THERE was no return of the
mutineers—not so much as another
shot out of the woods. They had "got
their rations for that day," as the
captain put it, and we had the place
to ourselves and a quiet time to
overhaul the wounded and get dinner.
Squire and I cooked outside in spite
of the danger, and even outside we
could hardly tell what we were at,
for horror of the loud groans that
reached us from the doctor's
patients. Out of the eight men who had fallen
in the action, only three still
breathed—that one of the pirates who
had been shot at the loophole,
Hunter, and Captain Smollett; and of
these, the first two were as good as
dead; the mutineer indeed died under
the doctor's knife, and Hunter, do
what we could, never recovered
consciousness in this world. He
lingered all day, breathing loudly
like the old buccaneer at home in
his apoplectic fit, but the bones of
his chest had been crushed by the
blow and his skull fractured in
falling, and some time in the
following night, without sign or
sound, he went to his Maker. As for the captain, his wounds were
grievous indeed, but not dangerous.
No organ was fatally injured.
Anderson's ball—for it was Job that
shot him first—had broken his
shoulder-blade and touched the lung,
not badly; the second had only torn
and displaced some muscles in the
calf. He was sure to recover, the
doctor said, but in the meantime,
and for weeks to come, he must not
walk nor move his arm, nor so much
as speak when he could help it. My own accidental cut across the
knuckles was a flea-bite. Doctor
Livesey patched it up with plaster
and pulled my ears for me into the
bargain. After dinner the squire and the
doctor sat by the captain's side
awhile in consultation; and when
they had talked to their hearts'
content, it being then a little past
noon, the doctor took up his hat and
pistols, girt on a cutlass, put the
chart in his pocket, and with a
musket over his shoulder crossed the
palisade on the north side and set
off briskly through the trees. Gray and I were sitting together at
the far end of the block house, to
be out of earshot of our officers
consulting; and Gray took his pipe
out of his mouth and fairly forgot
to put it back again, so
thunder-struck he was at this
occurrence. "Why, in the name of Davy Jones,"
said he, "is Dr. Livesey mad?" "Why no," says I. "He's about the
last of this crew for that, I take
it." "Well, shipmate," said Gray, "mad he
may not be; but if HE'S not, you
mark my words, I am." "I take it," replied I, "the doctor
has his idea; and if I am right,
he's going now to see Ben Gunn." I was right, as appeared later; but
in the meantime, the house being
stifling hot and the little patch of
sand inside the palisade ablaze with
midday sun, I began to get another
thought into my head, which was not
by any means so right. What I began
to do was to envy the doctor walking
in the cool shadow of the woods with
the birds about him and the pleasant
smell of the pines, while I sat
grilling, with my clothes stuck to
the hot resin, and so much blood
about me and so many poor dead
bodies lying all around that I took
a disgust of the place that was
almost as strong as fear. All the time I was washing out the
block house, and then washing up the
things from dinner, this disgust and
envy kept growing stronger and
stronger, till at last, being near a
bread-bag, and no one then observing
me, I took the first step towards my
escapade and filled both pockets of
my coat with biscuit. I was a fool, if you like, and
certainly I was going to do a
foolish, over-bold act; but I was
determined to do it with all the
precautions in my power. These
biscuits, should anything befall me,
would keep me, at least, from
starving till far on in the next
day. The next thing I laid hold of was a
brace of pistols, and as I already
had a powder-horn and bullets, I
felt myself well supplied with arms.
As for the scheme I had in my head,
it was not a bad one in itself. I
was to go down the sandy spit that
divides the anchorage on the east
from the open sea, find the white
rock I had observed last evening,
and ascertain whether it was there
or not that Ben Gunn had hidden his
boat, a thing quite worth doing, as
I still believe. But as I was
certain I should not be allowed to
leave the enclosure, my only plan
was to take French leave and slip
out when nobody was watching, and
that was so bad a way of doing it as
made the thing itself wrong. But I
was only a boy, and I had made my
mind up. Well, as things at last fell out, I
found an admirable opportunity. The
squire and Gray were busy helping
the captain with his bandages, the
coast was clear, I made a bolt for
it over the stockade and into the
thickest of the trees, and before my
absence was observed I was out of
cry of my companions. This was my second folly, far worse
than the first, as I left but two
sound men to guard the house; but
like the first, it was a help
towards saving all of us. I took my way straight for the east
coast of the island, for I was
determined to go down the sea side
of the spit to avoid all chance of
observation from the anchorage. It
was already late in the afternoon,
although still warm and sunny. As I
continued to thread the tall woods,
I could hear from far before me not
only the continuous thunder of the
surf, but a certain tossing of
foliage and grinding of boughs which
showed me the sea breeze had set in
higher than usual. Soon cool
draughts of air began to reach me,
and a few steps farther I came forth
into the open borders of the grove,
and saw the sea lying blue and sunny
to the horizon and the surf tumbling
and tossing its foam along the
beach. I have never seen the sea quiet
round Treasure Island. The sun might
blaze overhead, the air be without a
breath, the surface smooth and blue,
but still these great rollers would
be running along all the external
coast, thundering and thundering by
day and night; and I scarce believe
there is one spot in the island
where a man would be out of earshot
of their noise. I walked along beside the surf with
great enjoyment, till, thinking I
was now got far enough to the south,
I took the cover of some thick
bushes and crept warily up to the
ridge of the spit. Behind me was the sea, in front the
anchorage. The sea breeze, as though
it had the sooner blown itself out
by its unusual violence, was already
at an end; it had been succeeded by
light, variable airs from the south
and south-east, carrying great banks
of fog; and the anchorage, under lee
of Skeleton Island, lay still and
leaden as when first we entered it.
The HISPANIOLA, in that unbroken
mirror, was exactly portrayed from
the truck to the waterline, the
Jolly Roger hanging from her peak.
Alongside lay one of the gigs,
Silver in the stern-sheets—him I
could always recognize—while a
couple of men were leaning over the
stern bulwarks, one of them with a
red cap—the very rogue that I had
seen some hours before stride-legs
upon the palisade. Apparently they
were talking and laughing, though at
that distance—upwards of a mile—I
could, of course, hear no word of
what was said. All at once there
began the most horrid, unearthly
screaming, which at first startled
me badly, though I had soon
remembered the voice of Captain
Flint and even thought I could make
out the bird by her bright plumage
as she sat perched upon her master's
wrist. Soon after, the jolly-boat shoved
off and pulled for shore, and the
man with the red cap and his comrade
went below by the cabin companion.
Just about the same time, the sun
had gone down behind the Spy-glass,
and as the fog was collecting
rapidly, it began to grow dark in
earnest. I saw I must lose no time
if I were to find the boat that
evening. The white rock, visible enough above
the brush, was still some eighth of
a mile further down the spit, and it
took me a goodish while to get up
with it, crawling, often on all
fours, among the scrub. Night had
almost come when I laid my hand on
its rough sides. Right below it
there was an exceedingly small
hollow of green turf, hidden by
banks and a thick underwood about
knee-deep, that grew there very
plentifully; and in the centre of
the dell, sure enough, a little tent
of goat-skins, like what the gipsies
carry about with them in England.
I dropped into the hollow, lifted
the side of the tent, and there was
Ben Gunn's boat—home-made if ever
anything was home-made; a rude,
lop-sided framework of tough wood,
and stretched upon that a covering
of goat-skin, with the hair inside.
The thing was extremely small, even
for me, and I can hardly imagine
that it could have floated with a
full-sized man. There was one thwart
set as low as possible, a kind of
stretcher in the bows, and a double
paddle for propulsion. I had not then seen a coracle, such
as the ancient Britons made, but I
have seen one since, and I can give
you no fairer idea of Ben Gunn's
boat than by saying it was like the
first and the worst coracle ever
made by man. But the great advantage
of the coracle it certainly
possessed, for it was exceedingly
light and portable. Well, now that I had found the boat,
you would have thought I had had
enough of truantry for once, but in
the meantime I had taken another
notion and become so obstinately
fond of it that I would have carried
it out, I believe, in the teeth of
Captain Smollett himself. This was
to slip out under cover of the
night, cut the HISPANIOLA adrift,
and let her go ashore where she
fancied. I had quite made up my mind
that the mutineers, after their
repulse of the morning, had nothing
nearer their hearts than to up
anchor and away to sea; this, I
thought, it would be a fine thing to
prevent, and now that I had seen how
they left their watchmen unprovided
with a boat, I thought it might be
done with little risk. Down I sat to wait for darkness, and
made a hearty meal of biscuit. It
was a night out of ten thousand for
my purpose. The fog had now buried
all heaven. As the last rays of
daylight dwindled and disappeared,
absolute blackness settled down on
Treasure Island. And when, at last,
I shouldered the coracle and groped
my way stumblingly out of the hollow
where I had supped, there were but
two points visible on the whole
anchorage. One was the great fire on shore, by
which the defeated pirates lay
carousing in the swamp. The other, a
mere blur of light upon the
darkness, indicated the position of
the anchored ship. She had swung
round to the ebb—her bow was now
towards me—the only lights on board
were in the cabin, and what I saw
was merely a reflection on the fog
of the strong rays that flowed from
the stern window. The ebb had already run some time,
and I had to wade through a long
belt of swampy sand, where I sank
several times above the ankle,
before I came to the edge of the
retreating water, and wading a
little way in, with some strength
and dexterity, set my coracle, keel
downwards, on the surface. |
