigs that `
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lay close by, pulling an oar or so to hold her steady `
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against the current. Silver was in the stern-sheets in `
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command; and every man of them was now provided with a `
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musket from some secret magazine of their own. `
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The captain sat down to his log, and here is the `
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beginning of the entry: `
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`
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Alexander Smollett, master; David Livesey, ship's `
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doctor; Abraham Gray, carpenter's mate; John `
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Trelawney, owner; John Hunter and Richard Joyce, `
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owner's servants, landsmen--being all that is left `
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faithful of the ship's company--with stores for ten `
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days at short rations, came ashore this day and flew `
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British colours on the log-house in Treasure Island. `
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Thomas Redruth, owner's servant, landsman, shot by the `
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mutineers; James Hawkins, cabin-boy-- `
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And at the same time, I was wondering over poor Jim `
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Hawkins' fate. `
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A hail on the land side. `
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"Somebody hailing us," said Hunter, who was on guard. `
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"Doctor! Squire! Captain! Hullo, Hunter, is that `
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you?" came the cries. `
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And I ran to the door in time to see Jim Hawkins, safe `
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and sound, come climbing over the stockade. `
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19 `
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Narrative Resumed by Jim Hawkins: The Garrison `
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in the Stockade `
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AS soon as Ben Gunn saw the colours he came to a halt, `
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stopped me by the arm, and sat down. `
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`
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"Now," said he, "there's your friends, sure enough." `
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"Far more likely it's the mutineers," I answered. `
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"That!" he cried. "Why, in a place like this, where `
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nobody puts in but gen'lemen of fortune, Silver would `
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fly the Jolly Roger, you don't make no doubt of that. `
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No, that's your friends. There's been blows too, and I `
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reckon your friends has had the best of it; and here `
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they are ashore in the old stockade, as was made years `
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and years ago by Flint. Ah, he was the man to have a `
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headpiece, was Flint! Barring rum, his match were `
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never seen. He were afraid of none, not he; on'y `
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Silver--Silver was that genteel." `
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"Well," said I, "that may be so, and so be it; all the `
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more reason that I should hurry on and join my friends." `
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"Nay, mate," returned Ben, "not you. You're a good `
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boy, or I'm mistook; but you're on'y a boy, all told. `
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Now, Ben Gunn is fly. Rum wouldn't bring me there, `
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where you're going--not rum wouldn't, till I see your `
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born gen'leman and gets it on his word of honour. And `
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you won't forget my words; 'A precious sight (that's `
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what you'll say), a precious sight more confidence'-- `
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and then nips him." `
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And he pinched me the third time with the same air `
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of cleverness. `
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"And when Ben Gunn is wanted, you know where to find `
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him, Jim. Just wheer you found him today. And him `
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that comes is to have a white thing in his hand, and `
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he's to come alone. Oh! And you'll say this: 'Ben `
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Gunn,' says you, 'has reasons of his own.'" `
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"Well," said I, "I believe I understand. You have `
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something to propose, and you wish to see the squire or `
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the doctor, and you're to be found where I found you. `
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Is that all?" `
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"And when? says you," he added. "Why, from about noon `
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observation to about six bells." `
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"Good," said I, "and now may I go?" `
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"You won't forget?" he inquired anxiously. "Precious `
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sight, and reasons of his own, says you. Reasons of `
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his own; that's the mainstay; as between man and man. `
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Well, then"--still holding me--"I reckon you can go, `
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Jim. And, Jim, if you was to see Silver, you wouldn't `
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go for to sell Ben Gunn? Wild horses wouldn't draw it `
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from you? No, says you. And if them pirates camp `
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ashore, Jim, what would you say but there'd be widders `
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in the morning?" `
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Here he was interrupted by a loud report, and a `
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cannonball came tearing through the trees and pitched `
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in the sand not a hundred yards from where we two were `
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talking. The next moment each of us had taken to his `
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heels in a different direction. `
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`
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For a good hour to come frequent reports shook the `
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island, and balls kept crashing through the woods. I `
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moved from hiding-place to hiding-place, always `
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pursued, or so it seemed to me, by these terrifying `
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missiles. But towards the end of the bombardment, `
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though still I durst not venture in the direction of `
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the stockade, where the balls fell oftenest, I had `
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begun, in a manner, to pluck up my heart again, and `
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after a long detour to the east, crept down among the `
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shore-side trees. `
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The sun had just set, the sea breeze was rustling and `
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tumbling in the woods and ruffling the grey surface of `
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the anchorage; the tide, too, was far out, and great `
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tracts of sand lay uncovered; the air, after the heat `
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of the day, chilled me through my jacket. `
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`
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The HISPANIOLA still lay where she had anchored; but, sure `
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enough, there was the Jolly Roger--the black flag of piracy `
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--flying from her peak. Even as I looked, there came another `
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red flash and another report that sent the echoes clattering, `
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and one more round-shot whistled through the air. It was the `
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last of the cannonade. `
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I lay for some time watching the bustle which succeeded `
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the attack. Men were demolishing something with axes `
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on the beach near the stockade--the poor jolly-boat, I `
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afterwards discovered. Away, near the mouth of the `
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river, a great fire was glowing among the trees, and `
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between that point and the ship one of the gigs kept `
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coming and going, the men, whom I had seen so gloomy, `
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shouting at the oars like children. But there was a `
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sound in their voices which suggested rum. `
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`
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At length I thought I might return towards the `
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stockade. I was pretty far down on the low, sandy spit `
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that encloses the anchorage to the east, and is joined `
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at half-water to Skeleton Island; and now, as I rose to `
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my feet, I saw, some distance further down the spit and `
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rising from among low bushes, an isolated rock, pretty `
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high, and peculiarly white in colour. It occurred to `
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me that this might be the white rock of which Ben Gunn `
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had spoken and that some day or other a boat might be `
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wanted and I should know where to look for one. `
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Then I skirted among the woods until I had regained the `
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rear, or shoreward side, of the stockade, and was soon `
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warmly welcomed by the faithful party. `
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I had soon told my story and began to look about me. `
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The log-house was made of unsquared trunks of pine-- `
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roof, walls, and floor. The latter stood in several `
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places as much as a foot or a foot and a half above the `
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surface of the sand. There was a porch at the door, `
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and under this porch the little spring welled up into `
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an artificial basin of a rather odd kind--no other than `
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a great ship's kettle of iron, with the bottom knocked `
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out, and sunk "to her bearings," as the captain said, `
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among the sand. `
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Little had been left besides the framework of the `
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house, but in one corner there was a stone slab laid `
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down by way of hearth and an old rusty iron basket to `
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contain the fire. `
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The slopes of the knoll and all the inside of the `
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stockade had been cleared of timber to build the house, `
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and we could see by the stumps what a fine and lofty `
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grove had been destroyed. Most of the soil had been `
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washed away or buried in drift after the removal of the `
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trees; only where the streamlet ran down from the `
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kettle a thick bed of moss and some ferns and little `
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creeping bushes were still green among the sand. Very `
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close around the stockade--too close for defence, they `
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said--the wood still flourished high and dense, all of `
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fir on the land side, but towards the sea with a large `
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admixture of live-oaks. `
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`
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The cold evening breeze, of which I have spoken, `
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whistled through every chink of the rude building and `
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sprinkled the floor with a continual rain of fine sand. `
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There was sand in our eyes, sand in our teeth, sand in `
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our suppers, sand dancing in the spring at the bottom `
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of the kettle, for all the world like porridge `
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beginning to boil. Our chimney was a square hole in `
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the roof; it was but a little part of the smoke that `
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found its way out, and the rest eddied about the house `
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and kept us coughing and piping the eye. `
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`
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Add to this that Gray, the new man, had his face tied `
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up in a bandage for a cut he had got in breaking away `
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from the mutineers and that poor old Tom Redruth, still `
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