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      Treasure Island [Electronic resource] / Robert Louis
      Stevenson
      Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894
      
      
      
      University of Oxford Text Archive
      
      Oxford University Computing Services
      13 Banbury Road
      Oxford
      OX2 6NN
      
      ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk
      
      http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5730
      
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      English
      
      
      
      Novels
      
      
      Scottish literature -- 19th century
      
      
      
      
      text
      CC BY-SA
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      <div>
         
         <span class="partHeader">TREASURE ISLAND</span>
         
         <div class="italic">
            
            <p>To S.L.O., an American gentleman in accordance with whose classic taste the
               following narrative has been designed, it is now, in return for numerous
               delightful hours, and with the kindest wishes, dedicated by his affectionate
               friend, the author.
            </p>
            
         </div>
         
         
         
         <div class="verse">
            <span class="verseHeader">TO THE HESITATING PURCHASER</span>
            <span class="verse">If sailor tales to sailor tunes,</span><br>
            <span class="verse">&nbsp;&nbsp;Storm and adventure, heat and cold,</span><br>
            <span class="verse">If schooners, islands, and maroons,</span><br>
            <span class="verse">&nbsp;&nbsp;And buccaneers, and buried gold,</span><br>
            <span class="verse">And all the old romance, retold</span><br>
            <span class="verse">&nbsp;&nbsp;Exactly in the ancient way,</span><br>
            <span class="verse">Can please, as me they pleased of old,</span><br>
            <span class="verse">&nbsp;&nbsp;The wiser youngsters of today:</span><br>
            <span class="verse">—So be it, and fall on! If not,</span><br>
            <span class="verse"> If studious youth no longer crave,</span><br>
            <span class="verse"> His ancient appetites forgot,</span><br>
            <span class="verse"> Kingston, or Ballantyne the brave,</span><br>
            <span class="verse"> Or Cooper of the wood and wave:</span><br>
            <span class="verse"> So be it, also! And may I</span><br>
            <span class="verse"> And all my pirates share the grave</span><br>
            <span class="verse"> Where these and their creations lie!</span><br>
            
         </div>
         
         
      </div>
      
      <div>
         
         <span class="partHeader">PART ONE—The Old Buccaneer</span>
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">The Old Sea-dog at the Admiral Benbow</span>
         
         <p>SQUIRE TRELAWNEY, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to
            write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the
            end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because
            there is still treasure not yet lifted, I take up my pen in the year of grace 17__
            and go back to the time when my father kept the Admiral Benbow inn and the brown
            old seaman with the sabre cut first took up his lodging under our roof.
         </p>
         
         <p>I remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn door, his
            sea-chest following behind him in a hand-barrow—a tall, strong, heavy, nut-brown
            man, his tarry pigtail falling over the shoulder of his soiled blue coat, his
            hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails, and the sabre cut across one
            cheek, a dirty, livid white. I remember him looking round the cover and whistling
            to himself as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang
            so often afterwards:
         </p>
         
         <div class="verse">
            <span class="verse">"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest--</span><br>
            <span class="verse">Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"</span><br>
            
         </div>
         
         <p>in the high, old tottering voice that seemed to have been tuned and broken at the
            capstan bars. Then he rapped on the door with a bit of stick like a handspike that
            he carried, and when my father appeared, called roughly for a glass of rum. This,
            when it was brought to him, he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the
            taste and still looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard.
         </p>
         
         <p>"This is a handy cove," says he at length; "and a pleasant sittyated grog-shop.
            Much company, mate?"
         </p>
         
         <p>My father told him no, very little company, the more was the pity.</p>
         
         <p>"Well, then," said he, "this is the berth for me. Here you, matey," he cried to
            the man who trundled the barrow; "bring up alongside and help up my chest. I'll
            stay here a bit," he continued. "I'm a plain man; rum and bacon and eggs is what I
            want, and that head up there for to watch ships off. What you mought call me? You
            mought call me captain. Oh, I see what you're at—there"; and he threw down three
            or four gold pieces on the threshold. "You can tell me when I've worked through
            that," says he, looking as fierce as a commander.
         </p>
         
         <p>And indeed bad as his clothes were and coarsely as he spoke, he had none of the
            appearance of a man who sailed before the mast, but seemed like a mate or skipper
            accustomed to be obeyed or to strike. The man who came with the barrow told us the
            mail had set him down the morning before at the Royal George, that he had inquired
            what inns there were along the coast, and hearing ours well spoken of, I suppose,
            and described as lonely, had chosen it from the others for his place of residence.
            And that was all we could learn of our guest.
         </p>
         
         <p>He was a very silent man by custom. All day he hung round the cove or upon the
            cliffs with a brass telescope; all evening he sat in a corner of the parlour next
            the fire and drank rum and water very strong. Mostly he would not speak when
            spoken to, only look up sudden and fierce and blow through his nose like a
            fog-horn; and we and the people who came about our house soon learned to let him
            be. Every day when he came back from his stroll he would ask if any seafaring men
            had gone by along the road. At first we thought it was the want of company of his
            own kind that made him ask this question, but at last we began to see he was
            desirous to avoid them. When a seaman did put up at the Admiral Benbow (as now and
            then some did, making by the coast road for Bristol) he would look in at him
            through the curtained door before he entered the parlour; and he was always sure
            to be as silent as a mouse when any such was present. For me, at least, there was
            no secret about the matter, for I was, in a way, a sharer in his alarms. He had
            taken me aside one day and promised me a silver fourpenny on the first of every
            month if I would only keep my "weather-eye open for a seafaring man with one leg"
            and let him know the moment he appeared. Often enough when the first of the month
            came round and I applied to him for my wage, he would only blow through his nose
            at me and stare me down, but before the week was out he was sure to think better
            of it, bring me my four-penny piece, and repeat his orders to look out for "the
            seafaring man with one leg."
         </p>
         
         <p>How that personage haunted my dreams, I need scarcely tell you. On stormy nights,
            when the wind shook the four corners of the house and the surf roared along the
            cove and up the cliffs, I would see him in a thousand forms, and with a thousand
            diabolical expressions. Now the leg would be cut off at the knee, now at the hip;
            now he was a monstrous kind of a creature who had never had but the one leg, and
            that in the middle of his body. To see him leap and run and pursue me over hedge
            and ditch was the worst of nightmares. And altogether I paid pretty dear for my
            monthly fourpenny piece, in the shape of these abominable fancies.
         </p>
         
         <p>But though I was so terrified by the idea of the seafaring man with one leg, I was
            far less afraid of the captain himself than anybody else who knew him. There were
            nights when he took a deal more rum and water than his head would carry; and then
            he would sometimes sit and sing his wicked, old, wild sea-songs, minding nobody;
            but sometimes he would call for glasses round and force all the trembling company
            to listen to his stories or bear a chorus to his singing. Often I have heard the
            house shaking with "Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum," all the neighbours joining in
            for dear life, with the fear of death upon them, and each singing louder than the
            other to avoid remark. For in these fits he was the most overriding companion ever
            known; he would slap his hand on the table for silence all round; he would fly up
            in a passion of anger at a question, or sometimes because none was put, and so he
            judged the company was not following his story. Nor would he allow anyone to leave
            the inn till he had drunk himself sleepy and reeled off to bed.
         </p>
         
         <p>His stories were what frightened people worst of all. Dreadful stories they
            were—about hanging, and walking the plank, and storms at sea, and the Dry
            Tortugas, and wild deeds and places on the Spanish Main. By his own account he
            must have lived his life among some of the wickedest men that God ever allowed
            upon the sea, and the language in which he told these stories shocked our plain
            country people almost as much as the crimes that he described. My father was
            always saying the inn would be ruined, for people would soon cease coming there to
            be tyrannized over and put down, and sent shivering to their beds; but I really
            believe his presence did us good. People were frightened at the time, but on
            looking back they rather liked it; it was a fine excitement in a quiet country
            life, and there was even a party of the younger men who pretended to admire him,
            calling him a "true sea-dog" and a "real old salt" and such like names, and saying
            there was the sort of man that made England terrible at sea.
         </p>
         
         <p>In one way, indeed, he bade fair to ruin us, for he kept on staying week after
            week, and at last month after month, so that all the money had been long
            exhausted, and still my father never plucked up the heart to insist on having
            more. If ever he mentioned it, the captain blew through his nose so loudly that
            you might say he roared, and stared my poor father out of the room. I have seen
            him wringing his hands after such a rebuff, and I am sure the annoyance and the
            terror he lived in must have greatly hastened his early and unhappy death.
         </p>
         
         <p>All the time he lived with us the captain made no change whatever in his dress but
            to buy some stockings from a hawker. One of the cocks of his hat having fallen
            down, he let it hang from that day forth, though it was a great annoyance when it
            blew. I remember the appearance of his coat, which he patched himself upstairs in
            his room, and which, before the end, was nothing but patches. He never wrote or
            received a letter, and he never spoke with any but the neighbours, and with these,
            for the most part, only when drunk on rum. The great sea-chest none of us had ever
            seen open.
         </p>
         
         <p>He was only once crossed, and that was towards the end, when my poor father was
            far gone in a decline that took him off. Dr. Livesey came late one afternoon to
            see the patient, took a bit of dinner from my mother, and went into the parlour to
            smoke a pipe until his horse should come down from the hamlet, for we had no
            stabling at the old Benbow. I followed him in, and I remember observing the
            contrast the neat, bright doctor, with his powder as white as snow and his bright,
            black eyes and pleasant manners, made with the coltish country folk, and above
            all, with that filthy, heavy, bleared scarecrow of a pirate of ours, sitting, far
            gone in rum, with his arms on the table. Suddenly he—the captain, that is—began to
            pipe up his eternal song:
         </p>
         
         <div class="verse">
            <span class="verse"> "Fifteen men on the dead man's chest--</span><br>
            <span class="verse"> Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!</span><br>
            <span class="verse"> Drink and the devil had done for the rest--</span><br>
            <span class="verse"> Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"</span><br>
            
         </div>
         
         <p>At first I had supposed "the dead man's chest" to be that identical big box of his
            upstairs in the front room, and the thought had been mingled in my nightmares with
            that of the one-legged seafaring man. But by this time we had all long ceased to
            pay any particular notice to the song; it was new, that night, to nobody but Dr.
            Livesey, and on him I observed it did not produce an agreeable effect, for he
            looked up for a moment quite angrily before he went on with his talk to old
            Taylor, the gardener, on a new cure for the rheumatics. In the meantime, the
            captain gradually brightened up at his own music, and at last flapped his hand
            upon the table before him in a way we all knew to mean silence. The voices stopped
            at once, all but Dr. Livesey's; he went on as before speaking clear and kind and
            drawing briskly at his pipe between every word or two. The captain glared at him
            for a while, flapped his hand again, glared still harder, and at last broke out
            with a villainous, low oath, "Silence, there, between decks!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Were you addressing me, sir?" says the doctor; and when the ruffian had told him,
            with another oath, that this was so, "I have only one thing to say to you, sir,"
            replies the doctor, "that if you keep on drinking rum, the world will soon be quit
            of a very dirty scoundrel!"
         </p>
         
         <p>The old fellow's fury was awful. He sprang to his feet, drew and opened a sailor's
            clasp-knife, and balancing it open on the palm of his hand, threatened to pin the
            doctor to the wall.
         </p>
         
         <p>The doctor never so much as moved. He spoke to him as before, over his shoulder
            and in the same tone of voice, rather high, so that all the room might hear, but
            perfectly calm and steady: "If you do not put that knife this instant in your
            pocket, I promise, upon my honour, you shall hang at the next assizes."
         </p>
         
         <p>Then followed a battle of looks between them, but the captain soon knuckled under,
            put up his weapon, and resumed his seat, grumbling like a beaten dog.
         </p>
         
         <p>"And now, sir," continued the doctor, "since I now know there's such a fellow in
            my district, you may count I'll have an eye upon you day and night. I'm not a
            doctor only; I'm a magistrate; and if I catch a breath of complaint against you,
            if it's only for a piece of incivility like tonight's, I'll take effectual means
            to have you hunted down and routed out of this. Let that suffice."
         </p>
         
         <p>Soon after, Dr. Livesey's horse came to the door and he rode away, but the captain
            held his peace that evening, and for many evenings to come.
         </p>
         
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">Black Dog Appears and Disappears</span>
         
         <p>IT was not very long after this that there occurred the first of the mysterious
            events that rid us at last of the captain, though not, as you will see, of his
            affairs. It was a bitter cold winter, with long, hard frosts and heavy gales; and
            it was plain from the first that my poor father was little likely to see the
            spring. He sank daily, and my mother and I had all the inn upon our hands, and
            were kept busy enough without paying much regard to our unpleasant guest.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was one January morning, very early—a pinching, frosty morning—the cove all
            grey with hoar-frost, the ripple lapping softly on the stones, the sun still low
            and only touching the hilltops and shining far to seaward. The captain had risen
            earlier than usual and set out down the beach, his cutlass swinging under the
            broad skirts of the old blue coat, his brass telescope under his arm, his hat
            tilted back upon his head. I remember his breath hanging like smoke in his wake as
            he strode off, and the last sound I heard of him as he turned the big rock was a
            loud snort of indignation, as though his mind was still running upon Dr.
            Livesey.
         </p>
         
         <p>Well, mother was upstairs with father and I was laying the breakfast-table against
            the captain's return when the parlour door opened and a man stepped in on whom I
            had never set my eyes before. He was a pale, tallowy creature, wanting two fingers
            of the left hand, and though he wore a cutlass, he did not look much like a
            fighter. I had always my eye open for seafaring men, with one leg or two, and I
            remember this one puzzled me. He was not sailorly, and yet he had a smack of the
            sea about him too.
         </p>
         
         <p>I asked him what was for his service, and he said he would take rum; but as I was
            going out of the room to fetch it, he sat down upon a table and motioned me to
            draw near. I paused where I was, with my napkin in my hand.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Come here, sonny," says he. "Come nearer here."</p>
         
         <p>I took a step nearer.</p>
         
         <p>"Is this here table for my mate Bill?" he asked with a kind of leer.</p>
         
         <p>I told him I did not know his mate Bill, and this was for a person who stayed in
            our house whom we called the captain.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well," said he, "my mate Bill would be called the captain, as like as not. He has
            a cut on one cheek and a mighty pleasant way with him, particularly in drink, has
            my mate Bill. We'll put it, for argument like, that your captain has a cut on one
            cheek—and we'll put it, if you like, that that cheek's the right one. Ah, well! I
            told you. Now, is my mate Bill in this here house?"
         </p>
         
         <p>I told him he was out walking.</p>
         
         <p>"Which way, sonny? Which way is he gone?"</p>
         
         <p>And when I had pointed out the rock and told him how the captain was likely to
            return, and how soon, and answered a few other questions, "Ah," said he, "this'll
            be as good as drink to my mate Bill."
         </p>
         
         <p>The expression of his face as he said these words was not at all pleasant, and I
            had my own reasons for thinking that the stranger was mistaken, even supposing he
            meant what he said. But it was no affair of mine, I thought; and besides, it was
            difficult to know what to do. The stranger kept hanging about just inside the inn
            door, peering round the corner like a cat waiting for a mouse. Once I stepped out
            myself into the road, but he immediately called me back, and as I did not obey
            quick enough for his fancy, a most horrible change came over his tallowy face, and
            he ordered me in with an oath that made me jump. As soon as I was back again he
            returned to his former manner, half fawning, half sneering, patted me on the
            shoulder, told me I was a good boy and he had taken quite a fancy to me. "I have a
            son of my own," said he, "as like you as two blocks, and he's all the pride of my
            'art. But the great thing for boys is discipline, sonny—discipline. Now, if you
            had sailed along of Bill, you wouldn't have stood there to be spoke to twice—not
            you. That was never Bill's way, nor the way of sich as sailed with him. And here,
            sure enough, is my mate Bill, with a spy-glass under his arm, bless his old 'art,
            to be sure. You and me'll just go back into the parlour, sonny, and get behind the
            door, and we'll give Bill a little surprise—bless his 'art, I say again."
         </p>
         
         <p>So saying, the stranger backed along with me into the parlour and put me behind
            him in the corner so that we were both hidden by the open door. I was very uneasy
            and alarmed, as you may fancy, and it rather added to my fears to observe that the
            stranger was certainly frightened himself. He cleared the hilt of his cutlass and
            loosened the blade in the sheath; and all the time we were waiting there he kept
            swallowing as if he felt what we used to call a lump in the throat.
         </p>
         
         <p>At last in strode the captain, slammed the door behind him, without looking to the
            right or left, and marched straight across the room to where his breakfast awaited
            him.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Bill," said the stranger in a voice that I thought he had tried to make bold and
            big.
         </p>
         
         <p>The captain spun round on his heel and fronted us; all the brown had gone out of
            his face, and even his nose was blue; he had the look of a man who sees a ghost,
            or the evil one, or something worse, if anything can be; and upon my word, I felt
            sorry to see him all in a moment turn so old and sick.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Come, Bill, you know me; you know an old shipmate, Bill, surely," said the
            stranger.
         </p>
         
         <p>The captain made a sort of gasp.</p>
         
         <p>"Black Dog!" said he.</p>
         
         <p>"And who else?" returned the other, getting more at his ease. "Black Dog as ever
            was, come for to see his old shipmate Billy, at the Admiral Benbow inn. Ah, Bill,
            Bill, we have seen a sight of times, us two, since I lost them two talons,"
            holding up his mutilated hand.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now, look here," said the captain; "you've run me down; here I am; well, then,
            speak up; what is it?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"That's you, Bill," returned Black Dog, "you're in the right of it, Billy. I'll
            have a glass of rum from this dear child here, as I've took such a liking to; and
            we'll sit down, if you please, and talk square, like old shipmates."
         </p>
         
         <p>When I returned with the rum, they were already seated on either side of the
            captain's breakfast-table—Black Dog next to the door and sitting sideways so as to
            have one eye on his old shipmate and one, as I thought, on his retreat.
         </p>
         
         <p>He bade me go and leave the door wide open. "None of your keyholes for me, sonny,"
            he said; and I left them together and retired into the bar.
         </p>
         
         <p>For a long time, though I certainly did my best to listen, I could hear nothing
            but a low gattling; but at last the voices began to grow higher, and I could pick
            up a word or two, mostly oaths, from the captain.
         </p>
         
         <p>"No, no, no, no; and an end of it!" he cried once. And again, "If it comes to
            swinging, swing all, say I."
         </p>
         
         <p>Then all of a sudden there was a tremendous explosion of oaths and other
            noises—the chair and table went over in a lump, a clash of steel followed, and
            then a cry of pain, and the next instant I saw Black Dog in full flight, and the
            captain hotly pursuing, both with drawn cutlasses, and the former streaming blood
            from the left shoulder. Just at the door the captain aimed at the fugitive one
            last tremendous cut, which would certainly have split him to the chine had it not
            been intercepted by our big signboard of Admiral Benbow. You may see the notch on
            the lower side of the frame to this day.
         </p>
         
         <p>That blow was the last of the battle. Once out upon the road, Black Dog, in spite
            of his wound, showed a wonderful clean pair of heels and disappeared over the edge
            of the hill in half a minute. The captain, for his part, stood staring at the
            signboard like a bewildered man. Then he passed his hand over his eyes several
            times and at last turned back into the house.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Jim," says he, "rum"; and as he spoke, he reeled a little, and caught himself
            with one hand against the wall.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Are you hurt?" cried I.</p>
         
         <p>"Rum," he repeated. "I must get away from here. Rum! Rum!"</p>
         
         <p>I ran to fetch it, but I was quite unsteadied by all that had fallen out, and I
            broke one glass and fouled the tap, and while I was still getting in my own way, I
            heard a loud fall in the parlour, and running in, beheld the captain lying full
            length upon the floor. At the same instant my mother, alarmed by the cries and
            fighting, came running downstairs to help me. Between us we raised his head. He
            was breathing very loud and hard, but his eyes were closed and his face a horrible
            colour.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Dear, deary me," cried my mother, "what a disgrace upon the house! And your poor
            father sick!"
         </p>
         
         <p>In the meantime, we had no idea what to do to help the captain, nor any other
            thought but that he had got his death-hurt in the scuffle with the stranger. I got
            the rum, to be sure, and tried to put it down his throat, but his teeth were
            tightly shut and his jaws as strong as iron. It was a happy relief for us when the
            door opened and Doctor Livesey came in, on his visit to my father.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Oh, doctor," we cried, "what shall we do? Where is he wounded?"</p>
         
         <p>"Wounded? A fiddle-stick's end!" said the doctor. "No more wounded than you or I.
            The man has had a stroke, as I warned him. Now, Mrs. Hawkins, just you run
            upstairs to your husband and tell him, if possible, nothing about it. For my part,
            I must do my best to save this fellow's trebly worthless life; Jim, you get me a
            basin."
         </p>
         
         <p>When I got back with the basin, the doctor had already ripped up the captain's
            sleeve and exposed his great sinewy arm. It was tattooed in several places.
            "Here's luck," "A fair wind," and "Billy Bones his fancy," were very neatly and
            clearly executed on the forearm; and up near the shoulder there was a sketch of a
            gallows and a man hanging from it—done, as I thought, with great spirit.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Prophetic," said the doctor, touching this picture with his finger. "And now,
            Master Billy Bones, if that be your name, we'll have a look at the colour of your
            blood. Jim," he said, "are you afraid of blood?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"No, sir," said I.</p>
         
         <p>"Well, then," said he, "you hold the basin"; and with that he took his lancet and
            opened a vein.
         </p>
         
         <p>A great deal of blood was taken before the captain opened his eyes and looked
            mistily about him. First he recognized the doctor with an unmistakable frown; then
            his glance fell upon me, and he looked relieved. But suddenly his colour changed,
            and he tried to raise himself, crying, "Where's Black Dog?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"There is no Black Dog here," said the doctor, "except what you have on your own
            back. You have been drinking rum; you have had a stroke, precisely as I told you;
            and I have just, very much against my own will, dragged you headforemost out of
            the grave. Now, Mr. Bones—"
         </p>
         
         <p>"That's not my name," he interrupted.</p>
         
         <p>"Much I care," returned the doctor. "It's the name of a buccaneer of my
            acquaintance; and I call you by it for the sake of shortness, and what I have to
            say to you is this; one glass of rum won't kill you, but if you take one you'll
            take another and another, and I stake my wig if you don't break off short, you'll
            die—do you understand that?—die, and go to your own place, like the man in the
            Bible. Come, now, make an effort. I'll help you to your bed for once."
         </p>
         
         <p>Between us, with much trouble, we managed to hoist him upstairs, and laid him on
            his bed, where his head fell back on the pillow as if he were almost fainting.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now, mind you," said the doctor, "I clear my conscience—the name of rum for you
            is death."
         </p>
         
         <p>And with that he went off to see my father, taking me with him by the arm.</p>
         
         <p>"This is nothing," he said as soon as he had closed the door. "I have drawn blood
            enough to keep him quiet awhile; he should lie for a week where he is—that is the
            best thing for him and you; but another stroke would settle him."
         </p>
         
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">The Black Spot</span>
         
         <p>ABOUT noon I stopped at the captain's door with some cooling drinks and medicines.
            He was lying very much as we had left him, only a little higher, and he seemed
            both weak and excited.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Jim," he said, "you're the only one here that's worth anything, and you know I've
            been always good to you. Never a month but I've given you a silver fourpenny for
            yourself. And now you see, mate, I'm pretty low, and deserted by all; and Jim,
            you'll bring me one noggin of rum, now, won't you, matey?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"The doctor—" I began.</p>
         
         <p>But he broke in cursing the doctor, in a feeble voice but heartily. "Doctors is
            all swabs," he said; "and that doctor there, why, what do he know about seafaring
            men? I been in places hot as pitch, and mates dropping round with Yellow Jack, and
            the blessed land a-heaving like the sea with earthquakes—what to the doctor know
            of lands like that?—and I lived on rum, I tell you. It's been meat and drink, and
            man and wife, to me; and if I'm not to have my rum now I'm a poor old hulk on a
            lee shore, my blood'll be on you, Jim, and that doctor swab"; and he ran on again
            for a while with curses. "Look, Jim, how my fingers fidges," he continued in the
            pleading tone. "I can't keep 'em still, not I. I haven't had a drop this blessed
            day. That doctor's a fool, I tell you. If I don't have a drain o' rum, Jim, I'll
            have the horrors; I seen some on 'em already. I seen old Flint in the corner
            there, behind you; as plain as print, I seen him; and if I get the horrors, I'm a
            man that has lived rough, and I'll raise Cain. Your doctor hisself said one glass
            wouldn't hurt me. I'll give you a golden guinea for a noggin, Jim."
         </p>
         
         <p>He was growing more and more excited, and this alarmed me for my father, who was
            very low that day and needed quiet; besides, I was reassured by the doctor's
            words, now quoted to me, and rather offended by the offer of a bribe.
         </p>
         
         <p>"I want none of your money," said I, "but what you owe my father. I'll get you one
            glass, and no more."
         </p>
         
         <p>When I brought it to him, he seized it greedily and drank it out.</p>
         
         <p>"Aye, aye," said he, "that's some better, sure enough. And now, matey, did that
            doctor say how long I was to lie here in this old berth?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"A week at least," said I.</p>
         
         <p>"Thunder!" he cried. "A week! I can't do that; they'd have the black spot on me by
            then. The lubbers is going about to get the wind of me this blessed moment;
            lubbers as couldn't keep what they got, and want to nail what is another's. Is
            that seamanly behaviour, now, I want to know? But I'm a saving soul. I never
            wasted good money of mine, nor lost it neither; and I'll trick 'em again. I'm not
            afraid on 'em. I'll shake out another reef, matey, and daddle 'em again."
         </p>
         
         <p>As he was thus speaking, he had risen from bed with great difficulty, holding to
            my shoulder with a grip that almost made me cry out, and moving his legs like so
            much dead weight. His words, spirited as they were in meaning, contrasted sadly
            with the weakness of the voice in which they were uttered. He paused when he had
            got into a sitting position on the edge.
         </p>
         
         <p>"That doctor's done me," he murmured. "My ears is singing. Lay me back."</p>
         
         <p>Before I could do much to help him he had fallen back again to his former place,
            where he lay for a while silent.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Jim," he said at length, "you saw that seafaring man today?"</p>
         
         <p>"Black Dog?" I asked.</p>
         
         <p>"Ah! Black Dog," says he. "HE'S a bad un; but there's worse that put him on. Now,
            if I can't get away nohow, and they tip me the black spot, mind you, it's my old
            sea-chest they're after; you get on a horse—you can, can't you? Well, then, you
            get on a horse, and go to—well, yes, I will!—to that eternal doctor swab, and tell
            him to pipe all hands—magistrates and sich—and he'll lay 'em aboard at the Admiral
            Benbow—all old Flint's crew, man and boy, all on 'em that's left. I was first
            mate, I was, old Flint's first mate, and I'm the on'y one as knows the place. He
            gave it me at Savannah, when he lay a-dying, like as if I was to now, you see. But
            you won't peach unless they get the black spot on me, or unless you see that Black
            Dog again or a seafaring man with one leg, Jim—him above all."
         </p>
         
         <p>"But what is the black spot, captain?" I asked.</p>
         
         <p>"That's a summons, mate. I'll tell you if they get that. But you keep your
            weather-eye open, Jim, and I'll share with you equals, upon my honour."
         </p>
         
         <p>He wandered a little longer, his voice growing weaker; but soon after I had given
            him his medicine, which he took like a child, with the remark, "If ever a seaman
            wanted drugs, it's me," he fell at last into a heavy, swoon-like sleep, in which I
            left him. What I should have done had all gone well I do not know. Probably I
            should have told the whole story to the doctor, for I was in mortal fear lest the
            captain should repent of his confessions and make an end of me. But as things fell
            out, my poor father died quite suddenly that evening, which put all other matters
            on one side. Our natural distress, the visits of the neighbours, the arranging of
            the funeral, and all the work of the inn to be carried on in the meanwhile kept me
            so busy that I had scarcely time to think of the captain, far less to be afraid of
            him.
         </p>
         
         <p>He got downstairs next morning, to be sure, and had his meals as usual, though he
            ate little and had more, I am afraid, than his usual supply of rum, for he helped
            himself out of the bar, scowling and blowing through his nose, and no one dared to
            cross him. On the night before the funeral he was as drunk as ever; and it was
            shocking, in that house of mourning, to hear him singing away at his ugly old
            sea-song; but weak as he was, we were all in the fear of death for him, and the
            doctor was suddenly taken up with a case many miles away and was never near the
            house after my father's death. I have said the captain was weak, and indeed he
            seemed rather to grow weaker than regain his strength. He clambered up and down
            stairs, and went from the parlour to the bar and back again, and sometimes put his
            nose out of doors to smell the sea, holding on to the walls as he went for support
            and breathing hard and fast like a man on a steep mountain. He never particularly
            addressed me, and it is my belief he had as good as forgotten his confidences; but
            his temper was more flighty, and allowing for his bodily weakness, more violent
            than ever. He had an alarming way now when he was drunk of drawing his cutlass and
            laying it bare before him on the table. But with all that, he minded people less
            and seemed shut up in his own thoughts and rather wandering. Once, for instance,
            to our extreme wonder, he piped up to a different air, a kind of country love-song
            that he must have learned in his youth before he had begun to follow the sea.
         </p>
         
         <p>So things passed until, the day after the funeral, and about three o'clock of a
            bitter, foggy, frosty afternoon, I was standing at the door for a moment, full of
            sad thoughts about my father, when I saw someone drawing slowly near along the
            road. He was plainly blind, for he tapped before him with a stick and wore a great
            green shade over his eyes and nose; and he was hunched, as if with age or
            weakness, and wore a huge old tattered sea-cloak with a hood that made him appear
            positively deformed. I never saw in my life a more dreadful-looking figure. He
            stopped a little from the inn, and raising his voice in an odd sing-song,
            addressed the air in front of him, "Will any kind friend inform a poor blind man,
            who has lost the precious sight of his eyes in the gracious defence of his native
            country, England—and God bless King George!—where or in what part of this country
            he may now be?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"You are at the Admiral Benbow, Black Hill Cove, my good man," said I.</p>
         
         <p>"I hear a voice," said he, "a young voice. Will you give me your hand, my kind
            young friend, and lead me in?"
         </p>
         
         <p>I held out my hand, and the horrible, soft-spoken, eyeless creature gripped it in
            a moment like a vise. I was so much startled that I struggled to withdraw, but the
            blind man pulled me close up to him with a single action of his arm.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now, boy," he said, "take me in to the captain."</p>
         
         <p>"Sir," said I, "upon my word I dare not."</p>
         
         <p>"Oh," he sneered, "that's it! Take me in straight or I'll break your arm."</p>
         
         <p>And he gave it, as he spoke, a wrench that made me cry out.</p>
         
         <p>"Sir," said I, "it is for yourself I mean. The captain is not what he used to be.
            He sits with a drawn cutlass. Another gentleman—"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Come, now, march," interrupted he; and I never heard a voice so cruel, and cold,
            and ugly as that blind man's. It cowed me more than the pain, and I began to obey
            him at once, walking straight in at the door and towards the parlour, where our
            sick old buccaneer was sitting, dazed with rum. The blind man clung close to me,
            holding me in one iron fist and leaning almost more of his weight on me than I
            could carry. "Lead me straight up to him, and when I'm in view, cry out, 'Here's a
            friend for you, Bill.' If you don't, I'll do this," and with that he gave me a
            twitch that I thought would have made me faint. Between this and that, I was so
            utterly terrified of the blind beggar that I forgot my terror of the captain, and
            as I opened the parlour door, cried out the words he had ordered in a trembling
            voice.
         </p>
         
         <p>The poor captain raised his eyes, and at one look the rum went out of him and left
            him staring sober. The expression of his face was not so much of terror as of
            mortal sickness. He made a movement to rise, but I do not believe he had enough
            force left in his body.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now, Bill, sit where you are," said the beggar. "If I can't see, I can hear a
            finger stirring. Business is business. Hold out your left hand. Boy, take his left
            hand by the wrist and bring it near to my right."
         </p>
         
         <p>We both obeyed him to the letter, and I saw him pass something from the hollow of
            the hand that held his stick into the palm of the captain's, which closed upon it
            instantly.
         </p>
         
         <p>"And now that's done," said the blind man; and at the words he suddenly left hold
            of me, and with incredible accuracy and nimbleness, skipped out of the parlour and
            into the road, where, as I still stood motionless, I could hear his stick go
            tap-tap-tapping into the distance.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was some time before either I or the captain seemed to gather our senses, but
            at length, and about at the same moment, I released his wrist, which I was still
            holding, and he drew in his hand and looked sharply into the palm.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ten o'clock!" he cried. "Six hours. We'll do them yet," and he sprang to his
            feet.
         </p>
         
         <p>Even as he did so, he reeled, put his hand to his throat, stood swaying for a
            moment, and then, with a peculiar sound, fell from his whole height face foremost
            to the floor.
         </p>
         
         <p>I ran to him at once, calling to my mother. But haste was all in vain. The captain
            had been struck dead by thundering apoplexy. It is a curious thing to understand,
            for I had certainly never liked the man, though of late I had begun to pity him,
            but as soon as I saw that he was dead, I burst into a flood of tears. It was the
            second death I had known, and the sorrow of the first was still fresh in my
            heart.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">The Sea-chest</span>
         
         <p>I LOST no time, of course, in telling my mother all that I knew, and perhaps
            should have told her long before, and we saw ourselves at once in a difficult and
            dangerous position. Some of the man's money—if he had any—was certainly due to us,
            but it was not likely that our captain's shipmates, above all the two specimens
            seen by me, Black Dog and the blind beggar, would be inclined to give up their
            booty in payment of the dead man's debts. The captain's order to mount at once and
            ride for Doctor Livesey would have left my mother alone and unprotected, which was
            not to be thought of. Indeed, it seemed impossible for either of us to remain much
            longer in the house; the fall of coals in the kitchen grate, the very ticking of
            the clock, filled us with alarms. The neighbourhood, to our ears, seemed haunted
            by approaching footsteps; and what between the dead body of the captain on the
            parlour floor and the thought of that detestable blind beggar hovering near at
            hand and ready to return, there were moments when, as the saying goes, I jumped in
            my skin for terror. Something must speedily be resolved upon, and it occurred to
            us at last to go forth together and seek help in the neighbouring hamlet. No
            sooner said than done. Bare-headed as we were, we ran out at once in the gathering
            evening and the frosty fog.
         </p>
         
         <p>The hamlet lay not many hundred yards away, though out of view, on the other side
            of the next cove; and what greatly encouraged me, it was in an opposite direction
            from that whence the blind man had made his appearance and whither he had
            presumably returned. We were not many minutes on the road, though we sometimes
            stopped to lay hold of each other and hearken. But there was no unusual
            sound—nothing but the low wash of the ripple and the croaking of the inmates of
            the wood.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was already candle-light when we reached the hamlet, and I shall never forget
            how much I was cheered to see the yellow shine in doors and windows; but that, as
            it proved, was the best of the help we were likely to get in that quarter. For—you
            would have thought men would have been ashamed of themselves—no soul would consent
            to return with us to the Admiral Benbow. The more we told of our troubles, the
            more—man, woman, and child—they clung to the shelter of their houses. The name of
            Captain Flint, though it was strange to me, was well enough known to some there
            and carried a great weight of terror. Some of the men who had been to field-work
            on the far side of the Admiral Benbow remembered, besides, to have seen several
            strangers on the road, and taking them to be smugglers, to have bolted away; and
            one at least had seen a little lugger in what we called Kitt's Hole. For that
            matter, anyone who was a comrade of the captain's was enough to frighten them to
            death. And the short and the long of the matter was, that while we could get
            several who were willing enough to ride to Dr. Livesey's, which lay in another
            direction, not one would help us to defend the inn.
         </p>
         
         <p>They say cowardice is infectious; but then argument is, on the other hand, a great
            emboldener; and so when each had said his say, my mother made them a speech. She
            would not, she declared, lose money that belonged to her fatherless boy; "If none
            of the rest of you dare," she said, "Jim and I dare. Back we will go, the way we
            came, and small thanks to you big, hulking, chicken-hearted men. We'll have that
            chest open, if we die for it. And I'll thank you for that bag, Mrs. Crossley, to
            bring back our lawful money in."
         </p>
         
         <p>Of course I said I would go with my mother, and of course they all cried out at
            our foolhardiness, but even then not a man would go along with us. All they would
            do was to give me a loaded pistol lest we were attacked, and to promise to have
            horses ready saddled in case we were pursued on our return, while one lad was to
            ride forward to the doctor's in search of armed assistance.
         </p>
         
         <p>My heart was beating finely when we two set forth in the cold night upon this
            dangerous venture. A full moon was beginning to rise and peered redly through the
            upper edges of the fog, and this increased our haste, for it was plain, before we
            came forth again, that all would be as bright as day, and our departure exposed to
            the eyes of any watchers. We slipped along the hedges, noiseless and swift, nor
            did we see or hear anything to increase our terrors, till, to our relief, the door
            of the Admiral Benbow had closed behind us.
         </p>
         
         <p>I slipped the bolt at once, and we stood and panted for a moment in the dark,
            alone in the house with the dead captain's body. Then my mother got a candle in
            the bar, and holding each other's hands, we advanced into the parlour. He lay as
            we had left him, on his back, with his eyes open and one arm stretched out.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Draw down the blind, Jim," whispered my mother; "they might come and watch
            outside. And now," said she when I had done so, "we have to get the key off THAT;
            and who's to touch it, I should like to know!" and she gave a kind of sob as she
            said the words.
         </p>
         
         <p>I went down on my knees at once. On the floor close to his hand there was a little
            round of paper, blackened on the one side. I could not doubt that this was the
            BLACK SPOT; and taking it up, I found written on the other side, in a very good,
            clear hand, this short message: "You have till ten tonight."
         </p>
         
         <p>"He had till ten, Mother," said I; and just as I said it, our old clock began
            striking. This sudden noise startled us shockingly; but the news was good, for it
            was only six.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now, Jim," she said, "that key."</p>
         
         <p>I felt in his pockets, one after another. A few small coins, a thimble, and some
            thread and big needles, a piece of pigtail tobacco bitten away at the end, his
            gully with the crooked handle, a pocket compass, and a tinder box were all that
            they contained, and I began to despair.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Perhaps it's round his neck," suggested my mother.</p>
         
         <p>Overcoming a strong repugnance, I tore open his shirt at the neck, and there, sure
            enough, hanging to a bit of tarry string, which I cut with his own gully, we found
            the key. At this triumph we were filled with hope and hurried upstairs without
            delay to the little room where he had slept so long and where his box had stood
            since the day of his arrival.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was like any other seaman's chest on the outside, the initial "B" burned on the
            top of it with a hot iron, and the corners somewhat smashed and broken as by long,
            rough usage.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Give me the key," said my mother; and though the lock was very stiff, she had
            turned it and thrown back the lid in a twinkling.
         </p>
         
         <p>A strong smell of tobacco and tar rose from the interior, but nothing was to be
            seen on the top except a suit of very good clothes, carefully brushed and folded.
            They had never been worn, my mother said. Under that, the miscellany began—a
            quadrant, a tin canikin, several sticks of tobacco, two brace of very handsome
            pistols, a piece of bar silver, an old Spanish watch and some other trinkets of
            little value and mostly of foreign make, a pair of compasses mounted with brass,
            and five or six curious West Indian shells. I have often wondered since why he
            should have carried about these shells with him in his wandering, guilty, and
            hunted life.
         </p>
         
         <p>In the meantime, we had found nothing of any value but the silver and the
            trinkets, and neither of these were in our way. Underneath there was an old
            boat-cloak, whitened with sea-salt on many a harbour-bar. My mother pulled it up
            with impatience, and there lay before us, the last things in the chest, a bundle
            tied up in oilcloth, and looking like papers, and a canvas bag that gave forth, at
            a touch, the jingle of gold.
         </p>
         
         <p>"I'll show these rogues that I'm an honest woman," said my mother. "I'll have my
            dues, and not a farthing over. Hold Mrs. Crossley's bag." And she began to count
            over the amount of the captain's score from the sailor's bag into the one that I
            was holding.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was a long, difficult business, for the coins were of all countries and
            sizes—doubloons, and louis d'ors, and guineas, and pieces of eight, and I know not
            what besides, all shaken together at random. The guineas, too, were about the
            scarcest, and it was with these only that my mother knew how to make her
            count.
         </p>
         
         <p>When we were about half-way through, I suddenly put my hand upon her arm, for I
            had heard in the silent frosty air a sound that brought my heart into my mouth—the
            tap-tapping of the blind man's stick upon the frozen road. It drew nearer and
            nearer, while we sat holding our breath. Then it struck sharp on the inn door, and
            then we could hear the handle being turned and the bolt rattling as the wretched
            being tried to enter; and then there was a long time of silence both within and
            without. At last the tapping recommenced, and, to our indescribable joy and
            gratitude, died slowly away again until it ceased to be heard.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Mother," said I, "take the whole and let's be going," for I was sure the bolted
            door must have seemed suspicious and would bring the whole hornet's nest about our
            ears, though how thankful I was that I had bolted it, none could tell who had
            never met that terrible blind man.
         </p>
         
         <p>But my mother, frightened as she was, would not consent to take a fraction more
            than was due to her and was obstinately unwilling to be content with less. It was
            not yet seven, she said, by a long way; she knew her rights and she would have
            them; and she was still arguing with me when a little low whistle sounded a good
            way off upon the hill. That was enough, and more than enough, for both of us.
         </p>
         
         <p>"I'll take what I have," she said, jumping to her feet.</p>
         
         <p>"And I'll take this to square the count," said I, picking up the oilskin
            packet.
         </p>
         
         <p>Next moment we were both groping downstairs, leaving the candle by the empty
            chest; and the next we had opened the door and were in full retreat. We had not
            started a moment too soon. The fog was rapidly dispersing; already the moon shone
            quite clear on the high ground on either side; and it was only in the exact bottom
            of the dell and round the tavern door that a thin veil still hung unbroken to
            conceal the first steps of our escape. Far less than half-way to the hamlet, very
            little beyond the bottom of the hill, we must come forth into the moonlight. Nor
            was this all, for the sound of several footsteps running came already to our ears,
            and as we looked back in their direction, a light tossing to and fro and still
            rapidly advancing showed that one of the newcomers carried a lantern.
         </p>
         
         <p>"My dear," said my mother suddenly, "take the money and run on. I am going to
            faint."
         </p>
         
         <p>This was certainly the end for both of us, I thought. How I cursed the cowardice
            of the neighbours; how I blamed my poor mother for her honesty and her greed, for
            her past foolhardiness and present weakness! We were just at the little bridge, by
            good fortune; and I helped her, tottering as she was, to the edge of the bank,
            where, sure enough, she gave a sigh and fell on my shoulder. I do not know how I
            found the strength to do it at all, and I am afraid it was roughly done, but I
            managed to drag her down the bank and a little way under the arch. Farther I could
            not move her, for the bridge was too low to let me do more than crawl below it. So
            there we had to stay—my mother almost entirely exposed and both of us within
            earshot of the inn.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">The Last of the Blind Man</span>
         
         <p>MY curiosity, in a sense, was stronger than my fear, for I could not remain where
            I was, but crept back to the bank again, whence, sheltering my head behind a bush
            of broom, I might command the road before our door. I was scarcely in position ere
            my enemies began to arrive, seven or eight of them, running hard, their feet
            beating out of time along the road and the man with the lantern some paces in
            front. Three men ran together, hand in hand; and I made out, even through the
            mist, that the middle man of this trio was the blind beggar. The next moment his
            voice showed me that I was right.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Down with the door!" he cried.</p>
         
         <p>"Aye, aye, sir!" answered two or three; and a rush was made upon the Admiral
            Benbow, the lantern-bearer following; and then I could see them pause, and hear
            speeches passed in a lower key, as if they were surprised to find the door open.
            But the pause was brief, for the blind man again issued his commands. His voice
            sounded louder and higher, as if he were afire with eagerness and rage.
         </p>
         
         <p>"In, in, in!" he shouted, and cursed them for their delay.</p>
         
         <p>Four or five of them obeyed at once, two remaining on the road with the formidable
            beggar. There was a pause, then a cry of surprise, and then a voice shouting from
            the house, "Bill's dead."
         </p>
         
         <p>But the blind man swore at them again for their delay.</p>
         
         <p>"Search him, some of you shirking lubbers, and the rest of you aloft and get the
            chest," he cried.
         </p>
         
         <p>I could hear their feet rattling up our old stairs, so that the house must have
            shook with it. Promptly afterwards, fresh sounds of astonishment arose; the window
            of the captain's room was thrown open with a slam and a jingle of broken glass,
            and a man leaned out into the moonlight, head and shoulders, and addressed the
            blind beggar on the road below him.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Pew," he cried, "they've been before us. Someone's turned the chest out alow and
            aloft."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Is it there?" roared Pew.</p>
         
         <p>"The money's there."</p>
         
         <p>The blind man cursed the money.</p>
         
         <p>"Flint's fist, I mean," he cried.</p>
         
         <p>"We don't see it here nohow," returned the man.</p>
         
         <p>"Here, you below there, is it on Bill?" cried the blind man again.</p>
         
         <p>At that another fellow, probably him who had remained below to search the
            captain's body, came to the door of the inn. "Bill's been overhauled a'ready,"
            said he; "nothin' left."
         </p>
         
         <p>"It's these people of the inn—it's that boy. I wish I had put his eyes out!" cried
            the blind man, Pew. "There were no time ago—they had the door bolted when I tried
            it. Scatter, lads, and find 'em."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Sure enough, they left their glim here," said the fellow from the window.</p>
         
         <p>"Scatter and find 'em! Rout the house out!" reiterated Pew, striking with his
            stick upon the road.
         </p>
         
         <p>Then there followed a great to-do through all our old inn, heavy feet pounding to
            and fro, furniture thrown over, doors kicked in, until the very rocks re-echoed
            and the men came out again, one after another, on the road and declared that we
            were nowhere to be found. And just the same whistle that had alarmed my mother and
            myself over the dead captain's money was once more clearly audible through the
            night, but this time twice repeated. I had thought it to be the blind man's
            trumpet, so to speak, summoning his crew to the assault, but I now found that it
            was a signal from the hillside towards the hamlet, and from its effect upon the
            buccaneers, a signal to warn them of approaching danger.
         </p>
         
         <p>"There's Dirk again," said one. "Twice! We'll have to budge, mates."</p>
         
         <p>"Budge, you skulk!" cried Pew. "Dirk was a fool and a coward from the first—you
            wouldn't mind him. They must be close by; they can't be far; you have your hands
            on it. Scatter and look for them, dogs! Oh, shiver my soul," he cried, "if I had
            eyes!"
         </p>
         
         <p>This appeal seemed to produce some effect, for two of the fellows began to look
            here and there among the lumber, but half-heartedly, I thought, and with half an
            eye to their own danger all the time, while the rest stood irresolute on the
            road.
         </p>
         
         <p>"You have your hands on thousands, you fools, and you hang a leg! You'd be as rich
            as kings if you could find it, and you know it's here, and you stand there
            skulking. There wasn't one of you dared face Bill, and I did it—a blind man! And
            I'm to lose my chance for you! I'm to be a poor, crawling beggar, sponging for
            rum, when I might be rolling in a coach! If you had the pluck of a weevil in a
            biscuit you would catch them still."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Hang it, Pew, we've got the doubloons!" grumbled one.</p>
         
         <p>"They might have hid the blessed thing," said another. "Take the Georges, Pew, and
            don't stand here squalling."
         </p>
         
         <p>Squalling was the word for it; Pew's anger rose so high at these objections till
            at last, his passion completely taking the upper hand, he struck at them right and
            left in his blindness and his stick sounded heavily on more than one.
         </p>
         
         <p>These, in their turn, cursed back at the blind miscreant, threatened him in horrid
            terms, and tried in vain to catch the stick and wrest it from his grasp.
         </p>
         
         <p>This quarrel was the saving of us, for while it was still raging, another sound
            came from the top of the hill on the side of the hamlet—the tramp of horses
            galloping. Almost at the same time a pistol-shot, flash and report, came from the
            hedge side. And that was plainly the last signal of danger, for the buccaneers
            turned at once and ran, separating in every direction, one seaward along the cove,
            one slant across the hill, and so on, so that in half a minute not a sign of them
            remained but Pew. Him they had deserted, whether in sheer panic or out of revenge
            for his ill words and blows I know not; but there he remained behind, tapping up
            and down the road in a frenzy, and groping and calling for his comrades. Finally
            he took a wrong turn and ran a few steps past me, towards the hamlet, crying,
            "Johnny, Black Dog, Dirk," and other names, "you won't leave old Pew, mates—not
            old Pew!"
         </p>
         
         <p>Just then the noise of horses topped the rise, and four or five riders came in
            sight in the moonlight and swept at full gallop down the slope.
         </p>
         
         <p>At this Pew saw his error, turned with a scream, and ran straight for the ditch,
            into which he rolled. But he was on his feet again in a second and made another
            dash, now utterly bewildered, right under the nearest of the coming horses.
         </p>
         
         <p>The rider tried to save him, but in vain. Down went Pew with a cry that rang high
            into the night; and the four hoofs trampled and spurned him and passed by. He fell
            on his side, then gently collapsed upon his face and moved no more.
         </p>
         
         <p>I leaped to my feet and hailed the riders. They were pulling up, at any rate,
            horrified at the accident; and I soon saw what they were. One, tailing out behind
            the rest, was a lad that had gone from the hamlet to Dr. Livesey's; the rest were
            revenue officers, whom he had met by the way, and with whom he had had the
            intelligence to return at once. Some news of the lugger in Kitt's Hole had found
            its way to Supervisor Dance and set him forth that night in our direction, and to
            that circumstance my mother and I owed our preservation from death.
         </p>
         
         <p>Pew was dead, stone dead. As for my mother, when we had carried her up to the
            hamlet, a little cold water and salts and that soon brought her back again, and
            she was none the worse for her terror, though she still continued to deplore the
            balance of the money. In the meantime the supervisor rode on, as fast as he could,
            to Kitt's Hole; but his men had to dismount and grope down the dingle, leading,
            and sometimes supporting, their horses, and in continual fear of ambushes; so it
            was no great matter for surprise that when they got down to the Hole the lugger
            was already under way, though still close in. He hailed her. A voice replied,
            telling him to keep out of the moonlight or he would get some lead in him, and at
            the same time a bullet whistled close by his arm. Soon after, the lugger doubled
            the point and disappeared. Mr. Dance stood there, as he said, "like a fish out of
            water," and all he could do was to dispatch a man to B—— to warn the cutter. "And
            that," said he, "is just about as good as nothing. They've got off clean, and
            there's an end. Only," he added, "I'm glad I trod on Master Pew's corns," for by
            this time he had heard my story.
         </p>
         
         <p>I went back with him to the Admiral Benbow, and you cannot imagine a house in such
            a state of smash; the very clock had been thrown down by these fellows in their
            furious hunt after my mother and myself; and though nothing had actually been
            taken away except the captain's money-bag and a little silver from the till, I
            could see at once that we were ruined. Mr. Dance could make nothing of the
            scene.
         </p>
         
         <p>"They got the money, you say? Well, then, Hawkins, what in fortune were they
            after? More money, I suppose?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"No, sir; not money, I think," replied I. "In fact, sir, I believe I have the
            thing in my breast pocket; and to tell you the truth, I should like to get it put
            in safety."
         </p>
         
         <p>"To be sure, boy; quite right," said he. "I'll take it, if you like."</p>
         
         <p>"I thought perhaps Dr. Livesey—" I began.</p>
         
         <p>"Perfectly right," he interrupted very cheerily, "perfectly right—a gentleman and
            a magistrate. And, now I come to think of it, I might as well ride round there
            myself and report to him or squire. Master Pew's dead, when all's done; not that I
            regret it, but he's dead, you see, and people will make it out against an officer
            of his Majesty's revenue, if make it out they can. Now, I'll tell you, Hawkins, if
            you like, I'll take you along."
         </p>
         
         <p>I thanked him heartily for the offer, and we walked back to the hamlet where the
            horses were. By the time I had told mother of my purpose they were all in the
            saddle.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Dogger," said Mr. Dance, "you have a good horse; take up this lad behind
            you."
         </p>
         
         <p>As soon as I was mounted, holding on to Dogger's belt, the supervisor gave the
            word, and the party struck out at a bouncing trot on the road to Dr. Livesey's
            house.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">The Captain's Papers</span>
         
         <p>WE rode hard all the way till we drew up before Dr. Livesey's door. The house was
            all dark to the front.
         </p>
         
         <p>Mr. Dance told me to jump down and knock, and Dogger gave me a stirrup to descend
            by. The door was opened almost at once by the maid.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Is Dr. Livesey in?" I asked.</p>
         
         <p>No, she said, he had come home in the afternoon but had gone up to the hall to
            dine and pass the evening with the squire.
         </p>
         
         <p>"So there we go, boys," said Mr. Dance.</p>
         
         <p>This time, as the distance was short, I did not mount, but ran with Dogger's
            stirrup-leather to the lodge gates and up the long, leafless, moonlit avenue to
            where the white line of the hall buildings looked on either hand on great old
            gardens. Here Mr. Dance dismounted, and taking me along with him, was admitted at
            a word into the house.
         </p>
         
         <p>The servant led us down a matted passage and showed us at the end into a great
            library, all lined with bookcases and busts upon the top of them, where the squire
            and Dr. Livesey sat, pipe in hand, on either side of a bright fire.
         </p>
         
         <p>I had never seen the squire so near at hand. He was a tall man, over six feet
            high, and broad in proportion, and he had a bluff, rough-and-ready face, all
            roughened and reddened and lined in his long travels. His eyebrows were very
            black, and moved readily, and this gave him a look of some temper, not bad, you
            would say, but quick and high.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Come in, Mr. Dance," says he, very stately and condescending.</p>
         
         <p>"Good evening, Dance," says the doctor with a nod. "And good evening to you,
            friend Jim. What good wind brings you here?"
         </p>
         
         <p>The supervisor stood up straight and stiff and told his story like a lesson; and
            you should have seen how the two gentlemen leaned forward and looked at each
            other, and forgot to smoke in their surprise and interest. When they heard how my
            mother went back to the inn, Dr. Livesey fairly slapped his thigh, and the squire
            cried "Bravo!" and broke his long pipe against the grate. Long before it was done,
            Mr. Trelawney (that, you will remember, was the squire's name) had got up from his
            seat and was striding about the room, and the doctor, as if to hear the better,
            had taken off his powdered wig and sat there looking very strange indeed with his
            own close-cropped black poll.
         </p>
         
         <p>At last Mr. Dance finished the story.</p>
         
         <p>"Mr. Dance," said the squire, "you are a very noble fellow. And as for riding down
            that black, atrocious miscreant, I regard it as an act of virtue, sir, like
            stamping on a cockroach. This lad Hawkins is a trump, I perceive. Hawkins, will
            you ring that bell? Mr. Dance must have some ale."
         </p>
         
         <p>"And so, Jim," said the doctor, "you have the thing that they were after, have
            you?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Here it is, sir," said I, and gave him the oilskin packet.</p>
         
         <p>The doctor looked it all over, as if his fingers were itching to open it; but
            instead of doing that, he put it quietly in the pocket of his coat.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Squire," said he, "when Dance has had his ale he must, of course, be off on his
            Majesty's service; but I mean to keep Jim Hawkins here to sleep at my house, and
            with your permission, I propose we should have up the cold pie and let him
            sup."
         </p>
         
         <p>"As you will, Livesey," said the squire; "Hawkins has earned better than cold
            pie."
         </p>
         
         <p>So a big pigeon pie was brought in and put on a sidetable, and I made a hearty
            supper, for I was as hungry as a hawk, while Mr. Dance was further complimented
            and at last dismissed.
         </p>
         
         <p>"And now, squire," said the doctor.</p>
         
         <p>"And now, Livesey," said the squire in the same breath.</p>
         
         <p>"One at a time, one at a time," laughed Dr. Livesey. "You have heard of this
            Flint, I suppose?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Heard of him!" cried the squire. "Heard of him, you say! He was the
            bloodthirstiest buccaneer that sailed. Blackbeard was a child to Flint. The
            Spaniards were so prodigiously afraid of him that, I tell you, sir, I was
            sometimes proud he was an Englishman. I've seen his top-sails with these eyes, off
            Trinidad, and the cowardly son of a rum-puncheon that I sailed with put back—put
            back, sir, into Port of Spain."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, I've heard of him myself, in England," said the doctor. "But the point is,
            had he money?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Money!" cried the squire. "Have you heard the story? What were these villains
            after but money? What do they care for but money? For what would they risk their
            rascal carcasses but money?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"That we shall soon know," replied the doctor. "But you are so confoundedly
            hot-headed and exclamatory that I cannot get a word in. What I want to know is
            this: Supposing that I have here in my pocket some clue to where Flint buried his
            treasure, will that treasure amount to much?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Amount, sir!" cried the squire. "It will amount to this: If we have the clue you
            talk about, I fit out a ship in Bristol dock, and take you and Hawkins here along,
            and I'll have that treasure if I search a year."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Very well," said the doctor. "Now, then, if Jim is agreeable, we'll open the
            packet"; and he laid it before him on the table.
         </p>
         
         <p>The bundle was sewn together, and the doctor had to get out his instrument case
            and cut the stitches with his medical scissors. It contained two things—a book and
            a sealed paper.
         </p>
         
         <p>"First of all we'll try the book," observed the doctor.</p>
         
         <p>The squire and I were both peering over his shoulder as he opened it, for Dr.
            Livesey had kindly motioned me to come round from the side-table, where I had been
            eating, to enjoy the sport of the search. On the first page there were only some
            scraps of writing, such as a man with a pen in his hand might make for idleness or
            practice. One was the same as the tattoo mark, "Billy Bones his fancy"; then there
            was "Mr. W. Bones, mate," "No more rum," "Off Palm Key he got itt," and some other
            snatches, mostly single words and unintelligible. I could not help wondering who
            it was that had "got itt," and what "itt" was that he got. A knife in his back as
            like as not.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Not much instruction there," said Dr. Livesey as he passed on.</p>
         
         <p>The next ten or twelve pages were filled with a curious series of entries. There
            was a date at one end of the line and at the other a sum of money, as in common
            account-books, but instead of explanatory writing, only a varying number of
            crosses between the two. On the 12th of June, 1745, for instance, a sum of seventy
            pounds had plainly become due to someone, and there was nothing but six crosses to
            explain the cause. In a few cases, to be sure, the name of a place would be added,
            as "Offe Caraccas," or a mere entry of latitude and longitude, as "62o 17' 20",
            19o 2' 40"."
         </p>
         
         <p>The record lasted over nearly twenty years, the amount of the separate entries
            growing larger as time went on, and at the end a grand total had been made out
            after five or six wrong additions, and these words appended, "Bones, his
            pile."
         </p>
         
         <p>"I can't make head or tail of this," said Dr. Livesey.</p>
         
         <p>"The thing is as clear as noonday," cried the squire. "This is the black-hearted
            hound's account-book. These crosses stand for the names of ships or towns that
            they sank or plundered. The sums are the scoundrel's share, and where he feared an
            ambiguity, you see he added something clearer. 'Offe Caraccas,' now; you see, here
            was some unhappy vessel boarded off that coast. God help the poor souls that
            manned her—coral long ago."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Right!" said the doctor. "See what it is to be a traveller. Right! And the
            amounts increase, you see, as he rose in rank."
         </p>
         
         <p>There was little else in the volume but a few bearings of places noted in the
            blank leaves towards the end and a table for reducing French, English, and Spanish
            moneys to a common value.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Thrifty man!" cried the doctor. "He wasn't the one to be cheated."</p>
         
         <p>"And now," said the squire, "for the other."</p>
         
         <p>The paper had been sealed in several places with a thimble by way of seal; the
            very thimble, perhaps, that I had found in the captain's pocket. The doctor opened
            the seals with great care, and there fell out the map of an island, with latitude
            and longitude, soundings, names of hills and bays and inlets, and every particular
            that would be needed to bring a ship to a safe anchorage upon its shores. It was
            about nine miles long and five across, shaped, you might say, like a fat dragon
            standing up, and had two fine land-locked harbours, and a hill in the centre part
            marked "The Spy-glass." There were several additions of a later date, but above
            all, three crosses of red ink—two on the north part of the island, one in the
            southwest—and beside this last, in the same red ink, and in a small, neat hand,
            very different from the captain's tottery characters, these words: "Bulk of
            treasure here."
         </p>
         
         <p>Over on the back the same hand had written this further information:</p>
         
         
         <p>That was all; but brief as it was, and to me incomprehensible, it filled the
            squire and Dr. Livesey with delight.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Livesey," said the squire, "you will give up this wretched practice at once.
            Tomorrow I start for Bristol. In three weeks' time—three weeks!—two weeks—ten
            days—we'll have the best ship, sir, and the choicest crew in England. Hawkins
            shall come as cabin-boy. You'll make a famous cabin-boy, Hawkins. You, Livesey,
            are ship's doctor; I am admiral. We'll take Redruth, Joyce, and Hunter. We'll have
            favourable winds, a quick passage, and not the least difficulty in finding the
            spot, and money to eat, to roll in, to play duck and drake with ever after."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Trelawney," said the doctor, "I'll go with you; and I'll go bail for it, so will
            Jim, and be a credit to the undertaking. There's only one man I'm afraid of."
         </p>
         
         <p>"And who's that?" cried the squire. "Name the dog, sir!"</p>
         
         <p>"You," replied the doctor; "for you cannot hold your tongue. We are not the only
            men who know of this paper. These fellows who attacked the inn tonight—bold,
            desperate blades, for sure—and the rest who stayed aboard that lugger, and more, I
            dare say, not far off, are, one and all, through thick and thin, bound that
            they'll get that money. We must none of us go alone till we get to sea. Jim and I
            shall stick together in the meanwhile; you'll take Joyce and Hunter when you ride
            to Bristol, and from first to last, not one of us must breathe a word of what
            we've found."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Livesey," returned the squire, "you are always in the right of it. I'll be as
            silent as the grave."
         </p>
         
         
         
         <span class="partHeader">PART TWO—The Sea-cook</span>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">I Go to Bristol</span>
         
         <p>IT was longer than the squire imagined ere we were ready for the sea, and none of
            our first plans—not even Dr. Livesey's, of keeping me beside him—could be carried
            out as we intended. The doctor had to go to London for a physician to take charge
            of his practice; the squire was hard at work at Bristol; and I lived on at the
            hall under the charge of old Redruth, the gamekeeper, almost a prisoner, but full
            of sea-dreams and the most charming anticipations of strange islands and
            adventures. I brooded by the hour together over the map, all the details of which
            I well remembered. Sitting by the fire in the housekeeper's room, I approached
            that island in my fancy from every possible direction; I explored every acre of
            its surface; I climbed a thousand times to that tall hill they call the Spy-glass,
            and from the top enjoyed the most wonderful and changing prospects. Sometimes the
            isle was thick with savages, with whom we fought, sometimes full of dangerous
            animals that hunted us, but in all my fancies nothing occurred to me so strange
            and tragic as our actual adventures.
         </p>
         
         <p>So the weeks passed on, till one fine day there came a letter addressed to Dr.
            Livesey, with this addition, "To be opened, in the case of his absence, by Tom
            Redruth or young Hawkins." Obeying this order, we found, or rather I found—for the
            gamekeeper was a poor hand at reading anything but print—the following important
            news:
         </p>
         
         <div class="border">
            
            <div>
               
               <p> Old Anchor Inn, Bristol, March 1, 17--</p>
               
               
               <p> Dear Livesey--As I do not know whether you are at the hall or still in
                  London, I send this in double to both places.
               </p>
               
               
               <p> The ship is bought and fitted. She lies at anchor, ready for sea. You never
                  imagined a sweeter schooner--a child might sail her--two hundred tons; name,
                  HISPANIOLA.
               </p>
               
               
               <p> I got her through my old friend, Blandly, who has proved himself throughout
                  the most surprising trump. The admirable fellow literally slaved in my
                  interest, and so, I may say, did everyone in Bristol, as soon as they got
                  wind of the port we sailed for--treasure, I mean.
               </p>
               
            </div>
            
         </div>
         
         
         
         <p>"Redruth," said I, interrupting the letter, "Dr. Livesey will not like that. The
            squire has been talking, after all."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, who's a better right?" growled the gamekeeper. "A pretty rum go if squire
            ain't to talk for Dr. Livesey, I should think."
         </p>
         
         <p>At that I gave up all attempts at commentary and read straight on:</p>
         
         <div class="border">
            
            <div>
               
               <p> Blandly himself found the HISPANIOLA, and by the most admirable management
                  got her for the merest trifle. There is a class of men in Bristol
                  monstrously prejudiced against Blandly. They go the length of declaring that
                  this honest creature would do anything for money, that the HISPANIOLA
                  belonged to him, and that he sold it me absurdly high--the most transparent
                  calumnies. None of them dare, however, to deny the merits of the ship.
               </p>
               
               <p> So far there was not a hitch. The workpeople, to be sure--riggers and what
                  not--were most annoyingly slow; but time cured that. It was the crew that
                  troubled me.
               </p>
               
               <p> I wished a round score of men--in case of natives, buccaneers, or the
                  odious French--and I had the worry of the deuce itself to find so much as
                  half a dozen, till the most remarkable stroke of fortune brought me the very
                  man that I required.
               </p>
               
               <p> I was standing on the dock, when, by the merest accident, I fell in talk
                  with him. I found he was an old sailor, kept a public-house, knew all the
                  seafaring men in Bristol, had lost his health ashore, and wanted a good
                  berth as cook to get to sea again. He had hobbled down there that morning,
                  he said, to get a smell of the salt.
               </p>
               
               <p> I was monstrously touched--so would you have been--and, out of pure pity, I
                  engaged him on the spot to be ship's cook. Long John Silver, he is called,
                  and has lost a leg; but that I regarded as a recommendation, since he lost
                  it in his country's service, under the immortal Hawke. He has no pension,
                  Livesey. Imagine the abominable age we live in!
               </p>
               
               <p> Well, sir, I thought I had only found a cook, but it was a crew I had
                  discovered. Between Silver and myself we got together in a few days a
                  company of the toughest old salts imaginable--not pretty to look at, but
                  fellows, by their faces, of the most indomitable spirit. I declare we could
                  fight a frigate.
               </p>
               
               <p> Long John even got rid of two out of the six or seven I had already
                  engaged. He showed me in a moment that they were just the sort of
                  fresh-water swabs we had to fear in an adventure of importance.
               </p>
               
               <p> I am in the most magnificent health and spirits, eating like a bull,
                  sleeping like a tree, yet I shall not enjoy a moment till I hear my old
                  tarpaulins tramping round the capstan. Seaward, ho! Hang the treasure! It's
                  the glory of the sea that has turned my head. So now, Livesey, come post; do
                  not lose an hour, if you respect me.
               </p>
               
               <p> Let young Hawkins go at once to see his mother, with Redruth for a guard;
                  and then both come full speed to Bristol. John Trelawney
               </p>
               
               <p> Postscript--I did not tell you that Blandly, who, by the way, is to send a
                  consort after us if we don't turn up by the end of August, had found an
                  admirable fellow for sailing master--a stiff man, which I regret, but in all
                  other respects a treasure. Long John Silver unearthed a very competent man
                  for a mate, a man named Arrow. I have a boatswain who pipes, Livesey; so
                  things shall go man-o'-war fashion on board the good ship HISPANIOLA.
               </p>
               
               <p> I forgot to tell you that Silver is a man of substance; I know of my own
                  knowledge that he has a banker's account, which has never been overdrawn. He
                  leaves his wife to manage the inn; and as she is a woman of colour, a pair
                  of old bachelors like you and I may be excused for guessing that it is the
                  wife, quite as much as the health, that sends him back to roving. J. T.
               </p>
               
               <p> P.P.S.--Hawkins may stay one night with his mother. J. T.</p>
               
            </div>
            
         </div>
         
         <p>You can fancy the excitement into which that letter put me. I was half beside
            myself with glee; and if ever I despised a man, it was old Tom Redruth, who could
            do nothing but grumble and lament. Any of the under-gamekeepers would gladly have
            changed places with him; but such was not the squire's pleasure, and the squire's
            pleasure was like law among them all. Nobody but old Redruth would have dared so
            much as even to grumble.
         </p>
         
         <p>The next morning he and I set out on foot for the Admiral Benbow, and there I
            found my mother in good health and spirits. The captain, who had so long been a
            cause of so much discomfort, was gone where the wicked cease from troubling. The
            squire had had everything repaired, and the public rooms and the sign repainted,
            and had added some furniture—above all a beautiful armchair for mother in the bar.
            He had found her a boy as an apprentice also so that she should not want help
            while I was gone.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was on seeing that boy that I understood, for the first time, my situation. I
            had thought up to that moment of the adventures before me, not at all of the home
            that I was leaving; and now, at sight of this clumsy stranger, who was to stay
            here in my place beside my mother, I had my first attack of tears. I am afraid I
            led that boy a dog's life, for as he was new to the work, I had a hundred
            opportunities of setting him right and putting him down, and I was not slow to
            profit by them.
         </p>
         
         <p>The night passed, and the next day, after dinner, Redruth and I were afoot again
            and on the road. I said good-bye to Mother and the cove where I had lived since I
            was born, and the dear old Admiral Benbow—since he was repainted, no longer quite
            so dear. One of my last thoughts was of the captain, who had so often strode along
            the beach with his cocked hat, his sabre-cut cheek, and his old brass telescope.
            Next moment we had turned the corner and my home was out of sight.
         </p>
         
         <p>The mail picked us up about dusk at the Royal George on the heath. I was wedged in
            between Redruth and a stout old gentleman, and in spite of the swift motion and
            the cold night air, I must have dozed a great deal from the very first, and then
            slept like a log up hill and down dale through stage after stage, for when I was
            awakened at last it was by a punch in the ribs, and I opened my eyes to find that
            we were standing still before a large building in a city street and that the day
            had already broken a long time.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Where are we?" I asked.</p>
         
         <p>"Bristol," said Tom. "Get down."</p>
         
         <p>Mr. Trelawney had taken up his residence at an inn far down the docks to
            superintend the work upon the schooner. Thither we had now to walk, and our way,
            to my great delight, lay along the quays and beside the great multitude of ships
            of all sizes and rigs and nations. In one, sailors were singing at their work, in
            another there were men aloft, high over my head, hanging to threads that seemed no
            thicker than a spider's. Though I had lived by the shore all my life, I seemed
            never to have been near the sea till then. The smell of tar and salt was something
            new. I saw the most wonderful figureheads, that had all been far over the ocean. I
            saw, besides, many old sailors, with rings in their ears, and whiskers curled in
            ringlets, and tarry pigtails, and their swaggering, clumsy sea-walk; and if I had
            seen as many kings or archbishops I could not have been more delighted.
         </p>
         
         <p>And I was going to sea myself, to sea in a schooner, with a piping boatswain and
            pig-tailed singing seamen, to sea, bound for an unknown island, and to seek for
            buried treasure!
         </p>
         
         <p>While I was still in this delightful dream, we came suddenly in front of a large
            inn and met Squire Trelawney, all dressed out like a sea-officer, in stout blue
            cloth, coming out of the door with a smile on his face and a capital imitation of
            a sailor's walk.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Here you are," he cried, "and the doctor came last night from London. Bravo! The
            ship's company complete!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Oh, sir," cried I, "when do we sail?"</p>
         
         <p>"Sail!" says he. "We sail tomorrow!"</p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">At the Sign of the Spy-glass</span>
         
         <p>WHEN I had done breakfasting the squire gave me a note addressed to John Silver,
            at the sign of the Spy-glass, and told me I should easily find the place by
            following the line of the docks and keeping a bright lookout for a little tavern
            with a large brass telescope for sign. I set off, overjoyed at this opportunity to
            see some more of the ships and seamen, and picked my way among a great crowd of
            people and carts and bales, for the dock was now at its busiest, until I found the
            tavern in question.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was a bright enough little place of entertainment. The sign was newly painted;
            the windows had neat red curtains; the floor was cleanly sanded. There was a
            street on each side and an open door on both, which made the large, low room
            pretty clear to see in, in spite of clouds of tobacco smoke.
         </p>
         
         <p>The customers were mostly seafaring men, and they talked so loudly that I hung at
            the door, almost afraid to enter.
         </p>
         
         <p>As I was waiting, a man came out of a side room, and at a glance I was sure he
            must be Long John. His left leg was cut off close by the hip, and under the left
            shoulder he carried a crutch, which he managed with wonderful dexterity, hopping
            about upon it like a bird. He was very tall and strong, with a face as big as a
            ham—plain and pale, but intelligent and smiling. Indeed, he seemed in the most
            cheerful spirits, whistling as he moved about among the tables, with a merry word
            or a slap on the shoulder for the more favoured of his guests.
         </p>
         
         <p>Now, to tell you the truth, from the very first mention of Long John in Squire
            Trelawney's letter I had taken a fear in my mind that he might prove to be the
            very one-legged sailor whom I had watched for so long at the old Benbow. But one
            look at the man before me was enough. I had seen the captain, and Black Dog, and
            the blind man, Pew, and I thought I knew what a buccaneer was like—a very
            different creature, according to me, from this clean and pleasant-tempered
            landlord.
         </p>
         
         <p>I plucked up courage at once, crossed the threshold, and walked right up to the
            man where he stood, propped on his crutch, talking to a customer.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Mr. Silver, sir?" I asked, holding out the note.</p>
         
         <p>"Yes, my lad," said he; "such is my name, to be sure. And who may you be?" And
            then as he saw the squire's letter, he seemed to me to give something almost like
            a start.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Oh!" said he, quite loud, and offering his hand. "I see. You are our new
            cabin-boy; pleased I am to see you."
         </p>
         
         <p>And he took my hand in his large firm grasp.</p>
         
         <p>Just then one of the customers at the far side rose suddenly and made for the
            door. It was close by him, and he was out in the street in a moment. But his hurry
            had attracted my notice, and I recognized him at glance. It was the tallow-faced
            man, wanting two fingers, who had come first to the Admiral Benbow.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Oh," I cried, "stop him! It's Black Dog!"</p>
         
         <p>"I don't care two coppers who he is," cried Silver. "But he hasn't paid his score.
            Harry, run and catch him."
         </p>
         
         <p>One of the others who was nearest the door leaped up and started in pursuit.</p>
         
         <p>"If he were Admiral Hawke he shall pay his score," cried Silver; and then,
            relinquishing my hand, "Who did you say he was?" he asked. "Black what?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Dog, sir," said I. "Has Mr. Trelawney not told you of the buccaneers? He was one
            of them."
         </p>
         
         <p>"So?" cried Silver. "In my house! Ben, run and help Harry. One of those swabs, was
            he? Was that you drinking with him, Morgan? Step up here."
         </p>
         
         <p>The man whom he called Morgan—an old, grey-haired, mahogany-faced sailor—came
            forward pretty sheepishly, rolling his quid.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now, Morgan," said Long John very sternly, "you never clapped your eyes on that
            Black—Black Dog before, did you, now?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Not I, sir," said Morgan with a salute.</p>
         
         <p>"You didn't know his name, did you?"</p>
         
         <p>"No, sir."</p>
         
         <p>"By the powers, Tom Morgan, it's as good for you!" exclaimed the landlord. "If you
            had been mixed up with the like of that, you would never have put another foot in
            my house, you may lay to that. And what was he saying to you?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"I don't rightly know, sir," answered Morgan.</p>
         
         <p>"Do you call that a head on your shoulders, or a blessed dead-eye?" cried Long
            John. "Don't rightly know, don't you! Perhaps you don't happen to rightly know who
            you was speaking to, perhaps? Come, now, what was he jawing—v'yages, cap'ns,
            ships? Pipe up! What was it?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"We was a-talkin' of keel-hauling," answered Morgan.</p>
         
         <p>"Keel-hauling, was you? And a mighty suitable thing, too, and you may lay to that.
            Get back to your place for a lubber, Tom."
         </p>
         
         <p>And then, as Morgan rolled back to his seat, Silver added to me in a confidential
            whisper that was very flattering, as I thought, "He's quite an honest man, Tom
            Morgan, on'y stupid. And now," he ran on again, aloud, "let's see—Black Dog? No, I
            don't know the name, not I. Yet I kind of think I've—yes, I've seen the swab. He
            used to come here with a blind beggar, he used."
         </p>
         
         <p>"That he did, you may be sure," said I. "I knew that blind man too. His name was
            Pew."
         </p>
         
         <p>"It was!" cried Silver, now quite excited. "Pew! That were his name for certain.
            Ah, he looked a shark, he did! If we run down this Black Dog, now, there'll be
            news for Cap'n Trelawney! Ben's a good runner; few seamen run better than Ben. He
            should run him down, hand over hand, by the powers! He talked o' keel-hauling, did
            he? I'LL keel-haul him!"
         </p>
         
         <p>All the time he was jerking out these phrases he was stumping up and down the
            tavern on his crutch, slapping tables with his hand, and giving such a show of
            excitement as would have convinced an Old Bailey judge or a Bow Street runner. My
            suspicions had been thoroughly reawakened on finding Black Dog at the Spy-glass,
            and I watched the cook narrowly. But he was too deep, and too ready, and too
            clever for me, and by the time the two men had come back out of breath and
            confessed that they had lost the track in a crowd, and been scolded like thieves,
            I would have gone bail for the innocence of Long John Silver.
         </p>
         
         <p>"See here, now, Hawkins," said he, "here's a blessed hard thing on a man like me,
            now, ain't it? There's Cap'n Trelawney—what's he to think? Here I have this
            confounded son of a Dutchman sitting in my own house drinking of my own rum! Here
            you comes and tells me of it plain; and here I let him give us all the slip before
            my blessed deadlights! Now, Hawkins, you do me justice with the cap'n. You're a
            lad, you are, but you're as smart as paint. I see that when you first come in.
            Now, here it is: What could I do, with this old timber I hobble on? When I was an
            A B master mariner I'd have come up alongside of him, hand over hand, and broached
            him to in a brace of old shakes, I would; but now—"
         </p>
         
         <p>And then, all of a sudden, he stopped, and his jaw dropped as though he had
            remembered something.
         </p>
         
         <p>"The score!" he burst out. "Three goes o' rum! Why, shiver my timbers, if I hadn't
            forgotten my score!"
         </p>
         
         <p>And falling on a bench, he laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks. I could
            not help joining, and we laughed together, peal after peal, until the tavern rang
            again.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Why, what a precious old sea-calf I am!" he said at last, wiping his cheeks. "You
            and me should get on well, Hawkins, for I'll take my davy I should be rated ship's
            boy. But come now, stand by to go about. This won't do. Dooty is dooty, messmates.
            I'll put on my old cockerel hat, and step along of you to Cap'n Trelawney, and
            report this here affair. For mind you, it's serious, young Hawkins; and neither
            you nor me's come out of it with what I should make so bold as to call credit. Nor
            you neither, says you; not smart—none of the pair of us smart. But dash my
            buttons! That was a good un about my score."
         </p>
         
         <p>And he began to laugh again, and that so heartily, that though I did not see the
            joke as he did, I was again obliged to join him in his mirth.
         </p>
         
         <p>On our little walk along the quays, he made himself the most interesting
            companion, telling me about the different ships that we passed by, their rig,
            tonnage, and nationality, explaining the work that was going forward—how one was
            discharging, another taking in cargo, and a third making ready for sea—and every
            now and then telling me some little anecdote of ships or seamen or repeating a
            nautical phrase till I had learned it perfectly. I began to see that here was one
            of the best of possible shipmates.
         </p>
         
         <p>When we got to the inn, the squire and Dr. Livesey were seated together, finishing
            a quart of ale with a toast in it, before they should go aboard the schooner on a
            visit of inspection.
         </p>
         
         <p>Long John told the story from first to last, with a great deal of spirit and the
            most perfect truth. "That was how it were, now, weren't it, Hawkins?" he would
            say, now and again, and I could always bear him entirely out.
         </p>
         
         <p>The two gentlemen regretted that Black Dog had got away, but we all agreed there
            was nothing to be done, and after he had been complimented, Long John took up his
            crutch and departed.
         </p>
         
         <p>"All hands aboard by four this afternoon," shouted the squire after him.</p>
         
         <p>"Aye, aye, sir," cried the cook, in the passage.</p>
         
         <p>"Well, squire," said Dr. Livesey, "I don't put much faith in your discoveries, as
            a general thing; but I will say this, John Silver suits me."
         </p>
         
         <p>"The man's a perfect trump," declared the squire.</p>
         
         <p>"And now," added the doctor, "Jim may come on board with us, may he not?"</p>
         
         <p>"To be sure he may," says squire. "Take your hat, Hawkins, and we'll see the
            ship."
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">Powder and Arms</span>
         
         <p>THE HISPANIOLA lay some way out, and we went under the figureheads and round the
            sterns of many other ships, and their cables sometimes grated underneath our keel,
            and sometimes swung above us. At last, however, we got alongside, and were met and
            saluted as we stepped aboard by the mate, Mr. Arrow, a brown old sailor with
            earrings in his ears and a squint. He and the squire were very thick and friendly,
            but I soon observed that things were not the same between Mr. Trelawney and the
            captain.
         </p>
         
         <p>This last was a sharp-looking man who seemed angry with everything on board and
            was soon to tell us why, for we had hardly got down into the cabin when a sailor
            followed us.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Captain Smollett, sir, axing to speak with you," said he.</p>
         
         <p>"I am always at the captain's orders. Show him in," said the squire.</p>
         
         <p>The captain, who was close behind his messenger, entered at once and shut the door
            behind him.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, Captain Smollett, what have you to say? All well, I hope; all shipshape and
            seaworthy?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, sir," said the captain, "better speak plain, I believe, even at the risk of
            offence. I don't like this cruise; I don't like the men; and I don't like my
            officer. That's short and sweet."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Perhaps, sir, you don't like the ship?" inquired the squire, very angry, as I
            could see.
         </p>
         
         <p>"I can't speak as to that, sir, not having seen her tried," said the captain. "She
            seems a clever craft; more I can't say."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Possibly, sir, you may not like your employer, either?" says the squire.</p>
         
         <p>But here Dr. Livesey cut in.</p>
         
         <p>"Stay a bit," said he, "stay a bit. No use of such questions as that but to
            produce ill feeling. The captain has said too much or he has said too little, and
            I'm bound to say that I require an explanation of his words. You don't, you say,
            like this cruise. Now, why?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"I was engaged, sir, on what we call sealed orders, to sail this ship for that
            gentleman where he should bid me," said the captain. "So far so good. But now I
            find that every man before the mast knows more than I do. I don't call that fair,
            now, do you?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"No," said Dr. Livesey, "I don't."</p>
         
         <p>"Next," said the captain, "I learn we are going after treasure—hear it from my own
            hands, mind you. Now, treasure is ticklish work; I don't like treasure voyages on
            any account, and I don't like them, above all, when they are secret and when
            (begging your pardon, Mr. Trelawney) the secret has been told to the parrot."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Silver's parrot?" asked the squire.</p>
         
         <p>"It's a way of speaking," said the captain. "Blabbed, I mean. It's my belief
            neither of you gentlemen know what you are about, but I'll tell you my way of
            it—life or death, and a close run."
         </p>
         
         <p>"That is all clear, and, I dare say, true enough," replied Dr. Livesey. "We take
            the risk, but we are not so ignorant as you believe us. Next, you say you don't
            like the crew. Are they not good seamen?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"I don't like them, sir," returned Captain Smollett. "And I think I should have
            had the choosing of my own hands, if you go to that."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Perhaps you should," replied the doctor. "My friend should, perhaps, have taken
            you along with him; but the slight, if there be one, was unintentional. And you
            don't like Mr. Arrow?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"I don't, sir. I believe he's a good seaman, but he's too free with the crew to be
            a good officer. A mate should keep himself to himself—shouldn't drink with the men
            before the mast!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Do you mean he drinks?" cried the squire.</p>
         
         <p>"No, sir," replied the captain, "only that he's too familiar."</p>
         
         <p>"Well, now, and the short and long of it, captain?" asked the doctor. "Tell us
            what you want."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, gentlemen, are you determined to go on this cruise?"</p>
         
         <p>"Like iron," answered the squire.</p>
         
         <p>"Very good," said the captain. "Then, as you've heard me very patiently, saying
            things that I could not prove, hear me a few words more. They are putting the
            powder and the arms in the fore hold. Now, you have a good place under the cabin;
            why not put them there?—first point. Then, you are bringing four of your own
            people with you, and they tell me some of them are to be berthed forward. Why not
            give them the berths here beside the cabin?—second point."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Any more?" asked Mr. Trelawney.</p>
         
         <p>"One more," said the captain. "There's been too much blabbing already."</p>
         
         <p>"Far too much," agreed the doctor.</p>
         
         <p>"I'll tell you what I've heard myself," continued Captain Smollett: "that you have
            a map of an island, that there's crosses on the map to show where treasure is, and
            that the island lies—" And then he named the latitude and longitude exactly.
         </p>
         
         <p>"I never told that," cried the squire, "to a soul!"</p>
         
         <p>"The hands know it, sir," returned the captain.</p>
         
         <p>"Livesey, that must have been you or Hawkins," cried the squire.</p>
         
         <p>"It doesn't much matter who it was," replied the doctor. And I could see that
            neither he nor the captain paid much regard to Mr. Trelawney's protestations.
            Neither did I, to be sure, he was so loose a talker; yet in this case I believe he
            was really right and that nobody had told the situation of the island.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, gentlemen," continued the captain, "I don't know who has this map; but I
            make it a point, it shall be kept secret even from me and Mr. Arrow. Otherwise I
            would ask you to let me resign."
         </p>
         
         <p>"I see," said the doctor. "You wish us to keep this matter dark and to make a
            garrison of the stern part of the ship, manned with my friend's own people, and
            provided with all the arms and powder on board. In other words, you fear a
            mutiny."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Sir," said Captain Smollett, "with no intention to take offence, I deny your
            right to put words into my mouth. No captain, sir, would be justified in going to
            sea at all if he had ground enough to say that. As for Mr. Arrow, I believe him
            thoroughly honest; some of the men are the same; all may be for what I know. But I
            am responsible for the ship's safety and the life of every man Jack aboard of her.
            I see things going, as I think, not quite right. And I ask you to take certain
            precautions or let me resign my berth. And that's all."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Captain Smollett," began the doctor with a smile, "did ever you hear the fable of
            the mountain and the mouse? You'll excuse me, I dare say, but you remind me of
            that fable. When you came in here, I'll stake my wig, you meant more than
            this."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Doctor," said the captain, "you are smart. When I came in here I meant to get
            discharged. I had no thought that Mr. Trelawney would hear a word."
         </p>
         
         <p>"No more I would," cried the squire. "Had Livesey not been here I should have seen
            you to the deuce. As it is, I have heard you. I will do as you desire, but I think
            the worse of you."
         </p>
         
         <p>"That's as you please, sir," said the captain. "You'll find I do my duty."</p>
         
         <p>And with that he took his leave.</p>
         
         <p>"Trelawney," said the doctor, "contrary to all my notions, I believed you have
            managed to get two honest men on board with you—that man and John Silver."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Silver, if you like," cried the squire; "but as for that intolerable humbug, I
            declare I think his conduct unmanly, unsailorly, and downright un-English."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well," says the doctor, "we shall see."</p>
         
         <p>When we came on deck, the men had begun already to take out the arms and powder,
            yo-ho-ing at their work, while the captain and Mr. Arrow stood by
            superintending.
         </p>
         
         <p>The new arrangement was quite to my liking. The whole schooner had been
            overhauled; six berths had been made astern out of what had been the after-part of
            the main hold; and this set of cabins was only joined to the galley and forecastle
            by a sparred passage on the port side. It had been originally meant that the
            captain, Mr. Arrow, Hunter, Joyce, the doctor, and the squire were to occupy these
            six berths. Now Redruth and I were to get two of them and Mr. Arrow and the
            captain were to sleep on deck in the companion, which had been enlarged on each
            side till you might almost have called it a round-house. Very low it was still, of
            course; but there was room to swing two hammocks, and even the mate seemed pleased
            with the arrangement. Even he, perhaps, had been doubtful as to the crew, but that
            is only guess, for as you shall hear, we had not long the benefit of his
            opinion.
         </p>
         
         <p>We were all hard at work, changing the powder and the berths, when the last man or
            two, and Long John along with them, came off in a shore-boat.
         </p>
         
         <p>The cook came up the side like a monkey for cleverness, and as soon as he saw what
            was doing, "So ho, mates!" says he. "What's this?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"We're a-changing of the powder, Jack," answers one.</p>
         
         <p>"Why, by the powers," cried Long John, "if we do, we'll miss the morning
            tide!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"My orders!" said the captain shortly. "You may go below, my man. Hands will want
            supper."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Aye, aye, sir," answered the cook, and touching his forelock, he disappeared at
            once in the direction of his galley.
         </p>
         
         <p>"That's a good man, captain," said the doctor.</p>
         
         <p>"Very likely, sir," replied Captain Smollett. "Easy with that, men—easy," he ran
            on, to the fellows who were shifting the powder; and then suddenly observing me
            examining the swivel we carried amidships, a long brass nine, "Here you, ship's
            boy," he cried, "out o' that! Off with you to the cook and get some work."
         </p>
         
         <p>And then as I was hurrying off I heard him say, quite loudly, to the doctor, "I'll
            have no favourites on my ship."
         </p>
         
         <p>I assure you I was quite of the squire's way of thinking, and hated the captain
            deeply.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">The Voyage</span>
         
         <p>ALL that night we were in a great bustle getting things stowed in their place, and
            boatfuls of the squire's friends, Mr. Blandly and the like, coming off to wish him
            a good voyage and a safe return. We never had a night at the Admiral Benbow when I
            had half the work; and I was dog-tired when, a little before dawn, the boatswain
            sounded his pipe and the crew began to man the capstan-bars. I might have been
            twice as weary, yet I would not have left the deck, all was so new and interesting
            to me—the brief commands, the shrill note of the whistle, the men bustling to
            their places in the glimmer of the ship's lanterns.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now, Barbecue, tip us a stave," cried one voice.</p>
         
         <p>"The old one," cried another.</p>
         
         <p>"Aye, aye, mates," said Long John, who was standing by, with his crutch under his
            arm, and at once broke out in the air and words I knew so well:
         </p>
         
         <div class="verse">
            <span class="verse">"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest—"</span><br>
            <span class="verse">And then the whole crew bore chorus:—</span><br>
            <span class="verse">"Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"</span><br>
            
         </div>
         
         <p>And at the third "Ho!" drove the bars before them with a will.</p>
         
         <p>Even at that exciting moment it carried me back to the old Admiral Benbow in a
            second, and I seemed to hear the voice of the captain piping in the chorus. But
            soon the anchor was short up; soon it was hanging dripping at the bows; soon the
            sails began to draw, and the land and shipping to flit by on either side; and
            before I could lie down to snatch an hour of slumber the HISPANIOLA had begun her
            voyage to the Isle of Treasure.
         </p>
         
         <p>I am not going to relate that voyage in detail. It was fairly prosperous. The ship
            proved to be a good ship, the crew were capable seamen, and the captain thoroughly
            understood his business. But before we came the length of Treasure Island, two or
            three things had happened which require to be known.
         </p>
         
         <p>Mr. Arrow, first of all, turned out even worse than the captain had feared. He had
            no command among the men, and people did what they pleased with him. But that was
            by no means the worst of it, for after a day or two at sea he began to appear on
            deck with hazy eye, red cheeks, stuttering tongue, and other marks of drunkenness.
            Time after time he was ordered below in disgrace. Sometimes he fell and cut
            himself; sometimes he lay all day long in his little bunk at one side of the
            companion; sometimes for a day or two he would be almost sober and attend to his
            work at least passably.
         </p>
         
         <p>In the meantime, we could never make out where he got the drink. That was the
            ship's mystery. Watch him as we pleased, we could do nothing to solve it; and when
            we asked him to his face, he would only laugh if he were drunk, and if he were
            sober deny solemnly that he ever tasted anything but water.
         </p>
         
         <p>He was not only useless as an officer and a bad influence amongst the men, but it
            was plain that at this rate he must soon kill himself outright, so nobody was much
            surprised, nor very sorry, when one dark night, with a head sea, he disappeared
            entirely and was seen no more.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Overboard!" said the captain. "Well, gentlemen, that saves the trouble of putting
            him in irons."
         </p>
         
         <p>But there we were, without a mate; and it was necessary, of course, to advance one
            of the men. The boatswain, Job Anderson, was the likeliest man aboard, and though
            he kept his old title, he served in a way as mate. Mr. Trelawney had followed the
            sea, and his knowledge made him very useful, for he often took a watch himself in
            easy weather. And the coxswain, Israel Hands, was a careful, wily, old,
            experienced seaman who could be trusted at a pinch with almost anything.
         </p>
         
         <p>He was a great confidant of Long John Silver, and so the mention of his name leads
            me on to speak of our ship's cook, Barbecue, as the men called him.
         </p>
         
         <p>Aboard ship he carried his crutch by a lanyard round his neck, to have both hands
            as free as possible. It was something to see him wedge the foot of the crutch
            against a bulkhead, and propped against it, yielding to every movement of the
            ship, get on with his cooking like someone safe ashore. Still more strange was it
            to see him in the heaviest of weather cross the deck. He had a line or two rigged
            up to help him across the widest spaces—Long John's earrings, they were called;
            and he would hand himself from one place to another, now using the crutch, now
            trailing it alongside by the lanyard, as quickly as another man could walk. Yet
            some of the men who had sailed with him before expressed their pity to see him so
            reduced.
         </p>
         
         <p>"He's no common man, Barbecue," said the coxswain to me. "He had good schooling in
            his young days and can speak like a book when so minded; and brave—a lion's
            nothing alongside of Long John! I seen him grapple four and knock their heads
            together—him unarmed."
         </p>
         
         <p>All the crew respected and even obeyed him. He had a way of talking to each and
            doing everybody some particular service. To me he was unweariedly kind, and always
            glad to see me in the galley, which he kept as clean as a new pin, the dishes
            hanging up burnished and his parrot in a cage in one corner.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Come away, Hawkins," he would say; "come and have a yarn with John. Nobody more
            welcome than yourself, my son. Sit you down and hear the news. Here's Cap'n
            Flint—I calls my parrot Cap'n Flint, after the famous buccaneer—here's Cap'n Flint
            predicting success to our v'yage. Wasn't you, cap'n?"
         </p>
         
         <p>And the parrot would say, with great rapidity, "Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!
            Pieces of eight!" till you wondered that it was not out of breath, or till John
            threw his handkerchief over the cage.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now, that bird," he would say, "is, maybe, two hundred years old, Hawkins—they
            live forever mostly; and if anybody's seen more wickedness, it must be the devil
            himself. She's sailed with England, the great Cap'n England, the pirate. She's
            been at Madagascar, and at Malabar, and Surinam, and Providence, and Portobello.
            She was at the fishing up of the wrecked plate ships. It's there she learned
            'Pieces of eight,' and little wonder; three hundred and fifty thousand of 'em,
            Hawkins! She was at the boarding of the viceroy of the Indies out of Goa, she was;
            and to look at her you would think she was a babby. But you smelt powder—didn't
            you, cap'n?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Stand by to go about," the parrot would scream.</p>
         
         <p>"Ah, she's a handsome craft, she is," the cook would say, and give her sugar from
            his pocket, and then the bird would peck at the bars and swear straight on,
            passing belief for wickedness. "There," John would add, "you can't touch pitch and
            not be mucked, lad. Here's this poor old innocent bird o' mine swearing blue fire,
            and none the wiser, you may lay to that. She would swear the same, in a manner of
            speaking, before chaplain." And John would touch his forelock with a solemn way he
            had that made me think he was the best of men.
         </p>
         
         <p>In the meantime, the squire and Captain Smollett were still on pretty distant
            terms with one another. The squire made no bones about the matter; he despised the
            captain. The captain, on his part, never spoke but when he was spoken to, and then
            sharp and short and dry, and not a word wasted. He owned, when driven into a
            corner, that he seemed to have been wrong about the crew, that some of them were
            as brisk as he wanted to see and all had behaved fairly well. As for the ship, he
            had taken a downright fancy to her. "She'll lie a point nearer the wind than a man
            has a right to expect of his own married wife, sir. But," he would add, "all I say
            is, we're not home again, and I don't like the cruise."
         </p>
         
         <p>The squire, at this, would turn away and march up and down the deck, chin in
            air.
         </p>
         
         <p>"A trifle more of that man," he would say, "and I shall explode."</p>
         
         <p>We had some heavy weather, which only proved the qualities of the HISPANIOLA.
            Every man on board seemed well content, and they must have been hard to please if
            they had been otherwise, for it is my belief there was never a ship's company so
            spoiled since Noah put to sea. Double grog was going on the least excuse; there
            was duff on odd days, as, for instance, if the squire heard it was any man's
            birthday, and always a barrel of apples standing broached in the waist for anyone
            to help himself that had a fancy.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Never knew good come of it yet," the captain said to Dr. Livesey. "Spoil
            forecastle hands, make devils. That's my belief."
         </p>
         
         <p>But good did come of the apple barrel, as you shall hear, for if it had not been
            for that, we should have had no note of warning and might all have perished by the
            hand of treachery.
         </p>
         
         <p>This was how it came about.</p>
         
         <p>We had run up the trades to get the wind of the island we were after—I am not
            allowed to be more plain—and now we were running down for it with a bright lookout
            day and night. It was about the last day of our outward voyage by the largest
            computation; some time that night, or at latest before noon of the morrow, we
            should sight the Treasure Island. We were heading S.S.W. and had a steady breeze
            abeam and a quiet sea. The HISPANIOLA rolled steadily, dipping her bowsprit now
            and then with a whiff of spray. All was drawing alow and aloft; everyone was in
            the bravest spirits because we were now so near an end of the first part of our
            adventure.
         </p>
         
         <p>Now, just after sundown, when all my work was over and I was on my way to my
            berth, it occurred to me that I should like an apple. I ran on deck. The watch was
            all forward looking out for the island. The man at the helm was watching the luff
            of the sail and whistling away gently to himself, and that was the only sound
            excepting the swish of the sea against the bows and around the sides of the
            ship.
         </p>
         
         <p>In I got bodily into the apple barrel, and found there was scarce an apple left;
            but sitting down there in the dark, what with the sound of the waters and the
            rocking movement of the ship, I had either fallen asleep or was on the point of
            doing so when a heavy man sat down with rather a clash close by. The barrel shook
            as he leaned his shoulders against it, and I was just about to jump up when the
            man began to speak. It was Silver's voice, and before I had heard a dozen words, I
            would not have shown myself for all the world, but lay there, trembling and
            listening, in the extreme of fear and curiosity, for from these dozen words I
            understood that the lives of all the honest men aboard depended upon me alone.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">What I Heard in the Apple Barrel</span>
         
         <p>"NO, not I," said Silver. "Flint was cap'n; I was quartermaster, along of my
            timber leg. The same broadside I lost my leg, old Pew lost his deadlights. It was
            a master surgeon, him that ampytated me—out of college and all—Latin by the
            bucket, and what not; but he was hanged like a dog, and sun-dried like the rest,
            at Corso Castle. That was Roberts' men, that was, and comed of changing names to
            their ships—ROYAL FORTUNE and so on. Now, what a ship was christened, so let her
            stay, I says. So it was with the CASSANDRA, as brought us all safe home from
            Malabar, after England took the viceroy of the Indies; so it was with the old
            WALRUS, Flint's old ship, as I've seen amuck with the red blood and fit to sink
            with gold."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ah!" cried another voice, that of the youngest hand on board, and evidently full
            of admiration. "He was the flower of the flock, was Flint!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Davis was a man too, by all accounts," said Silver. "I never sailed along of him;
            first with England, then with Flint, that's my story; and now here on my own
            account, in a manner of speaking. I laid by nine hundred safe, from England, and
            two thousand after Flint. That ain't bad for a man before the mast—all safe in
            bank. 'Tain't earning now, it's saving does it, you may lay to that. Where's all
            England's men now? I dunno. Where's Flint's? Why, most on 'em aboard here, and
            glad to get the duff—been begging before that, some on 'em. Old Pew, as had lost
            his sight, and might have thought shame, spends twelve hundred pound in a year,
            like a lord in Parliament. Where is he now? Well, he's dead now and under hatches;
            but for two year before that, shiver my timbers, the man was starving! He begged,
            and he stole, and he cut throats, and starved at that, by the powers!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, it ain't much use, after all," said the young seaman.</p>
         
         <p>"'Tain't much use for fools, you may lay to it—that, nor nothing," cried Silver.
            "But now, you look here: you're young, you are, but you're as smart as paint. I
            see that when I set my eyes on you, and I'll talk to you like a man."
         </p>
         
         <p>You may imagine how I felt when I heard this abominable old rogue addressing
            another in the very same words of flattery as he had used to myself. I think, if I
            had been able, that I would have killed him through the barrel. Meantime, he ran
            on, little supposing he was overheard.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Here it is about gentlemen of fortune. They lives rough, and they risk swinging,
            but they eat and drink like fighting-cocks, and when a cruise is done, why, it's
            hundreds of pounds instead of hundreds of farthings in their pockets. Now, the
            most goes for rum and a good fling, and to sea again in their shirts. But that's
            not the course I lay. I puts it all away, some here, some there, and none too much
            anywheres, by reason of suspicion. I'm fifty, mark you; once back from this
            cruise, I set up gentleman in earnest. Time enough too, says you. Ah, but I've
            lived easy in the meantime, never denied myself o' nothing heart desires, and
            slep' soft and ate dainty all my days but when at sea. And how did I begin? Before
            the mast, like you!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well," said the other, "but all the other money's gone now, ain't it? You daren't
            show face in Bristol after this."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Why, where might you suppose it was?" asked Silver derisively.</p>
         
         <p>"At Bristol, in banks and places," answered his companion.</p>
         
         <p>"It were," said the cook; "it were when we weighed anchor. But my old missis has
            it all by now. And the Spy-glass is sold, lease and goodwill and rigging; and the
            old girl's off to meet me. I would tell you where, for I trust you, but it'd make
            jealousy among the mates."
         </p>
         
         <p>"And can you trust your missis?" asked the other.</p>
         
         <p>"Gentlemen of fortune," returned the cook, "usually trusts little among
            themselves, and right they are, you may lay to it. But I have a way with me, I
            have. When a mate brings a slip on his cable—one as knows me, I mean—it won't be
            in the same world with old John. There was some that was feared of Pew, and some
            that was feared of Flint; but Flint his own self was feared of me. Feared he was,
            and proud. They was the roughest crew afloat, was Flint's; the devil himself would
            have been feared to go to sea with them. Well now, I tell you, I'm not a boasting
            man, and you seen yourself how easy I keep company, but when I was quartermaster,
            LAMBS wasn't the word for Flint's old buccaneers. Ah, you may be sure of yourself
            in old John's ship."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, I tell you now," replied the lad, "I didn't half a quarter like the job
            till I had this talk with you, John; but there's my hand on it now."
         </p>
         
         <p>"And a brave lad you were, and smart too," answered Silver, shaking hands so
            heartily that all the barrel shook, "and a finer figurehead for a gentleman of
            fortune I never clapped my eyes on."
         </p>
         
         <p>By this time I had begun to understand the meaning of their terms. By a "gentleman
            of fortune" they plainly meant neither more nor less than a common pirate, and the
            little scene that I had overheard was the last act in the corruption of one of the
            honest hands—perhaps of the last one left aboard. But on this point I was soon to
            be relieved, for Silver giving a little whistle, a third man strolled up and sat
            down by the party.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Dick's square," said Silver.</p>
         
         <p>"Oh, I know'd Dick was square," returned the voice of the coxswain, Israel Hands.
            "He's no fool, is Dick." And he turned his quid and spat. "But look here," he went
            on, "here's what I want to know, Barbecue: how long are we a-going to stand off
            and on like a blessed bumboat? I've had a'most enough o' Cap'n Smollett; he's
            hazed me long enough, by thunder! I want to go into that cabin, I do. I want their
            pickles and wines, and that."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Israel," said Silver, "your head ain't much account, nor ever was. But you're
            able to hear, I reckon; leastways, your ears is big enough. Now, here's what I
            say: you'll berth forward, and you'll live hard, and you'll speak soft, and you'll
            keep sober till I give the word; and you may lay to that, my son."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, I don't say no, do I?" growled the coxswain. "What I say is, when? That's
            what I say."
         </p>
         
         <p>"When! By the powers!" cried Silver. "Well now, if you want to know, I'll tell you
            when. The last moment I can manage, and that's when. Here's a first-rate seaman,
            Cap'n Smollett, sails the blessed ship for us. Here's this squire and doctor with
            a map and such—I don't know where it is, do I? No more do you, says you. Well
            then, I mean this squire and doctor shall find the stuff, and help us to get it
            aboard, by the powers. Then we'll see. If I was sure of you all, sons of double
            Dutchmen, I'd have Cap'n Smollett navigate us half-way back again before I
            struck."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Why, we're all seamen aboard here, I should think," said the lad Dick.</p>
         
         <p>"We're all forecastle hands, you mean," snapped Silver. "We can steer a course,
            but who's to set one? That's what all you gentlemen split on, first and last. If I
            had my way, I'd have Cap'n Smollett work us back into the trades at least; then
            we'd have no blessed miscalculations and a spoonful of water a day. But I know the
            sort you are. I'll finish with 'em at the island, as soon's the blunt's on board,
            and a pity it is. But you're never happy till you're drunk. Split my sides, I've a
            sick heart to sail with the likes of you!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Easy all, Long John," cried Israel. "Who's a-crossin' of you?"</p>
         
         <p>"Why, how many tall ships, think ye, now, have I seen laid aboard? And how many
            brisk lads drying in the sun at Execution Dock?" cried Silver. "And all for this
            same hurry and hurry and hurry. You hear me? I seen a thing or two at sea, I have.
            If you would on'y lay your course, and a p'int to windward, you would ride in
            carriages, you would. But not you! I know you. You'll have your mouthful of rum
            tomorrow, and go hang."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Everybody knowed you was a kind of a chapling, John; but there's others as could
            hand and steer as well as you," said Israel. "They liked a bit o' fun, they did.
            They wasn't so high and dry, nohow, but took their fling, like jolly companions
            every one."
         </p>
         
         <p>"So?" says Silver. "Well, and where are they now? Pew was that sort, and he died a
            beggar-man. Flint was, and he died of rum at Savannah. Ah, they was a sweet crew,
            they was! On'y, where are they?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"But," asked Dick, "when we do lay 'em athwart, what are we to do with 'em,
            anyhow?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"There's the man for me!" cried the cook admiringly. "That's what I call business.
            Well, what would you think? Put 'em ashore like maroons? That would have been
            England's way. Or cut 'em down like that much pork? That would have been Flint's,
            or Billy Bones's."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Billy was the man for that," said Israel. "'Dead men don't bite,' says he. Well,
            he's dead now hisself; he knows the long and short on it now; and if ever a rough
            hand come to port, it was Billy."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Right you are," said Silver; "rough and ready. But mark you here, I'm an easy
            man—I'm quite the gentleman, says you; but this time it's serious. Dooty is dooty,
            mates. I give my vote—death. When I'm in Parlyment and riding in my coach, I don't
            want none of these sea-lawyers in the cabin a-coming home, unlooked for, like the
            devil at prayers. Wait is what I say; but when the time comes, why, let her
            rip!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"John," cries the coxswain, "you're a man!"</p>
         
         <p>"You'll say so, Israel when you see," said Silver. "Only one thing I claim—I claim
            Trelawney. I'll wring his calf's head off his body with these hands, Dick!" he
            added, breaking off. "You just jump up, like a sweet lad, and get me an apple, to
            wet my pipe like."
         </p>
         
         <p>You may fancy the terror I was in! I should have leaped out and run for it if I
            had found the strength, but my limbs and heart alike misgave me. I heard Dick
            begin to rise, and then someone seemingly stopped him, and the voice of Hands
            exclaimed, "Oh, stow that! Don't you get sucking of that bilge, John. Let's have a
            go of the rum."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Dick," said Silver, "I trust you. I've a gauge on the keg, mind. There's the key;
            you fill a pannikin and bring it up."
         </p>
         
         <p>Terrified as I was, I could not help thinking to myself that this must have been
            how Mr. Arrow got the strong waters that destroyed him.
         </p>
         
         <p>Dick was gone but a little while, and during his absence Israel spoke straight on
            in the cook's ear. It was but a word or two that I could catch, and yet I gathered
            some important news, for besides other scraps that tended to the same purpose,
            this whole clause was audible: "Not another man of them'll jine." Hence there were
            still faithful men on board.
         </p>
         
         <p>When Dick returned, one after another of the trio took the pannikin and drank—one
            "To luck," another with a "Here's to old Flint," and Silver himself saying, in a
            kind of song, "Here's to ourselves, and hold your luff, plenty of prizes and
            plenty of duff."
         </p>
         
         <p>Just then a sort of brightness fell upon me in the barrel, and looking up, I found
            the moon had risen and was silvering the mizzen-top and shining white on the luff
            of the fore-sail; and almost at the same time the voice of the lookout shouted,
            "Land ho!"
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">Council of War</span>
         
         <p>THERE was a great rush of feet across the deck. I could hear people tumbling up
            from the cabin and the forecastle, and slipping in an instant outside my barrel, I
            dived behind the fore-sail, made a double towards the stern, and came out upon the
            open deck in time to join Hunter and Dr. Livesey in the rush for the weather
            bow.
         </p>
         
         <p>There all hands were already congregated. A belt of fog had lifted almost
            simultaneously with the appearance of the moon. Away to the south-west of us we
            saw two low hills, about a couple of miles apart, and rising behind one of them a
            third and higher hill, whose peak was still buried in the fog. All three seemed
            sharp and conical in figure.
         </p>
         
         <p>So much I saw, almost in a dream, for I had not yet recovered from my horrid fear
            of a minute or two before. And then I heard the voice of Captain Smollett issuing
            orders. The HISPANIOLA was laid a couple of points nearer the wind and now sailed
            a course that would just clear the island on the east.
         </p>
         
         <p>"And now, men," said the captain, when all was sheeted home, "has any one of you
            ever seen that land ahead?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"I have, sir," said Silver. "I've watered there with a trader I was cook in."</p>
         
         <p>"The anchorage is on the south, behind an islet, I fancy?" asked the captain.</p>
         
         <p>"Yes, sir; Skeleton Island they calls it. It were a main place for pirates once,
            and a hand we had on board knowed all their names for it. That hill to the nor'ard
            they calls the Fore-mast Hill; there are three hills in a row running
            south'ard—fore, main, and mizzen, sir. But the main—that's the big un, with the
            cloud on it—they usually calls the Spy-glass, by reason of a lookout they kept
            when they was in the anchorage cleaning, for it's there they cleaned their ships,
            sir, asking your pardon."
         </p>
         
         <p>"I have a chart here," says Captain Smollett. "See if that's the place."</p>
         
         <p>Long John's eyes burned in his head as he took the chart, but by the fresh look of
            the paper I knew he was doomed to disappointment. This was not the map we found in
            Billy Bones's chest, but an accurate copy, complete in all things—names and
            heights and soundings—with the single exception of the red crosses and the written
            notes. Sharp as must have been his annoyance, Silver had the strength of mind to
            hide it.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Yes, sir," said he, "this is the spot, to be sure, and very prettily drawed out.
            Who might have done that, I wonder? The pirates were too ignorant, I reckon. Aye,
            here it is: 'Capt. Kidd's Anchorage'—just the name my shipmate called it. There's
            a strong current runs along the south, and then away nor'ard up the west coast.
            Right you was, sir," says he, "to haul your wind and keep the weather of the
            island. Leastways, if such was your intention as to enter and careen, and there
            ain't no better place for that in these waters."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Thank you, my man," says Captain Smollett. "I'll ask you later on to give us a
            help. You may go."
         </p>
         
         <p>I was surprised at the coolness with which John avowed his knowledge of the
            island, and I own I was half-frightened when I saw him drawing nearer to myself.
            He did not know, to be sure, that I had overheard his council from the apple
            barrel, and yet I had by this time taken such a horror of his cruelty, duplicity,
            and power that I could scarce conceal a shudder when he laid his hand upon my
            arm.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ah," says he, "this here is a sweet spot, this island—a sweet spot for a lad to
            get ashore on. You'll bathe, and you'll climb trees, and you'll hunt goats, you
            will; and you'll get aloft on them hills like a goat yourself. Why, it makes me
            young again. I was going to forget my timber leg, I was. It's a pleasant thing to
            be young and have ten toes, and you may lay to that. When you want to go a bit of
            exploring, you just ask old John, and he'll put up a snack for you to take
            along."
         </p>
         
         <p>And clapping me in the friendliest way upon the shoulder, he hobbled off forward
            and went below.
         </p>
         
         <p>Captain Smollett, the squire, and Dr. Livesey were talking together on the
            quarter-deck, and anxious as I was to tell them my story, I durst not interrupt
            them openly. While I was still casting about in my thoughts to find some probable
            excuse, Dr. Livesey called me to his side. He had left his pipe below, and being a
            slave to tobacco, had meant that I should fetch it; but as soon as I was near
            enough to speak and not to be overheard, I broke immediately, "Doctor, let me
            speak. Get the captain and squire down to the cabin, and then make some pretence
            to send for me. I have terrible news."
         </p>
         
         <p>The doctor changed countenance a little, but next moment he was master of
            himself.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Thank you, Jim," said he quite loudly, "that was all I wanted to know," as if he
            had asked me a question.
         </p>
         
         <p>And with that he turned on his heel and rejoined the other two. They spoke
            together for a little, and though none of them started, or raised his voice, or so
            much as whistled, it was plain enough that Dr. Livesey had communicated my
            request, for the next thing that I heard was the captain giving an order to Job
            Anderson, and all hands were piped on deck.
         </p>
         
         <p>"My lads," said Captain Smollett, "I've a word to say to you. This land that we
            have sighted is the place we have been sailing for. Mr. Trelawney, being a very
            open-handed gentleman, as we all know, has just asked me a word or two, and as I
            was able to tell him that every man on board had done his duty, alow and aloft, as
            I never ask to see it done better, why, he and I and the doctor are going below to
            the cabin to drink YOUR health and luck, and you'll have grog served out for you
            to drink OUR health and luck. I'll tell you what I think of this: I think it
            handsome. And if you think as I do, you'll give a good sea-cheer for the gentleman
            that does it."
         </p>
         
         <p>The cheer followed—that was a matter of course; but it rang out so full and hearty
            that I confess I could hardly believe these same men were plotting for our
            blood.
         </p>
         
         <p>"One more cheer for Cap'n Smollett," cried Long John when the first had
            subsided.
         </p>
         
         <p>And this also was given with a will.</p>
         
         <p>On the top of that the three gentlemen went below, and not long after, word was
            sent forward that Jim Hawkins was wanted in the cabin.
         </p>
         
         <p>I found them all three seated round the table, a bottle of Spanish wine and some
            raisins before them, and the doctor smoking away, with his wig on his lap, and
            that, I knew, was a sign that he was agitated. The stern window was open, for it
            was a warm night, and you could see the moon shining behind on the ship's
            wake.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now, Hawkins," said the squire, "you have something to say. Speak up."</p>
         
         <p>I did as I was bid, and as short as I could make it, told the whole details of
            Silver's conversation. Nobody interrupted me till I was done, nor did any one of
            the three of them make so much as a movement, but they kept their eyes upon my
            face from first to last.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Jim," said Dr. Livesey, "take a seat."</p>
         
         <p>And they made me sit down at table beside them, poured me out a glass of wine,
            filled my hands with raisins, and all three, one after the other, and each with a
            bow, drank my good health, and their service to me, for my luck and courage.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now, captain," said the squire, "you were right, and I was wrong. I own myself an
            ass, and I await your orders."
         </p>
         
         <p>"No more an ass than I, sir," returned the captain. "I never heard of a crew that
            meant to mutiny but what showed signs before, for any man that had an eye in his
            head to see the mischief and take steps according. But this crew," he added,
            "beats me."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Captain," said the doctor, "with your permission, that's Silver. A very
            remarkable man."
         </p>
         
         <p>"He'd look remarkably well from a yard-arm, sir," returned the captain. "But this
            is talk; this don't lead to anything. I see three or four points, and with Mr.
            Trelawney's permission, I'll name them."
         </p>
         
         <p>"You, sir, are the captain. It is for you to speak," says Mr. Trelawney
            grandly.
         </p>
         
         <p>"First point," began Mr. Smollett. "We must go on, because we can't turn back. If
            I gave the word to go about, they would rise at once. Second point, we have time
            before us—at least until this treasure's found. Third point, there are faithful
            hands. Now, sir, it's got to come to blows sooner or later, and what I propose is
            to take time by the forelock, as the saying is, and come to blows some fine day
            when they least expect it. We can count, I take it, on your own home servants, Mr.
            Trelawney?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"As upon myself," declared the squire.</p>
         
         <p>"Three," reckoned the captain; "ourselves make seven, counting Hawkins here. Now,
            about the honest hands?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Most likely Trelawney's own men," said the doctor; "those he had picked up for
            himself before he lit on Silver."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Nay," replied the squire. "Hands was one of mine."</p>
         
         <p>"I did think I could have trusted Hands," added the captain.</p>
         
         <p>"And to think that they're all Englishmen!" broke out the squire. "Sir, I could
            find it in my heart to blow the ship up."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, gentlemen," said the captain, "the best that I can say is not much. We must
            lay to, if you please, and keep a bright lookout. It's trying on a man, I know. It
            would be pleasanter to come to blows. But there's no help for it till we know our
            men. Lay to, and whistle for a wind, that's my view."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Jim here," said the doctor, "can help us more than anyone. The men are not shy
            with him, and Jim is a noticing lad."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Hawkins, I put prodigious faith in you," added the squire.</p>
         
         <p>I began to feel pretty desperate at this, for I felt altogether helpless; and yet,
            by an odd train of circumstances, it was indeed through me that safety came. In
            the meantime, talk as we pleased, there were only seven out of the twenty-six on
            whom we knew we could rely; and out of these seven one was a boy, so that the
            grown men on our side were six to their nineteen.
         </p>
         
         
         
         
         <span class="partHeader">PART THREE—My Shore Adventure</span>
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">How My Shore Adventure Began</span>
         
         <p>THE appearance of the island when I came on deck next morning was altogether
            changed. Although the breeze had now utterly ceased, we had made a great deal of
            way during the night and were now lying becalmed about half a mile to the
            south-east of the low eastern coast. Grey-coloured woods covered a large part of
            the surface. This even tint was indeed broken up by streaks of yellow sand-break
            in the lower lands, and by many tall trees of the pine family, out-topping the
            others—some singly, some in clumps; but the general colouring was uniform and sad.
            The hills ran up clear above the vegetation in spires of naked rock. All were
            strangely shaped, and the Spy-glass, which was by three or four hundred feet the
            tallest on the island, was likewise the strangest in configuration, running up
            sheer from almost every side and then suddenly cut off at the top like a pedestal
            to put a statue on.
         </p>
         
         <p>The HISPANIOLA was rolling scuppers under in the ocean swell. The booms were
            tearing at the blocks, the rudder was banging to and fro, and the whole ship
            creaking, groaning, and jumping like a manufactory. I had to cling tight to the
            backstay, and the world turned giddily before my eyes, for though I was a good
            enough sailor when there was way on, this standing still and being rolled about
            like a bottle was a thing I never learned to stand without a qualm or so, above
            all in the morning, on an empty stomach.
         </p>
         
         <p>Perhaps it was this—perhaps it was the look of the island, with its grey,
            melancholy woods, and wild stone spires, and the surf that we could both see and
            hear foaming and thundering on the steep beach—at least, although the sun shone
            bright and hot, and the shore birds were fishing and crying all around us, and you
            would have thought anyone would have been glad to get to land after being so long
            at sea, my heart sank, as the saying is, into my boots; and from the first look
            onward, I hated the very thought of Treasure Island.
         </p>
         
         <p>We had a dreary morning's work before us, for there was no sign of any wind, and
            the boats had to be got out and manned, and the ship warped three or four miles
            round the corner of the island and up the narrow passage to the haven behind
            Skeleton Island. I volunteered for one of the boats, where I had, of course, no
            business. The heat was sweltering, and the men grumbled fiercely over their work.
            Anderson was in command of my boat, and instead of keeping the crew in order, he
            grumbled as loud as the worst.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well," he said with an oath, "it's not forever."</p>
         
         <p>I thought this was a very bad sign, for up to that day the men had gone briskly
            and willingly about their business; but the very sight of the island had relaxed
            the cords of discipline.
         </p>
         
         <p>All the way in, Long John stood by the steersman and conned the ship. He knew the
            passage like the palm of his hand, and though the man in the chains got everywhere
            more water than was down in the chart, John never hesitated once.
         </p>
         
         <p>"There's a strong scour with the ebb," he said, "and this here passage has been
            dug out, in a manner of speaking, with a spade."
         </p>
         
         <p>We brought up just where the anchor was in the chart, about a third of a mile from
            each shore, the mainland on one side and Skeleton Island on the other. The bottom
            was clean sand. The plunge of our anchor sent up clouds of birds wheeling and
            crying over the woods, but in less than a minute they were down again and all was
            once more silent.
         </p>
         
         <p>The place was entirely land-locked, buried in woods, the trees coming right down
            to high-water mark, the shores mostly flat, and the hilltops standing round at a
            distance in a sort of amphitheatre, one here, one there. Two little rivers, or
            rather two swamps, emptied out into this pond, as you might call it; and the
            foliage round that part of the shore had a kind of poisonous brightness. From the
            ship we could see nothing of the house or stockade, for they were quite buried
            among trees; and if it had not been for the chart on the companion, we might have
            been the first that had ever anchored there since the island arose out of the
            seas.
         </p>
         
         <p>There was not a breath of air moving, nor a sound but that of the surf booming
            half a mile away along the beaches and against the rocks outside. A peculiar
            stagnant smell hung over the anchorage—a smell of sodden leaves and rotting tree
            trunks. I observed the doctor sniffing and sniffing, like someone tasting a bad
            egg.
         </p>
         
         <p>"I don't know about treasure," he said, "but I'll stake my wig there's fever
            here."
         </p>
         
         <p>If the conduct of the men had been alarming in the boat, it became truly
            threatening when they had come aboard. They lay about the deck growling together
            in talk. The slightest order was received with a black look and grudgingly and
            carelessly obeyed. Even the honest hands must have caught the infection, for there
            was not one man aboard to mend another. Mutiny, it was plain, hung over us like a
            thunder-cloud.
         </p>
         
         <p>And it was not only we of the cabin party who perceived the danger. Long John was
            hard at work going from group to group, spending himself in good advice, and as
            for example no man could have shown a better. He fairly outstripped himself in
            willingness and civility; he was all smiles to everyone. If an order were given,
            John would be on his crutch in an instant, with the cheeriest "Aye, aye, sir!" in
            the world; and when there was nothing else to do, he kept up one song after
            another, as if to conceal the discontent of the rest.
         </p>
         
         <p>Of all the gloomy features of that gloomy afternoon, this obvious anxiety on the
            part of Long John appeared the worst.
         </p>
         
         <p>We held a council in the cabin.</p>
         
         <p>"Sir," said the captain, "if I risk another order, the whole ship'll come about
            our ears by the run. You see, sir, here it is. I get a rough answer, do I not?
            Well, if I speak back, pikes will be going in two shakes; if I don't, Silver will
            see there's something under that, and the game's up. Now, we've only one man to
            rely on."
         </p>
         
         <p>"And who is that?" asked the squire.</p>
         
         <p>"Silver, sir," returned the captain; "he's as anxious as you and I to smother
            things up. This is a tiff; he'd soon talk 'em out of it if he had the chance, and
            what I propose to do is to give him the chance. Let's allow the men an afternoon
            ashore. If they all go, why we'll fight the ship. If they none of them go, well
            then, we hold the cabin, and God defend the right. If some go, you mark my words,
            sir, Silver'll bring 'em aboard again as mild as lambs."
         </p>
         
         <p>It was so decided; loaded pistols were served out to all the sure men; Hunter,
            Joyce, and Redruth were taken into our confidence and received the news with less
            surprise and a better spirit than we had looked for, and then the captain went on
            deck and addressed the crew.
         </p>
         
         <p>"My lads," said he, "we've had a hot day and are all tired and out of sorts. A
            turn ashore'll hurt nobody—the boats are still in the water; you can take the
            gigs, and as many as please may go ashore for the afternoon. I'll fire a gun half
            an hour before sundown."
         </p>
         
         <p>I believe the silly fellows must have thought they would break their shins over
            treasure as soon as they were landed, for they all came out of their sulks in a
            moment and gave a cheer that started the echo in a faraway hill and sent the birds
            once more flying and squalling round the anchorage.
         </p>
         
         <p>The captain was too bright to be in the way. He whipped out of sight in a moment,
            leaving Silver to arrange the party, and I fancy it was as well he did so. Had he
            been on deck, he could no longer so much as have pretended not to understand the
            situation. It was as plain as day. Silver was the captain, and a mighty rebellious
            crew he had of it. The honest hands—and I was soon to see it proved that there
            were such on board—must have been very stupid fellows. Or rather, I suppose the
            truth was this, that all hands were disaffected by the example of the
            ringleaders—only some more, some less; and a few, being good fellows in the main,
            could neither be led nor driven any further. It is one thing to be idle and skulk
            and quite another to take a ship and murder a number of innocent men.
         </p>
         
         <p>At last, however, the party was made up. Six fellows were to stay on board, and
            the remaining thirteen, including Silver, began to embark.
         </p>
         
         <p>Then it was that there came into my head the first of the mad notions that
            contributed so much to save our lives. If six men were left by Silver, it was
            plain our party could not take and fight the ship; and since only six were left,
            it was equally plain that the cabin party had no present need of my assistance. It
            occurred to me at once to go ashore. In a jiffy I had slipped over the side and
            curled up in the fore-sheets of the nearest boat, and almost at the same moment
            she shoved off.
         </p>
         
         <p>No one took notice of me, only the bow oar saying, "Is that you, Jim? Keep your
            head down." But Silver, from the other boat, looked sharply over and called out to
            know if that were me; and from that moment I began to regret what I had done.
         </p>
         
         <p>The crews raced for the beach, but the boat I was in, having some start and being
            at once the lighter and the better manned, shot far ahead of her consort, and the
            bow had struck among the shore-side trees and I had caught a branch and swung
            myself out and plunged into the nearest thicket while Silver and the rest were
            still a hundred yards behind.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Jim, Jim!" I heard him shouting.</p>
         
         <p>But you may suppose I paid no heed; jumping, ducking, and breaking through, I ran
            straight before my nose till I could run no longer.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">The First Blow</span>
         
         <p>I WAS so pleased at having given the slip to Long John that I began to enjoy
            myself and look around me with some interest on the strange land that I was
            in.
         </p>
         
         <p>I had crossed a marshy tract full of willows, bulrushes, and odd, outlandish,
            swampy trees; and I had now come out upon the skirts of an open piece of
            undulating, sandy country, about a mile long, dotted with a few pines and a great
            number of contorted trees, not unlike the oak in growth, but pale in the foliage,
            like willows. On the far side of the open stood one of the hills, with two quaint,
            craggy peaks shining vividly in the sun.
         </p>
         
         <p>I now felt for the first time the joy of exploration. The isle was uninhabited; my
            shipmates I had left behind, and nothing lived in front of me but dumb brutes and
            fowls. I turned hither and thither among the trees. Here and there were flowering
            plants, unknown to me; here and there I saw snakes, and one raised his head from a
            ledge of rock and hissed at me with a noise not unlike the spinning of a top.
            Little did I suppose that he was a deadly enemy and that the noise was the famous
            rattle.
         </p>
         
         <p>Then I came to a long thicket of these oaklike trees—live, or evergreen, oaks, I
            heard afterwards they should be called—which grew low along the sand like
            brambles, the boughs curiously twisted, the foliage compact, like thatch. The
            thicket stretched down from the top of one of the sandy knolls, spreading and
            growing taller as it went, until it reached the margin of the broad, reedy fen,
            through which the nearest of the little rivers soaked its way into the anchorage.
            The marsh was steaming in the strong sun, and the outline of the Spy-glass
            trembled through the haze.
         </p>
         
         <p>All at once there began to go a sort of bustle among the bulrushes; a wild duck
            flew up with a quack, another followed, and soon over the whole surface of the
            marsh a great cloud of birds hung screaming and circling in the air. I judged at
            once that some of my shipmates must be drawing near along the borders of the fen.
            Nor was I deceived, for soon I heard the very distant and low tones of a human
            voice, which, as I continued to give ear, grew steadily louder and nearer.
         </p>
         
         <p>This put me in a great fear, and I crawled under cover of the nearest live-oak and
            squatted there, hearkening, as silent as a mouse.
         </p>
         
         <p>Another voice answered, and then the first voice, which I now recognized to be
            Silver's, once more took up the story and ran on for a long while in a stream,
            only now and again interrupted by the other. By the sound they must have been
            talking earnestly, and almost fiercely; but no distinct word came to my
            hearing.
         </p>
         
         <p>At last the speakers seemed to have paused and perhaps to have sat down, for not
            only did they cease to draw any nearer, but the birds themselves began to grow
            more quiet and to settle again to their places in the swamp.
         </p>
         
         <p>And now I began to feel that I was neglecting my business, that since I had been
            so foolhardy as to come ashore with these desperadoes, the least I could do was to
            overhear them at their councils, and that my plain and obvious duty was to draw as
            close as I could manage, under the favourable ambush of the crouching trees.
         </p>
         
         <p>I could tell the direction of the speakers pretty exactly, not only by the sound
            of their voices but by the behaviour of the few birds that still hung in alarm
            above the heads of the intruders.
         </p>
         
         <p>Crawling on all fours, I made steadily but slowly towards them, till at last,
            raising my head to an aperture among the leaves, I could see clear down into a
            little green dell beside the marsh, and closely set about with trees, where Long
            John Silver and another of the crew stood face to face in conversation.
         </p>
         
         <p>The sun beat full upon them. Silver had thrown his hat beside him on the ground,
            and his great, smooth, blond face, all shining with heat, was lifted to the other
            man's in a kind of appeal.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Mate," he was saying, "it's because I thinks gold dust of you—gold dust, and you
            may lay to that! If I hadn't took to you like pitch, do you think I'd have been
            here a-warning of you? All's up—you can't make nor mend; it's to save your neck
            that I'm a-speaking, and if one of the wild uns knew it, where'd I be, Tom—now,
            tell me, where'd I be?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Silver," said the other man—and I observed he was not only red in the face, but
            spoke as hoarse as a crow, and his voice shook too, like a taut rope—"Silver,"
            says he, "you're old, and you're honest, or has the name for it; and you've money
            too, which lots of poor sailors hasn't; and you're brave, or I'm mistook. And will
            you tell me you'll let yourself be led away with that kind of a mess of swabs? Not
            you! As sure as God sees me, I'd sooner lose my hand. If I turn agin my
            dooty—"
         </p>
         
         <p>And then all of a sudden he was interrupted by a noise. I had found one of the
            honest hands—well, here, at that same moment, came news of another. Far away out
            in the marsh there arose, all of a sudden, a sound like the cry of anger, then
            another on the back of it; and then one horrid, long-drawn scream. The rocks of
            the Spy-glass re-echoed it a score of times; the whole troop of marsh-birds rose
            again, darkening heaven, with a simultaneous whirr; and long after that death yell
            was still ringing in my brain, silence had re-established its empire, and only the
            rustle of the redescending birds and the boom of the distant surges disturbed the
            languor of the afternoon.
         </p>
         
         <p>Tom had leaped at the sound, like a horse at the spur, but Silver had not winked
            an eye. He stood where he was, resting lightly on his crutch, watching his
            companion like a snake about to spring.
         </p>
         
         <p>"John!" said the sailor, stretching out his hand.</p>
         
         <p>"Hands off!" cried Silver, leaping back a yard, as it seemed to me, with the speed
            and security of a trained gymnast.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Hands off, if you like, John Silver," said the other. "It's a black conscience
            that can make you feared of me. But in heaven's name, tell me, what was that?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"That?" returned Silver, smiling away, but warier than ever, his eye a mere
            pin-point in his big face, but gleaming like a crumb of glass. "That? Oh, I reckon
            that'll be Alan."
         </p>
         
         <p>And at this point Tom flashed out like a hero.</p>
         
         <p>"Alan!" he cried. "Then rest his soul for a true seaman! And as for you, John
            Silver, long you've been a mate of mine, but you're mate of mine no more. If I die
            like a dog, I'll die in my dooty. You've killed Alan, have you? Kill me too, if
            you can. But I defies you."
         </p>
         
         <p>And with that, this brave fellow turned his back directly on the cook and set off
            walking for the beach. But he was not destined to go far. With a cry John seized
            the branch of a tree, whipped the crutch out of his armpit, and sent that uncouth
            missile hurtling through the air. It struck poor Tom, point foremost, and with
            stunning violence, right between the shoulders in the middle of his back. His
            hands flew up, he gave a sort of gasp, and fell.
         </p>
         
         <p>Whether he were injured much or little, none could ever tell. Like enough, to
            judge from the sound, his back was broken on the spot. But he had no time given
            him to recover. Silver, agile as a monkey even without leg or crutch, was on the
            top of him next moment and had twice buried his knife up to the hilt in that
            defenceless body. From my place of ambush, I could hear him pant aloud as he
            struck the blows.
         </p>
         
         <p>I do not know what it rightly is to faint, but I do know that for the next little
            while the whole world swam away from before me in a whirling mist; Silver and the
            birds, and the tall Spy-glass hilltop, going round and round and topsy-turvy
            before my eyes, and all manner of bells ringing and distant voices shouting in my
            ear.
         </p>
         
         <p>When I came again to myself the monster had pulled himself together, his crutch
            under his arm, his hat upon his head. Just before him Tom lay motionless upon the
            sward; but the murderer minded him not a whit, cleansing his blood-stained knife
            the while upon a wisp of grass. Everything else was unchanged, the sun still
            shining mercilessly on the steaming marsh and the tall pinnacle of the mountain,
            and I could scarce persuade myself that murder had been actually done and a human
            life cruelly cut short a moment since before my eyes.
         </p>
         
         <p>But now John put his hand into his pocket, brought out a whistle, and blew upon it
            several modulated blasts that rang far across the heated air. I could not tell, of
            course, the meaning of the signal, but it instantly awoke my fears. More men would
            be coming. I might be discovered. They had already slain two of the honest people;
            after Tom and Alan, might not I come next?
         </p>
         
         <p>Instantly I began to extricate myself and crawl back again, with what speed and
            silence I could manage, to the more open portion of the wood. As I did so, I could
            hear hails coming and going between the old buccaneer and his comrades, and this
            sound of danger lent me wings. As soon as I was clear of the thicket, I ran as I
            never ran before, scarce minding the direction of my flight, so long as it led me
            from the murderers; and as I ran, fear grew and grew upon me until it turned into
            a kind of frenzy.
         </p>
         
         <p>Indeed, could anyone be more entirely lost than I? When the gun fired, how should
            I dare to go down to the boats among those fiends, still smoking from their crime?
            Would not the first of them who saw me wring my neck like a snipe's? Would not my
            absence itself be an evidence to them of my alarm, and therefore of my fatal
            knowledge? It was all over, I thought. Good-bye to the HISPANIOLA; good-bye to the
            squire, the doctor, and the captain! There was nothing left for me but death by
            starvation or death by the hands of the mutineers.
         </p>
         
         <p>All this while, as I say, I was still running, and without taking any notice, I
            had drawn near to the foot of the little hill with the two peaks and had got into
            a part of the island where the live-oaks grew more widely apart and seemed more
            like forest trees in their bearing and dimensions. Mingled with these were a few
            scattered pines, some fifty, some nearer seventy, feet high. The air too smelt
            more freshly than down beside the marsh.
         </p>
         
         <p>And here a fresh alarm brought me to a standstill with a thumping heart.</p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">The Man of the Island</span>
         
         <p>FROM the side of the hill, which was here steep and stony, a spout of gravel was
            dislodged and fell rattling and bounding through the trees. My eyes turned
            instinctively in that direction, and I saw a figure leap with great rapidity
            behind the trunk of a pine. What it was, whether bear or man or monkey, I could in
            no wise tell. It seemed dark and shaggy; more I knew not. But the terror of this
            new apparition brought me to a stand.
         </p>
         
         <p>I was now, it seemed, cut off upon both sides; behind me the murderers, before me
            this lurking nondescript. And immediately I began to prefer the dangers that I
            knew to those I knew not. Silver himself appeared less terrible in contrast with
            this creature of the woods, and I turned on my heel, and looking sharply behind me
            over my shoulder, began to retrace my steps in the direction of the boats.
         </p>
         
         <p>Instantly the figure reappeared, and making a wide circuit, began to head me off.
            I was tired, at any rate; but had I been as fresh as when I rose, I could see it
            was in vain for me to contend in speed with such an adversary. From trunk to trunk
            the creature flitted like a deer, running manlike on two legs, but unlike any man
            that I had ever seen, stooping almost double as it ran. Yet a man it was, I could
            no longer be in doubt about that.
         </p>
         
         <p>I began to recall what I had heard of cannibals. I was within an ace of calling
            for help. But the mere fact that he was a man, however wild, had somewhat
            reassured me, and my fear of Silver began to revive in proportion. I stood still,
            therefore, and cast about for some method of escape; and as I was so thinking, the
            recollection of my pistol flashed into my mind. As soon as I remembered I was not
            defenceless, courage glowed again in my heart and I set my face resolutely for
            this man of the island and walked briskly towards him.
         </p>
         
         <p>He was concealed by this time behind another tree trunk; but he must have been
            watching me closely, for as soon as I began to move in his direction he reappeared
            and took a step to meet me. Then he hesitated, drew back, came forward again, and
            at last, to my wonder and confusion, threw himself on his knees and held out his
            clasped hands in supplication.
         </p>
         
         <p>At that I once more stopped.</p>
         
         <p>"Who are you?" I asked.</p>
         
         <p>"Ben Gunn," he answered, and his voice sounded hoarse and awkward, like a rusty
            lock. "I'm poor Ben Gunn, I am; and I haven't spoke with a Christian these three
            years."
         </p>
         
         <p>I could now see that he was a white man like myself and that his features were
            even pleasing. His skin, wherever it was exposed, was burnt by the sun; even his
            lips were black, and his fair eyes looked quite startling in so dark a face. Of
            all the beggar-men that I had seen or fancied, he was the chief for raggedness. He
            was clothed with tatters of old ship's canvas and old sea-cloth, and this
            extraordinary patchwork was all held together by a system of the most various and
            incongruous fastenings, brass buttons, bits of stick, and loops of tarry gaskin.
            About his waist he wore an old brass-buckled leather belt, which was the one thing
            solid in his whole accoutrement.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Three years!" I cried. "Were you shipwrecked?"</p>
         
         <p>"Nay, mate," said he; "marooned."</p>
         
         <p>I had heard the word, and I knew it stood for a horrible kind of punishment common
            enough among the buccaneers, in which the offender is put ashore with a little
            powder and shot and left behind on some desolate and distant island.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Marooned three years agone," he continued, "and lived on goats since then, and
            berries, and oysters. Wherever a man is, says I, a man can do for himself. But,
            mate, my heart is sore for Christian diet. You mightn't happen to have a piece of
            cheese about you, now? No? Well, many's the long night I've dreamed of
            cheese—toasted, mostly—and woke up again, and here I were."
         </p>
         
         <p>"If ever I can get aboard again," said I, "you shall have cheese by the
            stone."
         </p>
         
         <p>All this time he had been feeling the stuff of my jacket, smoothing my hands,
            looking at my boots, and generally, in the intervals of his speech, showing a
            childish pleasure in the presence of a fellow creature. But at my last words he
            perked up into a kind of startled slyness.
         </p>
         
         <p>"If ever you can get aboard again, says you?" he repeated. "Why, now, who's to
            hinder you?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Not you, I know," was my reply.</p>
         
         <p>"And right you was," he cried. "Now you—what do you call yourself, mate?"</p>
         
         <p>"Jim," I told him.</p>
         
         <p>"Jim, Jim," says he, quite pleased apparently. "Well, now, Jim, I've lived that
            rough as you'd be ashamed to hear of. Now, for instance, you wouldn't think I had
            had a pious mother—to look at me?" he asked.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Why, no, not in particular," I answered.</p>
         
         <p>"Ah, well," said he, "but I had—remarkable pious. And I was a civil, pious boy,
            and could rattle off my catechism that fast, as you couldn't tell one word from
            another. And here's what it come to, Jim, and it begun with chuck-farthen on the
            blessed grave-stones! That's what it begun with, but it went further'n that; and
            so my mother told me, and predicked the whole, she did, the pious woman! But it
            were Providence that put me here. I've thought it all out in this here lonely
            island, and I'm back on piety. You don't catch me tasting rum so much, but just a
            thimbleful for luck, of course, the first chance I have. I'm bound I'll be good,
            and I see the way to. And, Jim"—looking all round him and lowering his voice to a
            whisper—"I'm rich."
         </p>
         
         <p>I now felt sure that the poor fellow had gone crazy in his solitude, and I suppose
            I must have shown the feeling in my face, for he repeated the statement hotly:
            "Rich! Rich! I says. And I'll tell you what: I'll make a man of you, Jim. Ah, Jim,
            you'll bless your stars, you will, you was the first that found me!"
         </p>
         
         <p>And at this there came suddenly a lowering shadow over his face, and he tightened
            his grasp upon my hand and raised a forefinger threateningly before my eyes.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now, Jim, you tell me true: that ain't Flint's ship?" he asked.</p>
         
         <p>At this I had a happy inspiration. I began to believe that I had found an ally,
            and I answered him at once.
         </p>
         
         <p>"It's not Flint's ship, and Flint is dead; but I'll tell you true, as you ask
            me—there are some of Flint's hands aboard; worse luck for the rest of us."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Not a man—with one—leg?" he gasped.</p>
         
         <p>"Silver?" I asked.</p>
         
         <p>"Ah, Silver!" says he. "That were his name."</p>
         
         <p>"He's the cook, and the ringleader too."</p>
         
         <p>He was still holding me by the wrist, and at that he give it quite a wring.</p>
         
         <p>"If you was sent by Long John," he said, "I'm as good as pork, and I know it. But
            where was you, do you suppose?"
         </p>
         
         <p>I had made my mind up in a moment, and by way of answer told him the whole story
            of our voyage and the predicament in which we found ourselves. He heard me with
            the keenest interest, and when I had done he patted me on the head.
         </p>
         
         <p>"You're a good lad, Jim," he said; "and you're all in a clove hitch, ain't you?
            Well, you just put your trust in Ben Gunn—Ben Gunn's the man to do it. Would you
            think it likely, now, that your squire would prove a liberal-minded one in case of
            help—him being in a clove hitch, as you remark?"
         </p>
         
         <p>I told him the squire was the most liberal of men.</p>
         
         <p>"Aye, but you see," returned Ben Gunn, "I didn't mean giving me a gate to keep,
            and a suit of livery clothes, and such; that's not my mark, Jim. What I mean is,
            would he be likely to come down to the toon of, say one thousand pounds out of
            money that's as good as a man's own already?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"I am sure he would," said I. "As it was, all hands were to share."</p>
         
         <p>"AND a passage home?" he added with a look of great shrewdness.</p>
         
         <p>"Why," I cried, "the squire's a gentleman. And besides, if we got rid of the
            others, we should want you to help work the vessel home."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ah," said he, "so you would." And he seemed very much relieved.</p>
         
         <p>"Now, I'll tell you what," he went on. "So much I'll tell you, and no more. I were
            in Flint's ship when he buried the treasure; he and six along—six strong seamen.
            They was ashore nigh on a week, and us standing off and on in the old WALRUS. One
            fine day up went the signal, and here come Flint by himself in a little boat, and
            his head done up in a blue scarf. The sun was getting up, and mortal white he
            looked about the cutwater. But, there he was, you mind, and the six all dead—dead
            and buried. How he done it, not a man aboard us could make out. It was battle,
            murder, and sudden death, leastways—him against six. Billy Bones was the mate;
            Long John, he was quartermaster; and they asked him where the treasure was. 'Ah,'
            says he, 'you can go ashore, if you like, and stay,' he says; 'but as for the
            ship, she'll beat up for more, by thunder!' That's what he said.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, I was in another ship three years back, and we sighted this island. 'Boys,'
            said I, 'here's Flint's treasure; let's land and find it.' The cap'n was
            displeased at that, but my messmates were all of a mind and landed. Twelve days
            they looked for it, and every day they had the worse word for me, until one fine
            morning all hands went aboard. 'As for you, Benjamin Gunn,' says they, 'here's a
            musket,' they says, 'and a spade, and pick-axe. You can stay here and find Flint's
            money for yourself,' they says.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, Jim, three years have I been here, and not a bite of Christian diet from
            that day to this. But now, you look here; look at me. Do I look like a man before
            the mast? No, says you. Nor I weren't, neither, I says."
         </p>
         
         <p>And with that he winked and pinched me hard.</p>
         
         <p>"Just you mention them words to your squire, Jim," he went on. "Nor he weren't,
            neither—that's the words. Three years he were the man of this island, light and
            dark, fair and rain; and sometimes he would maybe think upon a prayer (says you),
            and sometimes he would maybe think of his old mother, so be as she's alive (you'll
            say); but the most part of Gunn's time (this is what you'll say)—the most part of
            his time was took up with another matter. And then you'll give him a nip, like I
            do."
         </p>
         
         <p>And he pinched me again in the most confidential manner.</p>
         
         <p>"Then," he continued, "then you'll up, and you'll say this: Gunn is a good man
            (you'll say), and he puts a precious sight more confidence—a precious sight, mind
            that—in a gen'leman born than in these gen'leman of fortune, having been one
            hisself."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well," I said, "I don't understand one word that you've been saying. But that's
            neither here nor there; for how am I to get on board?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ah," said he, "that's the hitch, for sure. Well, there's my boat, that I made
            with my two hands. I keep her under the white rock. If the worst come to the
            worst, we might try that after dark. Hi!" he broke out. "What's that?"
         </p>
         
         <p>For just then, although the sun had still an hour or two to run, all the echoes of
            the island awoke and bellowed to the thunder of a cannon.
         </p>
         
         <p>"They have begun to fight!" I cried. "Follow me."</p>
         
         <p>And I began to run towards the anchorage, my terrors all forgotten, while close at
            my side the marooned man in his goatskins trotted easily and lightly.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Left, left," says he; "keep to your left hand, mate Jim! Under the trees with
            you! Theer's where I killed my first goat. They don't come down here now; they're
            all mastheaded on them mountings for the fear of Benjamin Gunn. Ah! And there's
            the cetemery"—cemetery, he must have meant. "You see the mounds? I come here and
            prayed, nows and thens, when I thought maybe a Sunday would be about doo. It
            weren't quite a chapel, but it seemed more solemn like; and then, says you, Ben
            Gunn was short-handed—no chapling, nor so much as a Bible and a flag, you
            says."
         </p>
         
         <p>So he kept talking as I ran, neither expecting nor receiving any answer.</p>
         
         <p>The cannon-shot was followed after a considerable interval by a volley of small
            arms.
         </p>
         
         <p>Another pause, and then, not a quarter of a mile in front of me, I beheld the
            Union Jack flutter in the air above a wood.
         </p>
         
         
         
         <span class="partHeader">PART FOUR—The Stockade</span>
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">Narrative Continued by the Doctor: How the Ship Was Abandoned</span>
         
         <p>IT was about half past one—three bells in the sea phrase—that the two boats went
            ashore from the HISPANIOLA. The captain, the squire, and I were talking matters
            over in the cabin. Had there been a breath of wind, we should have fallen on the
            six mutineers who were left aboard with us, slipped our cable, and away to sea.
            But the wind was wanting; and to complete our helplessness, down came Hunter with
            the news that Jim Hawkins had slipped into a boat and was gone ashore with the
            rest.
         </p>
         
         <p>It never occurred to us to doubt Jim Hawkins, but we were alarmed for his safety.
            With the men in the temper they were in, it seemed an even chance if we should see
            the lad again. We ran on deck. The pitch was bubbling in the seams; the nasty
            stench of the place turned me sick; if ever a man smelt fever and dysentery, it
            was in that abominable anchorage. The six scoundrels were sitting grumbling under
            a sail in the forecastle; ashore we could see the gigs made fast and a man sitting
            in each, hard by where the river runs in. One of them was whistling
            "Lillibullero."
         </p>
         
         <p>Waiting was a strain, and it was decided that Hunter and I should go ashore with
            the jolly-boat in quest of information.
         </p>
         
         <p>The gigs had leaned to their right, but Hunter and I pulled straight in, in the
            direction of the stockade upon the chart. The two who were left guarding their
            boats seemed in a bustle at our appearance; "Lillibullero" stopped off, and I
            could see the pair discussing what they ought to do. Had they gone and told
            Silver, all might have turned out differently; but they had their orders, I
            suppose, and decided to sit quietly where they were and hark back again to
            "Lillibullero."
         </p>
         
         <p>There was a slight bend in the coast, and I steered so as to put it between us;
            even before we landed we had thus lost sight of the gigs. I jumped out and came as
            near running as I durst, with a big silk handkerchief under my hat for coolness'
            sake and a brace of pistols ready primed for safety.
         </p>
         
         <p>I had not gone a hundred yards when I reached the stockade.</p>
         
         <p>This was how it was: a spring of clear water rose almost at the top of a knoll.
            Well, on the knoll, and enclosing the spring, they had clapped a stout loghouse
            fit to hold two score of people on a pinch and loopholed for musketry on either
            side. All round this they had cleared a wide space, and then the thing was
            completed by a paling six feet high, without door or opening, too strong to pull
            down without time and labour and too open to shelter the besiegers. The people in
            the log-house had them in every way; they stood quiet in shelter and shot the
            others like partridges. All they wanted was a good watch and food; for, short of a
            complete surprise, they might have held the place against a regiment.
         </p>
         
         <p>What particularly took my fancy was the spring. For though we had a good enough
            place of it in the cabin of the HISPANIOLA, with plenty of arms and ammunition,
            and things to eat, and excellent wines, there had been one thing overlooked—we had
            no water. I was thinking this over when there came ringing over the island the cry
            of a man at the point of death. I was not new to violent death—I have served his
            Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland, and got a wound myself at Fontenoy—but I
            know my pulse went dot and carry one. "Jim Hawkins is gone," was my first
            thought.
         </p>
         
         <p>It is something to have been an old soldier, but more still to have been a doctor.
            There is no time to dilly-dally in our work. And so now I made up my mind
            instantly, and with no time lost returned to the shore and jumped on board the
            jolly-boat.
         </p>
         
         <p>By good fortune Hunter pulled a good oar. We made the water fly, and the boat was
            soon alongside and I aboard the schooner.
         </p>
         
         <p>I found them all shaken, as was natural. The squire was sitting down, as white as
            a sheet, thinking of the harm he had led us to, the good soul! And one of the six
            forecastle hands was little better.
         </p>
         
         <p>"There's a man," says Captain Smollett, nodding towards him, "new to this work. He
            came nigh-hand fainting, doctor, when he heard the cry. Another touch of the
            rudder and that man would join us."
         </p>
         
         <p>I told my plan to the captain, and between us we settled on the details of its
            accomplishment.
         </p>
         
         <p>We put old Redruth in the gallery between the cabin and the forecastle, with three
            or four loaded muskets and a mattress for protection. Hunter brought the boat
            round under the stern-port, and Joyce and I set to work loading her with powder
            tins, muskets, bags of biscuits, kegs of pork, a cask of cognac, and my invaluable
            medicine chest.
         </p>
         
         <p>In the meantime, the squire and the captain stayed on deck, and the latter hailed
            the coxswain, who was the principal man aboard.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Mr. Hands," he said, "here are two of us with a brace of pistols each. If any one
            of you six make a signal of any description, that man's dead."
         </p>
         
         <p>They were a good deal taken aback, and after a little consultation one and all
            tumbled down the fore companion, thinking no doubt to take us on the rear. But
            when they saw Redruth waiting for them in the sparred galley, they went about ship
            at once, and a head popped out again on deck.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Down, dog!" cries the captain.</p>
         
         <p>And the head popped back again; and we heard no more, for the time, of these six
            very faint-hearted seamen.
         </p>
         
         <p>By this time, tumbling things in as they came, we had the jolly-boat loaded as
            much as we dared. Joyce and I got out through the stern-port, and we made for
            shore again as fast as oars could take us.
         </p>
         
         <p>This second trip fairly aroused the watchers along shore. "Lillibullero" was
            dropped again; and just before we lost sight of them behind the little point, one
            of them whipped ashore and disappeared. I had half a mind to change my plan and
            destroy their boats, but I feared that Silver and the others might be close at
            hand, and all might very well be lost by trying for too much.
         </p>
         
         <p>We had soon touched land in the same place as before and set to provision the
            block house. All three made the first journey, heavily laden, and tossed our
            stores over the palisade. Then, leaving Joyce to guard them—one man, to be sure,
            but with half a dozen muskets—Hunter and I returned to the jolly-boat and loaded
            ourselves once more. So we proceeded without pausing to take breath, till the
            whole cargo was bestowed, when the two servants took up their position in the
            block house, and I, with all my power, sculled back to the HISPANIOLA.
         </p>
         
         <p>That we should have risked a second boat load seems more daring than it really
            was. They had the advantage of numbers, of course, but we had the advantage of
            arms. Not one of the men ashore had a musket, and before they could get within
            range for pistol shooting, we flattered ourselves we should be able to give a good
            account of a half-dozen at least.
         </p>
         
         <p>The squire was waiting for me at the stern window, all his faintness gone from
            him. He caught the painter and made it fast, and we fell to loading the boat for
            our very lives. Pork, powder, and biscuit was the cargo, with only a musket and a
            cutlass apiece for the squire and me and Redruth and the captain. The rest of the
            arms and powder we dropped overboard in two fathoms and a half of water, so that
            we could see the bright steel shining far below us in the sun, on the clean, sandy
            bottom.
         </p>
         
         <p>By this time the tide was beginning to ebb, and the ship was swinging round to her
            anchor. Voices were heard faintly halloaing in the direction of the two gigs; and
            though this reassured us for Joyce and Hunter, who were well to the eastward, it
            warned our party to be off.
         </p>
         
         <p>Redruth retreated from his place in the gallery and dropped into the boat, which
            we then brought round to the ship's counter, to be handier for Captain
            Smollett.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now, men," said he, "do you hear me?"</p>
         
         <p>There was no answer from the forecastle.</p>
         
         <p>"It's to you, Abraham Gray—it's to you I am speaking."</p>
         
         <p>Still no reply.</p>
         
         <p>"Gray," resumed Mr. Smollett, a little louder, "I am leaving this ship, and I
            order you to follow your captain. I know you are a good man at bottom, and I dare
            say not one of the lot of you's as bad as he makes out. I have my watch here in my
            hand; I give you thirty seconds to join me in."
         </p>
         
         <p>There was a pause.</p>
         
         <p>"Come, my fine fellow," continued the captain; "don't hang so long in stays. I'm
            risking my life and the lives of these good gentlemen every second."
         </p>
         
         <p>There was a sudden scuffle, a sound of blows, and out burst Abraham Gray with a
            knife cut on the side of the cheek, and came running to the captain like a dog to
            the whistle.
         </p>
         
         <p>"I'm with you, sir," said he.</p>
         
         <p>And the next moment he and the captain had dropped aboard of us, and we had shoved
            off and given way.
         </p>
         
         <p>We were clear out of the ship, but not yet ashore in our stockade.</p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">Narrative Continued by the Doctor: The Jolly-boat's Last Trip</span>
         
         <p>THIS fifth trip was quite different from any of the others. In the first place,
            the little gallipot of a boat that we were in was gravely overloaded. Five grown
            men, and three of them—Trelawney, Redruth, and the captain—over six feet high, was
            already more than she was meant to carry. Add to that the powder, pork, and
            bread-bags. The gunwale was lipping astern. Several times we shipped a little
            water, and my breeches and the tails of my coat were all soaking wet before we had
            gone a hundred yards.
         </p>
         
         <p>The captain made us trim the boat, and we got her to lie a little more evenly. All
            the same, we were afraid to breathe.
         </p>
         
         <p>In the second place, the ebb was now making—a strong rippling current running
            westward through the basin, and then south'ard and seaward down the straits by
            which we had entered in the morning. Even the ripples were a danger to our
            overloaded craft, but the worst of it was that we were swept out of our true
            course and away from our proper landing-place behind the point. If we let the
            current have its way we should come ashore beside the gigs, where the pirates
            might appear at any moment.
         </p>
         
         <p>"I cannot keep her head for the stockade, sir," said I to the captain. I was
            steering, while he and Redruth, two fresh men, were at the oars. "The tide keeps
            washing her down. Could you pull a little stronger?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Not without swamping the boat," said he. "You must bear up, sir, if you
            please—bear up until you see you're gaining."
         </p>
         
         <p>I tried and found by experiment that the tide kept sweeping us westward until I
            had laid her head due east, or just about right angles to the way we ought to
            go.
         </p>
         
         <p>"We'll never get ashore at this rate," said I.</p>
         
         <p>"If it's the only course that we can lie, sir, we must even lie it," returned the
            captain. "We must keep upstream. You see, sir," he went on, "if once we dropped to
            leeward of the landing-place, it's hard to say where we should get ashore, besides
            the chance of being boarded by the gigs; whereas, the way we go the current must
            slacken, and then we can dodge back along the shore."
         </p>
         
         <p>"The current's less a'ready, sir," said the man Gray, who was sitting in the
            fore-sheets; "you can ease her off a bit."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Thank you, my man," said I, quite as if nothing had happened, for we had all
            quietly made up our minds to treat him like one of ourselves.
         </p>
         
         <p>Suddenly the captain spoke up again, and I thought his voice was a little
            changed.
         </p>
         
         <p>"The gun!" said he.</p>
         
         <p>"I have thought of that," said I, for I made sure he was thinking of a bombardment
            of the fort. "They could never get the gun ashore, and if they did, they could
            never haul it through the woods."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Look astern, doctor," replied the captain.</p>
         
         <p>We had entirely forgotten the long nine; and there, to our horror, were the five
            rogues busy about her, getting off her jacket, as they called the stout tarpaulin
            cover under which she sailed. Not only that, but it flashed into my mind at the
            same moment that the round-shot and the powder for the gun had been left behind,
            and a stroke with an axe would put it all into the possession of the evil ones
            abroad.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Israel was Flint's gunner," said Gray hoarsely.</p>
         
         <p>At any risk, we put the boat's head direct for the landing-place. By this time we
            had got so far out of the run of the current that we kept steerage way even at our
            necessarily gentle rate of rowing, and I could keep her steady for the goal. But
            the worst of it was that with the course I now held we turned our broadside
            instead of our stern to the HISPANIOLA and offered a target like a barn door.
         </p>
         
         <p>I could hear as well as see that brandy-faced rascal Israel Hands plumping down a
            round-shot on the deck.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Who's the best shot?" asked the captain.</p>
         
         <p>"Mr. Trelawney, out and away," said I.</p>
         
         <p>"Mr. Trelawney, will you please pick me off one of these men, sir? Hands, if
            possible," said the captain.
         </p>
         
         <p>Trelawney was as cool as steel. He looked to the priming of his gun.</p>
         
         <p>"Now," cried the captain, "easy with that gun, sir, or you'll swamp the boat. All
            hands stand by to trim her when he aims."
         </p>
         
         <p>The squire raised his gun, the rowing ceased, and we leaned over to the other side
            to keep the balance, and all was so nicely contrived that we did not ship a
            drop.
         </p>
         
         <p>They had the gun, by this time, slewed round upon the swivel, and Hands, who was
            at the muzzle with the rammer, was in consequence the most exposed. However, we
            had no luck, for just as Trelawney fired, down he stooped, the ball whistled over
            him, and it was one of the other four who fell.
         </p>
         
         <p>The cry he gave was echoed not only by his companions on board but by a great
            number of voices from the shore, and looking in that direction I saw the other
            pirates trooping out from among the trees and tumbling into their places in the
            boats.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Here come the gigs, sir," said I.</p>
         
         <p>"Give way, then," cried the captain. "We mustn't mind if we swamp her now. If we
            can't get ashore, all's up."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Only one of the gigs is being manned, sir," I added; "the crew of the other most
            likely going round by shore to cut us off."
         </p>
         
         <p>"They'll have a hot run, sir," returned the captain. "Jack ashore, you know. It's
            not them I mind; it's the round-shot. Carpet bowls! My lady's maid couldn't miss.
            Tell us, squire, when you see the match, and we'll hold water."
         </p>
         
         <p>In the meanwhile we had been making headway at a good pace for a boat so
            overloaded, and we had shipped but little water in the process. We were now close
            in; thirty or forty strokes and we should beach her, for the ebb had already
            disclosed a narrow belt of sand below the clustering trees. The gig was no longer
            to be feared; the little point had already concealed it from our eyes. The
            ebb-tide, which had so cruelly delayed us, was now making reparation and delaying
            our assailants. The one source of danger was the gun.
         </p>
         
         <p>"If I durst," said the captain, "I'd stop and pick off another man."</p>
         
         <p>But it was plain that they meant nothing should delay their shot. They had never
            so much as looked at their fallen comrade, though he was not dead, and I could see
            him trying to crawl away.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ready!" cried the squire.</p>
         
         <p>"Hold!" cried the captain, quick as an echo.</p>
         
         <p>And he and Redruth backed with a great heave that sent her stern bodily under
            water. The report fell in at the same instant of time. This was the first that Jim
            heard, the sound of the squire's shot not having reached him. Where the ball
            passed, not one of us precisely knew, but I fancy it must have been over our heads
            and that the wind of it may have contributed to our disaster.
         </p>
         
         <p>At any rate, the boat sank by the stern, quite gently, in three feet of water,
            leaving the captain and myself, facing each other, on our feet. The other three
            took complete headers, and came up again drenched and bubbling.
         </p>
         
         <p>So far there was no great harm. No lives were lost, and we could wade ashore in
            safety. But there were all our stores at the bottom, and to make things worse,
            only two guns out of five remained in a state for service. Mine I had snatched
            from my knees and held over my head, by a sort of instinct. As for the captain, he
            had carried his over his shoulder by a bandoleer, and like a wise man, lock
            uppermost. The other three had gone down with the boat.
         </p>
         
         <p>To add to our concern, we heard voices already drawing near us in the woods along
            shore, and we had not only the danger of being cut off from the stockade in our
            half-crippled state but the fear before us whether, if Hunter and Joyce were
            attacked by half a dozen, they would have the sense and conduct to stand firm.
            Hunter was steady, that we knew; Joyce was a doubtful case—a pleasant, polite man
            for a valet and to brush one's clothes, but not entirely fitted for a man of
            war.
         </p>
         
         <p>With all this in our minds, we waded ashore as fast as we could, leaving behind us
            the poor jolly-boat and a good half of all our powder and provisions.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">Narrative Continued by the Doctor: End of the First Day's Fighting</span>
         
         <p>WE made our best speed across the strip of wood that now divided us from the
            stockade, and at every step we took the voices of the buccaneers rang nearer. Soon
            we could hear their footfalls as they ran and the cracking of the branches as they
            breasted across a bit of thicket.
         </p>
         
         <p>I began to see we should have a brush for it in earnest and looked to my
            priming.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Captain," said I, "Trelawney is the dead shot. Give him your gun; his own is
            useless."
         </p>
         
         <p>They exchanged guns, and Trelawney, silent and cool as he had been since the
            beginning of the bustle, hung a moment on his heel to see that all was fit for
            service. At the same time, observing Gray to be unarmed, I handed him my cutlass.
            It did all our hearts good to see him spit in his hand, knit his brows, and make
            the blade sing through the air. It was plain from every line of his body that our
            new hand was worth his salt.
         </p>
         
         <p>Forty paces farther we came to the edge of the wood and saw the stockade in front
            of us. We struck the enclosure about the middle of the south side, and almost at
            the same time, seven mutineers—Job Anderson, the boatswain, at their head—appeared
            in full cry at the southwestern corner.
         </p>
         
         <p>They paused as if taken aback, and before they recovered, not only the squire and
            I, but Hunter and Joyce from the block house, had time to fire. The four shots
            came in rather a scattering volley, but they did the business: one of the enemy
            actually fell, and the rest, without hesitation, turned and plunged into the
            trees.
         </p>
         
         <p>After reloading, we walked down the outside of the palisade to see to the fallen
            enemy. He was stone dead—shot through the heart.
         </p>
         
         <p>We began to rejoice over our good success when just at that moment a pistol
            cracked in the bush, a ball whistled close past my ear, and poor Tom Redruth
            stumbled and fell his length on the ground. Both the squire and I returned the
            shot, but as we had nothing to aim at, it is probable we only wasted powder. Then
            we reloaded and turned our attention to poor Tom.
         </p>
         
         <p>The captain and Gray were already examining him, and I saw with half an eye that
            all was over.
         </p>
         
         <p>I believe the readiness of our return volley had scattered the mutineers once
            more, for we were suffered without further molestation to get the poor old
            gamekeeper hoisted over the stockade and carried, groaning and bleeding, into the
            log-house.
         </p>
         
         <p>Poor old fellow, he had not uttered one word of surprise, complaint, fear, or even
            acquiescence from the very beginning of our troubles till now, when we had laid
            him down in the log-house to die. He had lain like a Trojan behind his mattress in
            the gallery; he had followed every order silently, doggedly, and well; he was the
            oldest of our party by a score of years; and now, sullen, old, serviceable
            servant, it was he that was to die.
         </p>
         
         <p>The squire dropped down beside him on his knees and kissed his hand, crying like a
            child.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Be I going, doctor?" he asked.</p>
         
         <p>"Tom, my man," said I, "you're going home."</p>
         
         <p>"I wish I had had a lick at them with the gun first," he replied.</p>
         
         <p>"Tom," said the squire, "say you forgive me, won't you?"</p>
         
         <p>"Would that be respectful like, from me to you, squire?" was the answer.
            "Howsoever, so be it, amen!"
         </p>
         
         <p>After a little while of silence, he said he thought somebody might read a prayer.
            "It's the custom, sir," he added apologetically. And not long after, without
            another word, he passed away.
         </p>
         
         <p>In the meantime the captain, whom I had observed to be wonderfully swollen about
            the chest and pockets, had turned out a great many various stores—the British
            colours, a Bible, a coil of stoutish rope, pen, ink, the log-book, and pounds of
            tobacco. He had found a longish fir-tree lying felled and trimmed in the
            enclosure, and with the help of Hunter he had set it up at the corner of the
            log-house where the trunks crossed and made an angle. Then, climbing on the roof,
            he had with his own hand bent and run up the colours.
         </p>
         
         <p>This seemed mightily to relieve him. He re-entered the log-house and set about
            counting up the stores as if nothing else existed. But he had an eye on Tom's
            passage for all that, and as soon as all was over, came forward with another flag
            and reverently spread it on the body.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Don't you take on, sir," he said, shaking the squire's hand. "All's well with
            him; no fear for a hand that's been shot down in his duty to captain and owner. It
            mayn't be good divinity, but it's a fact."
         </p>
         
         <p>Then he pulled me aside.</p>
         
         <p>"Dr. Livesey," he said, "in how many weeks do you and squire expect the
            consort?"
         </p>
         
         <p>I told him it was a question not of weeks but of months, that if we were not back
            by the end of August Blandly was to send to find us, but neither sooner nor later.
            "You can calculate for yourself," I said.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Why, yes," returned the captain, scratching his head; "and making a large
            allowance, sir, for all the gifts of Providence, I should say we were pretty close
            hauled."
         </p>
         
         <p>"How do you mean?" I asked.</p>
         
         <p>"It's a pity, sir, we lost that second load. That's what I mean," replied the
            captain. "As for powder and shot, we'll do. But the rations are short, very
            short—so short, Dr. Livesey, that we're perhaps as well without that extra
            mouth."
         </p>
         
         <p>And he pointed to the dead body under the flag.</p>
         
         <p>Just then, with a roar and a whistle, a round-shot passed high above the roof of
            the log-house and plumped far beyond us in the wood.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Oho!" said the captain. "Blaze away! You've little enough powder already, my
            lads."
         </p>
         
         <p>At the second trial, the aim was better, and the ball descended inside the
            stockade, scattering a cloud of sand but doing no further damage.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Captain," said the squire, "the house is quite invisible from the ship. It must
            be the flag they are aiming at. Would it not be wiser to take it in?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Strike my colours!" cried the captain. "No, sir, not I"; and as soon as he had
            said the words, I think we all agreed with him. For it was not only a piece of
            stout, seamanly, good feeling; it was good policy besides and showed our enemies
            that we despised their cannonade.
         </p>
         
         <p>All through the evening they kept thundering away. Ball after ball flew over or
            fell short or kicked up the sand in the enclosure, but they had to fire so high
            that the shot fell dead and buried itself in the soft sand. We had no ricochet to
            fear, and though one popped in through the roof of the log-house and out again
            through the floor, we soon got used to that sort of horse-play and minded it no
            more than cricket.
         </p>
         
         <p>"There is one good thing about all this," observed the captain; "the wood in front
            of us is likely clear. The ebb has made a good while; our stores should be
            uncovered. Volunteers to go and bring in pork."
         </p>
         
         <p>Gray and Hunter were the first to come forward. Well armed, they stole out of the
            stockade, but it proved a useless mission. The mutineers were bolder than we
            fancied or they put more trust in Israel's gunnery. For four or five of them were
            busy carrying off our stores and wading out with them to one of the gigs that lay
            close by, pulling an oar or so to hold her steady against the current. Silver was
            in the stern-sheets in command; and every man of them was now provided with a
            musket from some secret magazine of their own.
         </p>
         
         <p>The captain sat down to his log, and here is the beginning of the entry:</p>
         
         
         <p>And at the same time, I was wondering over poor Jim Hawkins' fate.</p>
         
         <p>A hail on the land side.</p>
         
         <p>"Somebody hailing us," said Hunter, who was on guard.</p>
         
         <p>"Doctor! Squire! Captain! Hullo, Hunter, is that you?" came the cries.</p>
         
         <p>And I ran to the door in time to see Jim Hawkins, safe and sound, come climbing
            over the stockade.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">Narrative Resumed by Jim Hawkins: The Garrison in the Stockade</span>
         
         <p>AS soon as Ben Gunn saw the colours he came to a halt, stopped me by the arm, and
            sat down.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now," said he, "there's your friends, sure enough."</p>
         
         <p>"Far more likely it's the mutineers," I answered.</p>
         
         <p>"That!" he cried. "Why, in a place like this, where nobody puts in but gen'lemen
            of fortune, Silver would fly the Jolly Roger, you don't make no doubt of that. No,
            that's your friends. There's been blows too, and I reckon your friends has had the
            best of it; and here they are ashore in the old stockade, as was made years and
            years ago by Flint. Ah, he was the man to have a headpiece, was Flint! Barring
            rum, his match were never seen. He were afraid of none, not he; on'y Silver—Silver
            was that genteel."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well," said I, "that may be so, and so be it; all the more reason that I should
            hurry on and join my friends."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Nay, mate," returned Ben, "not you. You're a good boy, or I'm mistook; but you're
            on'y a boy, all told. Now, Ben Gunn is fly. Rum wouldn't bring me there, where
            you're going—not rum wouldn't, till I see your born gen'leman and gets it on his
            word of honour. And you won't forget my words; 'A precious sight (that's what
            you'll say), a precious sight more confidence'—and then nips him."
         </p>
         
         <p>And he pinched me the third time with the same air of cleverness.</p>
         
         <p>"And when Ben Gunn is wanted, you know where to find him, Jim. Just wheer you
            found him today. And him that comes is to have a white thing in his hand, and he's
            to come alone. Oh! And you'll say this: 'Ben Gunn,' says you, 'has reasons of his
            own.'"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well," said I, "I believe I understand. You have something to propose, and you
            wish to see the squire or the doctor, and you're to be found where I found you. Is
            that all?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"And when? says you," he added. "Why, from about noon observation to about six
            bells."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Good," said I, "and now may I go?"</p>
         
         <p>"You won't forget?" he inquired anxiously. "Precious sight, and reasons of his
            own, says you. Reasons of his own; that's the mainstay; as between man and man.
            Well, then"—still holding me—"I reckon you can go, Jim. And, Jim, if you was to
            see Silver, you wouldn't go for to sell Ben Gunn? Wild horses wouldn't draw it
            from you? No, says you. And if them pirates camp ashore, Jim, what would you say
            but there'd be widders in the morning?"
         </p>
         
         <p>Here he was interrupted by a loud report, and a cannonball came tearing through
            the trees and pitched in the sand not a hundred yards from where we two were
            talking. The next moment each of us had taken to his heels in a different
            direction.
         </p>
         
         <p>For a good hour to come frequent reports shook the island, and balls kept crashing
            through the woods. I moved from hiding-place to hiding-place, always pursued, or
            so it seemed to me, by these terrifying missiles. But towards the end of the
            bombardment, though still I durst not venture in the direction of the stockade,
            where the balls fell oftenest, I had begun, in a manner, to pluck up my heart
            again, and after a long detour to the east, crept down among the shore-side
            trees.
         </p>
         
         <p>The sun had just set, the sea breeze was rustling and tumbling in the woods and
            ruffling the grey surface of the anchorage; the tide, too, was far out, and great
            tracts of sand lay uncovered; the air, after the heat of the day, chilled me
            through my jacket.
         </p>
         
         <p>The HISPANIOLA still lay where she had anchored; but, sure enough, there was the
            Jolly Roger—the black flag of piracy—flying from her peak. Even as I looked, there
            came another red flash and another report that sent the echoes clattering, and one
            more round-shot whistled through the air. It was the last of the cannonade.
         </p>
         
         <p>I lay for some time watching the bustle which succeeded the attack. Men were
            demolishing something with axes on the beach near the stockade—the poor
            jolly-boat, I afterwards discovered. Away, near the mouth of the river, a great
            fire was glowing among the trees, and between that point and the ship one of the
            gigs kept coming and going, the men, whom I had seen so gloomy, shouting at the
            oars like children. But there was a sound in their voices which suggested rum.
         </p>
         
         <p>At length I thought I might return towards the stockade. I was pretty far down on
            the low, sandy spit that encloses the anchorage to the east, and is joined at
            half-water to Skeleton Island; and now, as I rose to my feet, I saw, some distance
            further down the spit and rising from among low bushes, an isolated rock, pretty
            high, and peculiarly white in colour. It occurred to me that this might be the
            white rock of which Ben Gunn had spoken and that some day or other a boat might be
            wanted and I should know where to look for one.
         </p>
         
         <p>Then I skirted among the woods until I had regained the rear, or shoreward side,
            of the stockade, and was soon warmly welcomed by the faithful party.
         </p>
         
         <p>I had soon told my story and began to look about me. The log-house was made of
            unsquared trunks of pine—roof, walls, and floor. The latter stood in several
            places as much as a foot or a foot and a half above the surface of the sand. There
            was a porch at the door, and under this porch the little spring welled up into an
            artificial basin of a rather odd kind—no other than a great ship's kettle of iron,
            with the bottom knocked out, and sunk "to her bearings," as the captain said,
            among the sand.
         </p>
         
         <p>Little had been left besides the framework of the house, but in one corner there
            was a stone slab laid down by way of hearth and an old rusty iron basket to
            contain the fire.
         </p>
         
         <p>The slopes of the knoll and all the inside of the stockade had been cleared of
            timber to build the house, and we could see by the stumps what a fine and lofty
            grove had been destroyed. Most of the soil had been washed away or buried in drift
            after the removal of the trees; only where the streamlet ran down from the kettle
            a thick bed of moss and some ferns and little creeping bushes were still green
            among the sand. Very close around the stockade—too close for defence, they
            said—the wood still flourished high and dense, all of fir on the land side, but
            towards the sea with a large admixture of live-oaks.
         </p>
         
         <p>The cold evening breeze, of which I have spoken, whistled through every chink of
            the rude building and sprinkled the floor with a continual rain of fine sand.
            There was sand in our eyes, sand in our teeth, sand in our suppers, sand dancing
            in the spring at the bottom of the kettle, for all the world like porridge
            beginning to boil. Our chimney was a square hole in the roof; it was but a little
            part of the smoke that found its way out, and the rest eddied about the house and
            kept us coughing and piping the eye.
         </p>
         
         <p>Add to this that Gray, the new man, had his face tied up in a bandage for a cut he
            had got in breaking away from the mutineers and that poor old Tom Redruth, still
            unburied, lay along the wall, stiff and stark, under the Union Jack.
         </p>
         
         <p>If we had been allowed to sit idle, we should all have fallen in the blues, but
            Captain Smollett was never the man for that. All hands were called up before him,
            and he divided us into watches. The doctor and Gray and I for one; the squire,
            Hunter, and Joyce upon the other. Tired though we all were, two were sent out for
            firewood; two more were set to dig a grave for Redruth; the doctor was named cook;
            I was put sentry at the door; and the captain himself went from one to another,
            keeping up our spirits and lending a hand wherever it was wanted.
         </p>
         
         <p>From time to time the doctor came to the door for a little air and to rest his
            eyes, which were almost smoked out of his head, and whenever he did so, he had a
            word for me.
         </p>
         
         <p>"That man Smollett," he said once, "is a better man than I am. And when I say that
            it means a deal, Jim."
         </p>
         
         <p>Another time he came and was silent for a while. Then he put his head on one side,
            and looked at me.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Is this Ben Gunn a man?" he asked.</p>
         
         <p>"I do not know, sir," said I. "I am not very sure whether he's sane."</p>
         
         <p>"If there's any doubt about the matter, he is," returned the doctor. "A man who
            has been three years biting his nails on a desert island, Jim, can't expect to
            appear as sane as you or me. It doesn't lie in human nature. Was it cheese you
            said he had a fancy for?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Yes, sir, cheese," I answered.</p>
         
         <p>"Well, Jim," says he, "just see the good that comes of being dainty in your food.
            You've seen my snuff-box, haven't you? And you never saw me take snuff, the reason
            being that in my snuff-box I carry a piece of Parmesan cheese—a cheese made in
            Italy, very nutritious. Well, that's for Ben Gunn!"
         </p>
         
         <p>Before supper was eaten we buried old Tom in the sand and stood round him for a
            while bare-headed in the breeze. A good deal of firewood had been got in, but not
            enough for the captain's fancy, and he shook his head over it and told us we "must
            get back to this tomorrow rather livelier." Then, when we had eaten our pork and
            each had a good stiff glass of brandy grog, the three chiefs got together in a
            corner to discuss our prospects.
         </p>
         
         <p>It appears they were at their wits' end what to do, the stores being so low that
            we must have been starved into surrender long before help came. But our best hope,
            it was decided, was to kill off the buccaneers until they either hauled down their
            flag or ran away with the HISPANIOLA. From nineteen they were already reduced to
            fifteen, two others were wounded, and one at least—the man shot beside the
            gun—severely wounded, if he were not dead. Every time we had a crack at them, we
            were to take it, saving our own lives, with the extremest care. And besides that,
            we had two able allies—rum and the climate.
         </p>
         
         <p>As for the first, though we were about half a mile away, we could hear them
            roaring and singing late into the night; and as for the second, the doctor staked
            his wig that, camped where they were in the marsh and unprovided with remedies,
            the half of them would be on their backs before a week.
         </p>
         
         <p>"So," he added, "if we are not all shot down first they'll be glad to be packing
            in the schooner. It's always a ship, and they can get to buccaneering again, I
            suppose."
         </p>
         
         <p>"First ship that ever I lost," said Captain Smollett.</p>
         
         <p>I was dead tired, as you may fancy; and when I got to sleep, which was not till
            after a great deal of tossing, I slept like a log of wood.
         </p>
         
         <p>The rest had long been up and had already breakfasted and increased the pile of
            firewood by about half as much again when I was wakened by a bustle and the sound
            of voices.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Flag of truce!" I heard someone say; and then, immediately after, with a cry of
            surprise, "Silver himself!"
         </p>
         
         <p>And at that, up I jumped, and rubbing my eyes, ran to a loophole in the wall.</p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">Silver's Embassy</span>
         
         <p>SURE enough, there were two men just outside the stockade, one of them waving a
            white cloth, the other, no less a person than Silver himself, standing placidly
            by.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was still quite early, and the coldest morning that I think I ever was abroad
            in—a chill that pierced into the marrow. The sky was bright and cloudless
            overhead, and the tops of the trees shone rosily in the sun. But where Silver
            stood with his lieutenant, all was still in shadow, and they waded knee-deep in a
            low white vapour that had crawled during the night out of the morass. The chill
            and the vapour taken together told a poor tale of the island. It was plainly a
            damp, feverish, unhealthy spot.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Keep indoors, men," said the captain. "Ten to one this is a trick."</p>
         
         <p>Then he hailed the buccaneer.</p>
         
         <p>"Who goes? Stand, or we fire."</p>
         
         <p>"Flag of truce," cried Silver.</p>
         
         <p>The captain was in the porch, keeping himself carefully out of the way of a
            treacherous shot, should any be intended. He turned and spoke to us, "Doctor's
            watch on the lookout. Dr. Livesey take the north side, if you please; Jim, the
            east; Gray, west. The watch below, all hands to load muskets. Lively, men, and
            careful."
         </p>
         
         <p>And then he turned again to the mutineers.</p>
         
         <p>"And what do you want with your flag of truce?" he cried.</p>
         
         <p>This time it was the other man who replied.</p>
         
         <p>"Cap'n Silver, sir, to come on board and make terms," he shouted.</p>
         
         <p>"Cap'n Silver! Don't know him. Who's he?" cried the captain. And we could hear him
            adding to himself, "Cap'n, is it? My heart, and here's promotion!"
         </p>
         
         <p>Long John answered for himself. "Me, sir. These poor lads have chosen me cap'n,
            after your desertion, sir"—laying a particular emphasis upon the word "desertion."
            "We're willing to submit, if we can come to terms, and no bones about it. All I
            ask is your word, Cap'n Smollett, to let me safe and sound out of this here
            stockade, and one minute to get out o' shot before a gun is fired."
         </p>
         
         <p>"My man," said Captain Smollett, "I have not the slightest desire to talk to you.
            If you wish to talk to me, you can come, that's all. If there's any treachery,
            it'll be on your side, and the Lord help you."
         </p>
         
         <p>"That's enough, cap'n," shouted Long John cheerily. "A word from you's enough. I
            know a gentleman, and you may lay to that."
         </p>
         
         <p>We could see the man who carried the flag of truce attempting to hold Silver back.
            Nor was that wonderful, seeing how cavalier had been the captain's answer. But
            Silver laughed at him aloud and slapped him on the back as if the idea of alarm
            had been absurd. Then he advanced to the stockade, threw over his crutch, got a
            leg up, and with great vigour and skill succeeded in surmounting the fence and
            dropping safely to the other side.
         </p>
         
         <p>I will confess that I was far too much taken up with what was going on to be of
            the slightest use as sentry; indeed, I had already deserted my eastern loophole
            and crept up behind the captain, who had now seated himself on the threshold, with
            his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, and his eyes fixed on the water as
            it bubbled out of the old iron kettle in the sand. He was whistling "Come, Lasses
            and Lads."
         </p>
         
         <p>Silver had terrible hard work getting up the knoll. What with the steepness of the
            incline, the thick tree stumps, and the soft sand, he and his crutch were as
            helpless as a ship in stays. But he stuck to it like a man in silence, and at last
            arrived before the captain, whom he saluted in the handsomest style. He was
            tricked out in his best; an immense blue coat, thick with brass buttons, hung as
            low as to his knees, and a fine laced hat was set on the back of his head.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Here you are, my man," said the captain, raising his head. "You had better sit
            down."
         </p>
         
         <p>"You ain't a-going to let me inside, cap'n?" complained Long John. "It's a main
            cold morning, to be sure, sir, to sit outside upon the sand."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Why, Silver," said the captain, "if you had pleased to be an honest man, you
            might have been sitting in your galley. It's your own doing. You're either my
            ship's cook—and then you were treated handsome—or Cap'n Silver, a common mutineer
            and pirate, and then you can go hang!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, well, cap'n," returned the sea-cook, sitting down as he was bidden on the
            sand, "you'll have to give me a hand up again, that's all. A sweet pretty place
            you have of it here. Ah, there's Jim! The top of the morning to you, Jim. Doctor,
            here's my service. Why, there you all are together like a happy family, in a
            manner of speaking."
         </p>
         
         <p>"If you have anything to say, my man, better say it," said the captain.</p>
         
         <p>"Right you were, Cap'n Smollett," replied Silver. "Dooty is dooty, to be sure.
            Well now, you look here, that was a good lay of yours last night. I don't deny it
            was a good lay. Some of you pretty handy with a handspike-end. And I'll not deny
            neither but what some of my people was shook—maybe all was shook; maybe I was
            shook myself; maybe that's why I'm here for terms. But you mark me, cap'n, it
            won't do twice, by thunder! We'll have to do sentry-go and ease off a point or so
            on the rum. Maybe you think we were all a sheet in the wind's eye. But I'll tell
            you I was sober; I was on'y dog tired; and if I'd awoke a second sooner, I'd 'a
            caught you at the act, I would. He wasn't dead when I got round to him, not
            he."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well?" says Captain Smollett as cool as can be.</p>
         
         <p>All that Silver said was a riddle to him, but you would never have guessed it from
            his tone. As for me, I began to have an inkling. Ben Gunn's last words came back
            to my mind. I began to suppose that he had paid the buccaneers a visit while they
            all lay drunk together round their fire, and I reckoned up with glee that we had
            only fourteen enemies to deal with.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, here it is," said Silver. "We want that treasure, and we'll have it—that's
            our point! You would just as soon save your lives, I reckon; and that's yours. You
            have a chart, haven't you?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"That's as may be," replied the captain.</p>
         
         <p>"Oh, well, you have, I know that," returned Long John. "You needn't be so husky
            with a man; there ain't a particle of service in that, and you may lay to it. What
            I mean is, we want your chart. Now, I never meant you no harm, myself."
         </p>
         
         <p>"That won't do with me, my man," interrupted the captain. "We know exactly what
            you meant to do, and we don't care, for now, you see, you can't do it."
         </p>
         
         <p>And the captain looked at him calmly and proceeded to fill a pipe.</p>
         
         <p>"If Abe Gray—" Silver broke out.</p>
         
         <p>"Avast there!" cried Mr. Smollett. "Gray told me nothing, and I asked him nothing;
            and what's more, I would see you and him and this whole island blown clean out of
            the water into blazes first. So there's my mind for you, my man, on that."
         </p>
         
         <p>This little whiff of temper seemed to cool Silver down. He had been growing
            nettled before, but now he pulled himself together.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Like enough," said he. "I would set no limits to what gentlemen might consider
            shipshape, or might not, as the case were. And seein' as how you are about to take
            a pipe, cap'n, I'll make so free as do likewise."
         </p>
         
         <p>And he filled a pipe and lighted it; and the two men sat silently smoking for
            quite a while, now looking each other in the face, now stopping their tobacco, now
            leaning forward to spit. It was as good as the play to see them.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now," resumed Silver, "here it is. You give us the chart to get the treasure by,
            and drop shooting poor seamen and stoving of their heads in while asleep. You do
            that, and we'll offer you a choice. Either you come aboard along of us, once the
            treasure shipped, and then I'll give you my affy-davy, upon my word of honour, to
            clap you somewhere safe ashore. Or if that ain't to your fancy, some of my hands
            being rough and having old scores on account of hazing, then you can stay here,
            you can. We'll divide stores with you, man for man; and I'll give my affy-davy, as
            before to speak the first ship I sight, and send 'em here to pick you up. Now,
            you'll own that's talking. Handsomer you couldn't look to get, now you. And I
            hope"—raising his voice—"that all hands in this here block house will overhaul my
            words, for what is spoke to one is spoke to all."
         </p>
         
         <p>Captain Smollett rose from his seat and knocked out the ashes of his pipe in the
            palm of his left hand.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Is that all?" he asked.</p>
         
         <p>"Every last word, by thunder!" answered John. "Refuse that, and you've seen the
            last of me but musket-balls."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Very good," said the captain. "Now you'll hear me. If you'll come up one by one,
            unarmed, I'll engage to clap you all in irons and take you home to a fair trial in
            England. If you won't, my name is Alexander Smollett, I've flown my sovereign's
            colours, and I'll see you all to Davy Jones. You can't find the treasure. You
            can't sail the ship—there's not a man among you fit to sail the ship. You can't
            fight us—Gray, there, got away from five of you. Your ship's in irons, Master
            Silver; you're on a lee shore, and so you'll find. I stand here and tell you so;
            and they're the last good words you'll get from me, for in the name of heaven,
            I'll put a bullet in your back when next I meet you. Tramp, my lad. Bundle out of
            this, please, hand over hand, and double quick."
         </p>
         
         <p>Silver's face was a picture; his eyes started in his head with wrath. He shook the
            fire out of his pipe.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Give me a hand up!" he cried.</p>
         
         <p>"Not I," returned the captain.</p>
         
         <p>"Who'll give me a hand up?" he roared.</p>
         
         <p>Not a man among us moved. Growling the foulest imprecations, he crawled along the
            sand till he got hold of the porch and could hoist himself again upon his crutch.
            Then he spat into the spring.
         </p>
         
         <p>"There!" he cried. "That's what I think of ye. Before an hour's out, I'll stove in
            your old block house like a rum puncheon. Laugh, by thunder, laugh! Before an
            hour's out, ye'll laugh upon the other side. Them that die'll be the lucky
            ones."
         </p>
         
         <p>And with a dreadful oath he stumbled off, ploughed down the sand, was helped
            across the stockade, after four or five failures, by the man with the flag of
            truce, and disappeared in an instant afterwards among the trees.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">The Attack</span>
         
         <p>AS soon as Silver disappeared, the captain, who had been closely watching him,
            turned towards the interior of the house and found not a man of us at his post but
            Gray. It was the first time we had ever seen him angry.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Quarters!" he roared. And then, as we all slunk back to our places, "Gray," he
            said, "I'll put your name in the log; you've stood by your duty like a seaman. Mr.
            Trelawney, I'm surprised at you, sir. Doctor, I thought you had worn the king's
            coat! If that was how you served at Fontenoy, sir, you'd have been better in your
            berth."
         </p>
         
         <p>The doctor's watch were all back at their loopholes, the rest were busy loading
            the spare muskets, and everyone with a red face, you may be certain, and a flea in
            his ear, as the saying is.
         </p>
         
         <p>The captain looked on for a while in silence. Then he spoke.</p>
         
         <p>"My lads," said he, "I've given Silver a broadside. I pitched it in red-hot on
            purpose; and before the hour's out, as he said, we shall be boarded. We're
            outnumbered, I needn't tell you that, but we fight in shelter; and a minute ago I
            should have said we fought with discipline. I've no manner of doubt that we can
            drub them, if you choose."
         </p>
         
         <p>Then he went the rounds and saw, as he said, that all was clear.</p>
         
         <p>On the two short sides of the house, east and west, there were only two loopholes;
            on the south side where the porch was, two again; and on the north side, five.
            There was a round score of muskets for the seven of us; the firewood had been
            built into four piles—tables, you might say—one about the middle of each side, and
            on each of these tables some ammunition and four loaded muskets were laid ready to
            the hand of the defenders. In the middle, the cutlasses lay ranged.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Toss out the fire," said the captain; "the chill is past, and we mustn't have
            smoke in our eyes."
         </p>
         
         <p>The iron fire-basket was carried bodily out by Mr. Trelawney, and the embers
            smothered among sand.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Hawkins hasn't had his breakfast. Hawkins, help yourself, and back to your post
            to eat it," continued Captain Smollett. "Lively, now, my lad; you'll want it
            before you've done. Hunter, serve out a round of brandy to all hands."
         </p>
         
         <p>And while this was going on, the captain completed, in his own mind, the plan of
            the defence.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Doctor, you will take the door," he resumed. "See, and don't expose yourself;
            keep within, and fire through the porch. Hunter, take the east side, there. Joyce,
            you stand by the west, my man. Mr. Trelawney, you are the best shot—you and Gray
            will take this long north side, with the five loopholes; it's there the danger is.
            If they can get up to it and fire in upon us through our own ports, things would
            begin to look dirty. Hawkins, neither you nor I are much account at the shooting;
            we'll stand by to load and bear a hand."
         </p>
         
         <p>As the captain had said, the chill was past. As soon as the sun had climbed above
            our girdle of trees, it fell with all its force upon the clearing and drank up the
            vapours at a draught. Soon the sand was baking and the resin melting in the logs
            of the block house. Jackets and coats were flung aside, shirts thrown open at the
            neck and rolled up to the shoulders; and we stood there, each at his post, in a
            fever of heat and anxiety.
         </p>
         
         <p>An hour passed away.</p>
         
         <p>"Hang them!" said the captain. "This is as dull as the doldrums. Gray, whistle for
            a wind."
         </p>
         
         <p>And just at that moment came the first news of the attack.</p>
         
         <p>"If you please, sir," said Joyce, "if I see anyone, am I to fire?"</p>
         
         <p>"I told you so!" cried the captain.</p>
         
         <p>"Thank you, sir," returned Joyce with the same quiet civility.</p>
         
         <p>Nothing followed for a time, but the remark had set us all on the alert, straining
            ears and eyes—the musketeers with their pieces balanced in their hands, the
            captain out in the middle of the block house with his mouth very tight and a frown
            on his face.
         </p>
         
         <p>So some seconds passed, till suddenly Joyce whipped up his musket and fired. The
            report had scarcely died away ere it was repeated and repeated from without in a
            scattering volley, shot behind shot, like a string of geese, from every side of
            the enclosure. Several bullets struck the log-house, but not one entered; and as
            the smoke cleared away and vanished, the stockade and the woods around it looked
            as quiet and empty as before. Not a bough waved, not the gleam of a musket-barrel
            betrayed the presence of our foes.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Did you hit your man?" asked the captain.</p>
         
         <p>"No, sir," replied Joyce. "I believe not, sir."</p>
         
         <p>"Next best thing to tell the truth," muttered Captain Smollett. "Load his gun,
            Hawkins. How many should say there were on your side, doctor?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"I know precisely," said Dr. Livesey. "Three shots were fired on this side. I saw
            the three flashes—two close together—one farther to the west."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Three!" repeated the captain. "And how many on yours, Mr. Trelawney?"</p>
         
         <p>But this was not so easily answered. There had come many from the north—seven by
            the squire's computation, eight or nine according to Gray. From the east and west
            only a single shot had been fired. It was plain, therefore, that the attack would
            be developed from the north and that on the other three sides we were only to be
            annoyed by a show of hostilities. But Captain Smollett made no change in his
            arrangements. If the mutineers succeeded in crossing the stockade, he argued, they
            would take possession of any unprotected loophole and shoot us down like rats in
            our own stronghold.
         </p>
         
         <p>Nor had we much time left to us for thought. Suddenly, with a loud huzza, a little
            cloud of pirates leaped from the woods on the north side and ran straight on the
            stockade. At the same moment, the fire was once more opened from the woods, and a
            rifle ball sang through the doorway and knocked the doctor's musket into bits.
         </p>
         
         <p>The boarders swarmed over the fence like monkeys. Squire and Gray fired again and
            yet again; three men fell, one forwards into the enclosure, two back on the
            outside. But of these, one was evidently more frightened than hurt, for he was on
            his feet again in a crack and instantly disappeared among the trees.
         </p>
         
         <p>Two had bit the dust, one had fled, four had made good their footing inside our
            defences, while from the shelter of the woods seven or eight men, each evidently
            supplied with several muskets, kept up a hot though useless fire on the
            log-house.
         </p>
         
         <p>The four who had boarded made straight before them for the building, shouting as
            they ran, and the men among the trees shouted back to encourage them. Several
            shots were fired, but such was the hurry of the marksmen that not one appears to
            have taken effect. In a moment, the four pirates had swarmed up the mound and were
            upon us.
         </p>
         
         <p>The head of Job Anderson, the boatswain, appeared at the middle loophole.</p>
         
         <p>"At 'em, all hands—all hands!" he roared in a voice of thunder.</p>
         
         <p>At the same moment, another pirate grasped Hunter's musket by the muzzle, wrenched
            it from his hands, plucked it through the loophole, and with one stunning blow,
            laid the poor fellow senseless on the floor. Meanwhile a third, running unharmed
            all around the house, appeared suddenly in the doorway and fell with his cutlass
            on the doctor.
         </p>
         
         <p>Our position was utterly reversed. A moment since we were firing, under cover, at
            an exposed enemy; now it was we who lay uncovered and could not return a blow.
         </p>
         
         <p>The log-house was full of smoke, to which we owed our comparative safety. Cries
            and confusion, the flashes and reports of pistol-shots, and one loud groan rang in
            my ears.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Out, lads, out, and fight 'em in the open! Cutlasses!" cried the captain.</p>
         
         <p>I snatched a cutlass from the pile, and someone, at the same time snatching
            another, gave me a cut across the knuckles which I hardly felt. I dashed out of
            the door into the clear sunlight. Someone was close behind, I knew not whom. Right
            in front, the doctor was pursuing his assailant down the hill, and just as my eyes
            fell upon him, beat down his guard and sent him sprawling on his back with a great
            slash across the face.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Round the house, lads! Round the house!" cried the captain; and even in the
            hurly-burly, I perceived a change in his voice.
         </p>
         
         <p>Mechanically, I obeyed, turned eastwards, and with my cutlass raised, ran round
            the corner of the house. Next moment I was face to face with Anderson. He roared
            aloud, and his hanger went up above his head, flashing in the sunlight. I had not
            time to be afraid, but as the blow still hung impending, leaped in a trice upon
            one side, and missing my foot in the soft sand, rolled headlong down the
            slope.
         </p>
         
         <p>When I had first sallied from the door, the other mutineers had been already
            swarming up the palisade to make an end of us. One man, in a red night-cap, with
            his cutlass in his mouth, had even got upon the top and thrown a leg across. Well,
            so short had been the interval that when I found my feet again all was in the same
            posture, the fellow with the red night-cap still half-way over, another still just
            showing his head above the top of the stockade. And yet, in this breath of time,
            the fight was over and the victory was ours.
         </p>
         
         <p>Gray, following close behind me, had cut down the big boatswain ere he had time to
            recover from his last blow. Another had been shot at a loophole in the very act of
            firing into the house and now lay in agony, the pistol still smoking in his hand.
            A third, as I had seen, the doctor had disposed of at a blow. Of the four who had
            scaled the palisade, one only remained unaccounted for, and he, having left his
            cutlass on the field, was now clambering out again with the fear of death upon
            him.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Fire—fire from the house!" cried the doctor. "And you, lads, back into
            cover."
         </p>
         
         <p>But his words were unheeded, no shot was fired, and the last boarder made good his
            escape and disappeared with the rest into the wood. In three seconds nothing
            remained of the attacking party but the five who had fallen, four on the inside
            and one on the outside of the palisade.
         </p>
         
         <p>The doctor and Gray and I ran full speed for shelter. The survivors would soon be
            back where they had left their muskets, and at any moment the fire might
            recommence.
         </p>
         
         <p>The house was by this time somewhat cleared of smoke, and we saw at a glance the
            price we had paid for victory. Hunter lay beside his loophole, stunned; Joyce by
            his, shot through the head, never to move again; while right in the centre, the
            squire was supporting the captain, one as pale as the other.
         </p>
         
         <p>"The captain's wounded," said Mr. Trelawney.</p>
         
         <p>"Have they run?" asked Mr. Smollett.</p>
         
         <p>"All that could, you may be bound," returned the doctor; "but there's five of them
            will never run again."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Five!" cried the captain. "Come, that's better. Five against three leaves us four
            to nine. That's better odds than we had at starting. We were seven to nineteen
            then, or thought we were, and that's as bad to bear."*
         </p>
         
         <p>*The mutineers were soon only eight in number, for the man shot by Mr. Trelawney
            on board the schooner died that same evening of his wound. But this was, of
            course, not known till after by the faithful party.
         </p>
         
         
         
         <span class="partHeader">PART FIVE—My Sea Adventure</span>
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">How My Sea Adventure Began</span>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Why, in the name of Davy Jones," said he, "is Dr. Livesey mad?"</p>
         
         <p>"Why no," says I. "He's about the last of this crew for that, I take it."</p>
         
         <p>"Well, shipmate," said Gray, "mad he may not be; but if HE'S not, you mark my
            words, I am."
         </p>
         
         <p>"I take it," replied I, "the doctor has his idea; and if I am right, he's going
            now to see Ben Gunn."
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         <p>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.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">The Ebb-tide Runs</span>
         
         <p>THE coracle—as I had ample reason to know before I was done with her—was a very
            safe boat for a person of my height and weight, both buoyant and clever in a
            seaway; but she was the most cross-grained, lop-sided craft to manage. Do as you
            pleased, she always made more leeway than anything else, and turning round and
            round was the manoeuvre she was best at. Even Ben Gunn himself has admitted that
            she was "queer to handle till you knew her way."
         </p>
         
         <p>Certainly I did not know her way. She turned in every direction but the one I was
            bound to go; the most part of the time we were broadside on, and I am very sure I
            never should have made the ship at all but for the tide. By good fortune, paddle
            as I pleased, the tide was still sweeping me down; and there lay the HISPANIOLA
            right in the fairway, hardly to be missed.
         </p>
         
         <p>First she loomed before me like a blot of something yet blacker than darkness,
            then her spars and hull began to take shape, and the next moment, as it seemed
            (for, the farther I went, the brisker grew the current of the ebb), I was
            alongside of her hawser and had laid hold.
         </p>
         
         <p>The hawser was as taut as a bowstring, and the current so strong she pulled upon
            her anchor. All round the hull, in the blackness, the rippling current bubbled and
            chattered like a little mountain stream. One cut with my sea-gully and the
            HISPANIOLA would go humming down the tide.
         </p>
         
         <p>So far so good, but it next occurred to my recollection that a taut hawser,
            suddenly cut, is a thing as dangerous as a kicking horse. Ten to one, if I were so
            foolhardy as to cut the HISPANIOLA from her anchor, I and the coracle would be
            knocked clean out of the water.
         </p>
         
         <p>This brought me to a full stop, and if fortune had not again particularly favoured
            me, I should have had to abandon my design. But the light airs which had begun
            blowing from the south-east and south had hauled round after nightfall into the
            south-west. Just while I was meditating, a puff came, caught the HISPANIOLA, and
            forced her up into the current; and to my great joy, I felt the hawser slacken in
            my grasp, and the hand by which I held it dip for a second under water.
         </p>
         
         <p>With that I made my mind up, took out my gully, opened it with my teeth, and cut
            one strand after another, till the vessel swung only by two. Then I lay quiet,
            waiting to sever these last when the strain should be once more lightened by a
            breath of wind.
         </p>
         
         <p>All this time I had heard the sound of loud voices from the cabin, but to say
            truth, my mind had been so entirely taken up with other thoughts that I had
            scarcely given ear. Now, however, when I had nothing else to do, I began to pay
            more heed.
         </p>
         
         <p>One I recognized for the coxswain's, Israel Hands, that had been Flint's gunner in
            former days. The other was, of course, my friend of the red night-cap. Both men
            were plainly the worse of drink, and they were still drinking, for even while I
            was listening, one of them, with a drunken cry, opened the stern window and threw
            out something, which I divined to be an empty bottle. But they were not only
            tipsy; it was plain that they were furiously angry. Oaths flew like hailstones,
            and every now and then there came forth such an explosion as I thought was sure to
            end in blows. But each time the quarrel passed off and the voices grumbled lower
            for a while, until the next crisis came and in its turn passed away without
            result.
         </p>
         
         <p>On shore, I could see the glow of the great camp-fire burning warmly through the
            shore-side trees. Someone was singing, a dull, old, droning sailor's song, with a
            droop and a quaver at the end of every verse, and seemingly no end to it at all
            but the patience of the singer. I had heard it on the voyage more than once and
            remembered these words:
         </p>
         
         
         <p>And I thought it was a ditty rather too dolefully appropriate for a company that
            had met such cruel losses in the morning. But, indeed, from what I saw, all these
            buccaneers were as callous as the sea they sailed on.
         </p>
         
         <p>At last the breeze came; the schooner sidled and drew nearer in the dark; I felt
            the hawser slacken once more, and with a good, tough effort, cut the last fibres
            through.
         </p>
         
         <p>The breeze had but little action on the coracle, and I was almost instantly swept
            against the bows of the HISPANIOLA. At the same time, the schooner began to turn
            upon her heel, spinning slowly, end for end, across the current.
         </p>
         
         <p>I wrought like a fiend, for I expected every moment to be swamped; and since I
            found I could not push the coracle directly off, I now shoved straight astern. At
            length I was clear of my dangerous neighbour, and just as I gave the last
            impulsion, my hands came across a light cord that was trailing overboard across
            the stern bulwarks. Instantly I grasped it.
         </p>
         
         <p>Why I should have done so I can hardly say. It was at first mere instinct, but
            once I had it in my hands and found it fast, curiosity began to get the upper
            hand, and I determined I should have one look through the cabin window.
         </p>
         
         <p>I pulled in hand over hand on the cord, and when I judged myself near enough, rose
            at infinite risk to about half my height and thus commanded the roof and a slice
            of the interior of the cabin.
         </p>
         
         <p>By this time the schooner and her little consort were gliding pretty swiftly
            through the water; indeed, we had already fetched up level with the camp-fire. The
            ship was talking, as sailors say, loudly, treading the innumerable ripples with an
            incessant weltering splash; and until I got my eye above the window-sill I could
            not comprehend why the watchmen had taken no alarm. One glance, however, was
            sufficient; and it was only one glance that I durst take from that unsteady skiff.
            It showed me Hands and his companion locked together in deadly wrestle, each with
            a hand upon the other's throat.
         </p>
         
         <p>I dropped upon the thwart again, none too soon, for I was near overboard. I could
            see nothing for the moment but these two furious, encrimsoned faces swaying
            together under the smoky lamp, and I shut my eyes to let them grow once more
            familiar with the darkness.
         </p>
         
         <p>The endless ballad had come to an end at last, and the whole diminished company
            about the camp-fire had broken into the chorus I had heard so often:
         </p>
         
         
         <p>I was just thinking how busy drink and the devil were at that very moment in the
            cabin of the HISPANIOLA, when I was surprised by a sudden lurch of the coracle. At
            the same moment, she yawed sharply and seemed to change her course. The speed in
            the meantime had strangely increased.
         </p>
         
         <p>I opened my eyes at once. All round me were little ripples, combing over with a
            sharp, bristling sound and slightly phosphorescent. The HISPANIOLA herself, a few
            yards in whose wake I was still being whirled along, seemed to stagger in her
            course, and I saw her spars toss a little against the blackness of the night; nay,
            as I looked longer, I made sure she also was wheeling to the southward.
         </p>
         
         <p>I glanced over my shoulder, and my heart jumped against my ribs. There, right
            behind me, was the glow of the camp-fire. The current had turned at right angles,
            sweeping round along with it the tall schooner and the little dancing coracle;
            ever quickening, ever bubbling higher, ever muttering louder, it went spinning
            through the narrows for the open sea.
         </p>
         
         <p>Suddenly the schooner in front of me gave a violent yaw, turning, perhaps, through
            twenty degrees; and almost at the same moment one shout followed another from on
            board; I could hear feet pounding on the companion ladder and I knew that the two
            drunkards had at last been interrupted in their quarrel and awakened to a sense of
            their disaster.
         </p>
         
         <p>I lay down flat in the bottom of that wretched skiff and devoutly recommended my
            spirit to its Maker. At the end of the straits, I made sure we must fall into some
            bar of raging breakers, where all my troubles would be ended speedily; and though
            I could, perhaps, bear to die, I could not bear to look upon my fate as it
            approached.
         </p>
         
         <p>So I must have lain for hours, continually beaten to and fro upon the billows, now
            and again wetted with flying sprays, and never ceasing to expect death at the next
            plunge. Gradually weariness grew upon me; a numbness, an occasional stupor, fell
            upon my mind even in the midst of my terrors, until sleep at last supervened and
            in my sea-tossed coracle I lay and dreamed of home and the old Admiral Benbow.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">The Cruise of the Coracle</span>
         
         <p>IT was broad day when I awoke and found myself tossing at the south-west end of
            Treasure Island. The sun was up but was still hid from me behind the great bulk of
            the Spy-glass, which on this side descended almost to the sea in formidable
            cliffs.
         </p>
         
         <p>Haulbowline Head and Mizzen-mast Hill were at my elbow, the hill bare and dark,
            the head bound with cliffs forty or fifty feet high and fringed with great masses
            of fallen rock. I was scarce a quarter of a mile to seaward, and it was my first
            thought to paddle in and land.
         </p>
         
         <p>That notion was soon given over. Among the fallen rocks the breakers spouted and
            bellowed; loud reverberations, heavy sprays flying and falling, succeeded one
            another from second to second; and I saw myself, if I ventured nearer, dashed to
            death upon the rough shore or spending my strength in vain to scale the beetling
            crags.
         </p>
         
         <p>Nor was that all, for crawling together on flat tables of rock or letting
            themselves drop into the sea with loud reports I beheld huge slimy monsters—soft
            snails, as it were, of incredible bigness—two or three score of them together,
            making the rocks to echo with their barkings.
         </p>
         
         <p>I have understood since that they were sea lions, and entirely harmless. But the
            look of them, added to the difficulty of the shore and the high running of the
            surf, was more than enough to disgust me of that landing-place. I felt willing
            rather to starve at sea than to confront such perils.
         </p>
         
         <p>In the meantime I had a better chance, as I supposed, before me. North of
            Haulbowline Head, the land runs in a long way, leaving at low tide a long stretch
            of yellow sand. To the north of that, again, there comes another cape—Cape of the
            Woods, as it was marked upon the chart—buried in tall green pines, which descended
            to the margin of the sea.
         </p>
         
         <p>I remembered what Silver had said about the current that sets northward along the
            whole west coast of Treasure Island, and seeing from my position that I was
            already under its influence, I preferred to leave Haulbowline Head behind me and
            reserve my strength for an attempt to land upon the kindlier-looking Cape of the
            Woods.
         </p>
         
         <p>There was a great, smooth swell upon the sea. The wind blowing steady and gentle
            from the south, there was no contrariety between that and the current, and the
            billows rose and fell unbroken.
         </p>
         
         <p>Had it been otherwise, I must long ago have perished; but as it was, it is
            surprising how easily and securely my little and light boat could ride. Often, as
            I still lay at the bottom and kept no more than an eye above the gunwale, I would
            see a big blue summit heaving close above me; yet the coracle would but bounce a
            little, dance as if on springs, and subside on the other side into the trough as
            lightly as a bird.
         </p>
         
         <p>I began after a little to grow very bold and sat up to try my skill at paddling.
            But even a small change in the disposition of the weight will produce violent
            changes in the behaviour of a coracle. And I had hardly moved before the boat,
            giving up at once her gentle dancing movement, ran straight down a slope of water
            so steep that it made me giddy, and struck her nose, with a spout of spray, deep
            into the side of the next wave.
         </p>
         
         <p>I was drenched and terrified, and fell instantly back into my old position,
            whereupon the coracle seemed to find her head again and led me as softly as before
            among the billows. It was plain she was not to be interfered with, and at that
            rate, since I could in no way influence her course, what hope had I left of
            reaching land?
         </p>
         
         <p>I began to be horribly frightened, but I kept my head, for all that. First, moving
            with all care, I gradually baled out the coracle with my sea-cap; then, getting my
            eye once more above the gunwale, I set myself to study how it was she managed to
            slip so quietly through the rollers.
         </p>
         
         <p>I found each wave, instead of the big, smooth glossy mountain it looks from shore
            or from a vessel's deck, was for all the world like any range of hills on dry
            land, full of peaks and smooth places and valleys. The coracle, left to herself,
            turning from side to side, threaded, so to speak, her way through these lower
            parts and avoided the steep slopes and higher, toppling summits of the wave.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, now," thought I to myself, "it is plain I must lie where I am and not
            disturb the balance; but it is plain also that I can put the paddle over the side
            and from time to time, in smooth places, give her a shove or two towards land." No
            sooner thought upon than done. There I lay on my elbows in the most trying
            attitude, and every now and again gave a weak stroke or two to turn her head to
            shore.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was very tiring and slow work, yet I did visibly gain ground; and as we drew
            near the Cape of the Woods, though I saw I must infallibly miss that point, I had
            still made some hundred yards of easting. I was, indeed, close in. I could see the
            cool green tree-tops swaying together in the breeze, and I felt sure I should make
            the next promontory without fail.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was high time, for I now began to be tortured with thirst. The glow of the sun
            from above, its thousandfold reflection from the waves, the sea-water that fell
            and dried upon me, caking my very lips with salt, combined to make my throat burn
            and my brain ache. The sight of the trees so near at hand had almost made me sick
            with longing, but the current had soon carried me past the point, and as the next
            reach of sea opened out, I beheld a sight that changed the nature of my
            thoughts.
         </p>
         
         <p>Right in front of me, not half a mile away, I beheld the HISPANIOLA under sail. I
            made sure, of course, that I should be taken; but I was so distressed for want of
            water that I scarce knew whether to be glad or sorry at the thought, and long
            before I had come to a conclusion, surprise had taken entire possession of my mind
            and I could do nothing but stare and wonder.
         </p>
         
         <p>The HISPANIOLA was under her main-sail and two jibs, and the beautiful white
            canvas shone in the sun like snow or silver. When I first sighted her, all her
            sails were drawing; she was lying a course about north-west, and I presumed the
            men on board were going round the island on their way back to the anchorage.
            Presently she began to fetch more and more to the westward, so that I thought they
            had sighted me and were going about in chase. At last, however, she fell right
            into the wind's eye, was taken dead aback, and stood there awhile helpless, with
            her sails shivering.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Clumsy fellows," said I; "they must still be drunk as owls." And I thought how
            Captain Smollett would have set them skipping.
         </p>
         
         <p>Meanwhile the schooner gradually fell off and filled again upon another tack,
            sailed swiftly for a minute or so, and brought up once more dead in the wind's
            eye. Again and again was this repeated. To and fro, up and down, north, south,
            east, and west, the HISPANIOLA sailed by swoops and dashes, and at each repetition
            ended as she had begun, with idly flapping canvas. It became plain to me that
            nobody was steering. And if so, where were the men? Either they were dead drunk or
            had deserted her, I thought, and perhaps if I could get on board I might return
            the vessel to her captain.
         </p>
         
         <p>The current was bearing coracle and schooner southward at an equal rate. As for
            the latter's sailing, it was so wild and intermittent, and she hung each time so
            long in irons, that she certainly gained nothing, if she did not even lose. If
            only I dared to sit up and paddle, I made sure that I could overhaul her. The
            scheme had an air of adventure that inspired me, and the thought of the water
            breaker beside the fore companion doubled my growing courage.
         </p>
         
         <p>Up I got, was welcomed almost instantly by another cloud of spray, but this time
            stuck to my purpose and set myself, with all my strength and caution, to paddle
            after the unsteered HISPANIOLA. Once I shipped a sea so heavy that I had to stop
            and bail, with my heart fluttering like a bird, but gradually I got into the way
            of the thing and guided my coracle among the waves, with only now and then a blow
            upon her bows and a dash of foam in my face.
         </p>
         
         <p>I was now gaining rapidly on the schooner; I could see the brass glisten on the
            tiller as it banged about, and still no soul appeared upon her decks. I could not
            choose but suppose she was deserted. If not, the men were lying drunk below, where
            I might batten them down, perhaps, and do what I chose with the ship.
         </p>
         
         <p>For some time she had been doing the worse thing possible for me—standing still.
            She headed nearly due south, yawing, of course, all the time. Each time she fell
            off, her sails partly filled, and these brought her in a moment right to the wind
            again. I have said this was the worst thing possible for me, for helpless as she
            looked in this situation, with the canvas cracking like cannon and the blocks
            trundling and banging on the deck, she still continued to run away from me, not
            only with the speed of the current, but by the whole amount of her leeway, which
            was naturally great.
         </p>
         
         <p>But now, at last, I had my chance. The breeze fell for some seconds, very low, and
            the current gradually turning her, the HISPANIOLA revolved slowly round her centre
            and at last presented me her stern, with the cabin window still gaping open and
            the lamp over the table still burning on into the day. The main-sail hung drooped
            like a banner. She was stock-still but for the current.
         </p>
         
         <p>For the last little while I had even lost, but now redoubling my efforts, I began
            once more to overhaul the chase.
         </p>
         
         <p>I was not a hundred yards from her when the wind came again in a clap; she filled
            on the port tack and was off again, stooping and skimming like a swallow.
         </p>
         
         <p>My first impulse was one of despair, but my second was towards joy. Round she
            came, till she was broadside on to me—round still till she had covered a half and
            then two thirds and then three quarters of the distance that separated us. I could
            see the waves boiling white under her forefoot. Immensely tall she looked to me
            from my low station in the coracle.
         </p>
         
         <p>And then, of a sudden, I began to comprehend. I had scarce time to think—scarce
            time to act and save myself. I was on the summit of one swell when the schooner
            came stooping over the next. The bowsprit was over my head. I sprang to my feet
            and leaped, stamping the coracle under water. With one hand I caught the jib-boom,
            while my foot was lodged between the stay and the brace; and as I still clung
            there panting, a dull blow told me that the schooner had charged down upon and
            struck the coracle and that I was left without retreat on the HISPANIOLA.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">I Strike the Jolly Roger</span>
         
         <p>I HAD scarce gained a position on the bowsprit when the flying jib flapped and
            filled upon the other tack, with a report like a gun. The schooner trembled to her
            keel under the reverse, but next moment, the other sails still drawing, the jib
            flapped back again and hung idle.
         </p>
         
         <p>This had nearly tossed me off into the sea; and now I lost no time, crawled back
            along the bowsprit, and tumbled head foremost on the deck.
         </p>
         
         <p>I was on the lee side of the forecastle, and the mainsail, which was still
            drawing, concealed from me a certain portion of the after-deck. Not a soul was to
            be seen. The planks, which had not been swabbed since the mutiny, bore the print
            of many feet, and an empty bottle, broken by the neck, tumbled to and fro like a
            live thing in the scuppers.
         </p>
         
         <p>Suddenly the HISPANIOLA came right into the wind. The jibs behind me cracked
            aloud, the rudder slammed to, the whole ship gave a sickening heave and shudder,
            and at the same moment the main-boom swung inboard, the sheet groaning in the
            blocks, and showed me the lee after-deck.
         </p>
         
         <p>There were the two watchmen, sure enough: red-cap on his back, as stiff as a
            handspike, with his arms stretched out like those of a crucifix and his teeth
            showing through his open lips; Israel Hands propped against the bulwarks, his chin
            on his chest, his hands lying open before him on the deck, his face as white,
            under its tan, as a tallow candle.
         </p>
         
         <p>For a while the ship kept bucking and sidling like a vicious horse, the sails
            filling, now on one tack, now on another, and the boom swinging to and fro till
            the mast groaned aloud under the strain. Now and again too there would come a
            cloud of light sprays over the bulwark and a heavy blow of the ship's bows against
            the swell; so much heavier weather was made of it by this great rigged ship than
            by my home-made, lop-sided coracle, now gone to the bottom of the sea.
         </p>
         
         <p>At every jump of the schooner, red-cap slipped to and fro, but—what was ghastly to
            behold—neither his attitude nor his fixed teeth-disclosing grin was anyway
            disturbed by this rough usage. At every jump too, Hands appeared still more to
            sink into himself and settle down upon the deck, his feet sliding ever the farther
            out, and the whole body canting towards the stern, so that his face became, little
            by little, hid from me; and at last I could see nothing beyond his ear and the
            frayed ringlet of one whisker.
         </p>
         
         <p>At the same time, I observed, around both of them, splashes of dark blood upon the
            planks and began to feel sure that they had killed each other in their drunken
            wrath.
         </p>
         
         <p>While I was thus looking and wondering, in a calm moment, when the ship was still,
            Israel Hands turned partly round and with a low moan writhed himself back to the
            position in which I had seen him first. The moan, which told of pain and deadly
            weakness, and the way in which his jaw hung open went right to my heart. But when
            I remembered the talk I had overheard from the apple barrel, all pity left me.
         </p>
         
         <p>I walked aft until I reached the main-mast.</p>
         
         <p>"Come aboard, Mr. Hands," I said ironically.</p>
         
         <p>He rolled his eyes round heavily, but he was too far gone to express surprise. All
            he could do was to utter one word, "Brandy."
         </p>
         
         <p>It occurred to me there was no time to lose, and dodging the boom as it once more
            lurched across the deck, I slipped aft and down the companion stairs into the
            cabin.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was such a scene of confusion as you can hardly fancy. All the lockfast places
            had been broken open in quest of the chart. The floor was thick with mud where
            ruffians had sat down to drink or consult after wading in the marshes round their
            camp. The bulkheads, all painted in clear white and beaded round with gilt, bore a
            pattern of dirty hands. Dozens of empty bottles clinked together in corners to the
            rolling of the ship. One of the doctor's medical books lay open on the table, half
            of the leaves gutted out, I suppose, for pipelights. In the midst of all this the
            lamp still cast a smoky glow, obscure and brown as umber.
         </p>
         
         <p>I went into the cellar; all the barrels were gone, and of the bottles a most
            surprising number had been drunk out and thrown away. Certainly, since the mutiny
            began, not a man of them could ever have been sober.
         </p>
         
         <p>Foraging about, I found a bottle with some brandy left, for Hands; and for myself
            I routed out some biscuit, some pickled fruits, a great bunch of raisins, and a
            piece of cheese. With these I came on deck, put down my own stock behind the
            rudder head and well out of the coxswain's reach, went forward to the
            water-breaker, and had a good deep drink of water, and then, and not till then,
            gave Hands the brandy.
         </p>
         
         <p>He must have drunk a gill before he took the bottle from his mouth.</p>
         
         <p>"Aye," said he, "by thunder, but I wanted some o' that!"</p>
         
         <p>I had sat down already in my own corner and begun to eat.</p>
         
         <p>"Much hurt?" I asked him.</p>
         
         <p>He grunted, or rather, I might say, he barked.</p>
         
         <p>"If that doctor was aboard," he said, "I'd be right enough in a couple of turns,
            but I don't have no manner of luck, you see, and that's what's the matter with me.
            As for that swab, he's good and dead, he is," he added, indicating the man with
            the red cap. "He warn't no seaman anyhow. And where mought you have come
            from?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well," said I, "I've come aboard to take possession of this ship, Mr. Hands; and
            you'll please regard me as your captain until further notice."
         </p>
         
         <p>He looked at me sourly enough but said nothing. Some of the colour had come back
            into his cheeks, though he still looked very sick and still continued to slip out
            and settle down as the ship banged about.
         </p>
         
         <p>"By the by," I continued, "I can't have these colours, Mr. Hands; and by your
            leave, I'll strike 'em. Better none than these."
         </p>
         
         <p>And again dodging the boom, I ran to the colour lines, handed down their cursed
            black flag, and chucked it overboard.
         </p>
         
         <p>"God save the king!" said I, waving my cap. "And there's an end to Captain
            Silver!"
         </p>
         
         <p>He watched me keenly and slyly, his chin all the while on his breast.</p>
         
         <p>"I reckon," he said at last, "I reckon, Cap'n Hawkins, you'll kind of want to get
            ashore now. S'pose we talks."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Why, yes," says I, "with all my heart, Mr. Hands. Say on." And I went back to my
            meal with a good appetite.
         </p>
         
         <p>"This man," he began, nodding feebly at the corpse "—O'Brien were his name, a rank
            Irelander—this man and me got the canvas on her, meaning for to sail her back.
            Well, HE'S dead now, he is—as dead as bilge; and who's to sail this ship, I don't
            see. Without I gives you a hint, you ain't that man, as far's I can tell. Now,
            look here, you gives me food and drink and a old scarf or ankecher to tie my wound
            up, you do, and I'll tell you how to sail her, and that's about square all round,
            I take it."
         </p>
         
         <p>"I'll tell you one thing," says I: "I'm not going back to Captain Kidd's
            anchorage. I mean to get into North Inlet and beach her quietly there."
         </p>
         
         <p>"To be sure you did," he cried. "Why, I ain't sich an infernal lubber after all. I
            can see, can't I? I've tried my fling, I have, and I've lost, and it's you has the
            wind of me. North Inlet? Why, I haven't no ch'ice, not I! I'd help you sail her up
            to Execution Dock, by thunder! So I would."
         </p>
         
         <p>Well, as it seemed to me, there was some sense in this. We struck our bargain on
            the spot. In three minutes I had the HISPANIOLA sailing easily before the wind
            along the coast of Treasure Island, with good hopes of turning the northern point
            ere noon and beating down again as far as North Inlet before high water, when we
            might beach her safely and wait till the subsiding tide permitted us to land.
         </p>
         
         <p>Then I lashed the tiller and went below to my own chest, where I got a soft silk
            handkerchief of my mother's. With this, and with my aid, Hands bound up the great
            bleeding stab he had received in the thigh, and after he had eaten a little and
            had a swallow or two more of the brandy, he began to pick up visibly, sat
            straighter up, spoke louder and clearer, and looked in every way another man.
         </p>
         
         <p>The breeze served us admirably. We skimmed before it like a bird, the coast of the
            island flashing by and the view changing every minute. Soon we were past the high
            lands and bowling beside low, sandy country, sparsely dotted with dwarf pines, and
            soon we were beyond that again and had turned the corner of the rocky hill that
            ends the island on the north.
         </p>
         
         <p>I was greatly elated with my new command, and pleased with the bright, sunshiny
            weather and these different prospects of the coast. I had now plenty of water and
            good things to eat, and my conscience, which had smitten me hard for my desertion,
            was quieted by the great conquest I had made. I should, I think, have had nothing
            left me to desire but for the eyes of the coxswain as they followed me derisively
            about the deck and the odd smile that appeared continually on his face. It was a
            smile that had in it something both of pain and weakness—a haggard old man's
            smile; but there was, besides that, a grain of derision, a shadow of treachery, in
            his expression as he craftily watched, and watched, and watched me at my work.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">Israel Hands</span>
         
         <p>THE wind, serving us to a desire, now hauled into the west. We could run so much
            the easier from the north-east corner of the island to the mouth of the North
            Inlet. Only, as we had no power to anchor and dared not beach her till the tide
            had flowed a good deal farther, time hung on our hands. The coxswain told me how
            to lay the ship to; after a good many trials I succeeded, and we both sat in
            silence over another meal.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Cap'n," said he at length with that same uncomfortable smile, "here's my old
            shipmate, O'Brien; s'pose you was to heave him overboard. I ain't partic'lar as a
            rule, and I don't take no blame for settling his hash, but I don't reckon him
            ornamental now, do you?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"I'm not strong enough, and I don't like the job; and there he lies, for me," said
            I.
         </p>
         
         <p>"This here's an unlucky ship, this HISPANIOLA, Jim," he went on, blinking.
            "There's a power of men been killed in this HISPANIOLA—a sight o' poor seamen dead
            and gone since you and me took ship to Bristol. I never seen sich dirty luck, not
            I. There was this here O'Brien now—he's dead, ain't he? Well now, I'm no scholar,
            and you're a lad as can read and figure, and to put it straight, do you take it as
            a dead man is dead for good, or do he come alive again?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"You can kill the body, Mr. Hands, but not the spirit; you must know that
            already," I replied. "O'Brien there is in another world, and may be watching
            us."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ah!" says he. "Well, that's unfort'nate—appears as if killing parties was a waste
            of time. Howsomever, sperrits don't reckon for much, by what I've seen. I'll
            chance it with the sperrits, Jim. And now, you've spoke up free, and I'll take it
            kind if you'd step down into that there cabin and get me a—well, a—shiver my
            timbers! I can't hit the name on 't; well, you get me a bottle of wine, Jim—this
            here brandy's too strong for my head."
         </p>
         
         <p>Now, the coxswain's hesitation seemed to be unnatural, and as for the notion of
            his preferring wine to brandy, I entirely disbelieved it. The whole story was a
            pretext. He wanted me to leave the deck—so much was plain; but with what purpose I
            could in no way imagine. His eyes never met mine; they kept wandering to and fro,
            up and down, now with a look to the sky, now with a flitting glance upon the dead
            O'Brien. All the time he kept smiling and putting his tongue out in the most
            guilty, embarrassed manner, so that a child could have told that he was bent on
            some deception. I was prompt with my answer, however, for I saw where my advantage
            lay and that with a fellow so densely stupid I could easily conceal my suspicions
            to the end.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Some wine?" I said. "Far better. Will you have white or red?"</p>
         
         <p>"Well, I reckon it's about the blessed same to me, shipmate," he replied; "so it's
            strong, and plenty of it, what's the odds?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"All right," I answered. "I'll bring you port, Mr. Hands. But I'll have to dig for
            it."
         </p>
         
         <p>With that I scuttled down the companion with all the noise I could, slipped off my
            shoes, ran quietly along the sparred gallery, mounted the forecastle ladder, and
            popped my head out of the fore companion. I knew he would not expect to see me
            there, yet I took every precaution possible, and certainly the worst of my
            suspicions proved too true.
         </p>
         
         <p>He had risen from his position to his hands and knees, and though his leg
            obviously hurt him pretty sharply when he moved—for I could hear him stifle a
            groan—yet it was at a good, rattling rate that he trailed himself across the deck.
            In half a minute he had reached the port scuppers and picked, out of a coil of
            rope, a long knife, or rather a short dirk, discoloured to the hilt with blood. He
            looked upon it for a moment, thrusting forth his under jaw, tried the point upon
            his hand, and then, hastily concealing it in the bosom of his jacket, trundled
            back again into his old place against the bulwark.
         </p>
         
         <p>This was all that I required to know. Israel could move about, he was now armed,
            and if he had been at so much trouble to get rid of me, it was plain that I was
            meant to be the victim. What he would do afterwards—whether he would try to crawl
            right across the island from North Inlet to the camp among the swamps or whether
            he would fire Long Tom, trusting that his own comrades might come first to help
            him—was, of course, more than I could say.
         </p>
         
         <p>Yet I felt sure that I could trust him in one point, since in that our interests
            jumped together, and that was in the disposition of the schooner. We both desired
            to have her stranded safe enough, in a sheltered place, and so that, when the time
            came, she could be got off again with as little labour and danger as might be; and
            until that was done I considered that my life would certainly be spared.
         </p>
         
         <p>While I was thus turning the business over in my mind, I had not been idle with my
            body. I had stolen back to the cabin, slipped once more into my shoes, and laid my
            hand at random on a bottle of wine, and now, with this for an excuse, I made my
            reappearance on the deck.
         </p>
         
         <p>Hands lay as I had left him, all fallen together in a bundle and with his eyelids
            lowered as though he were too weak to bear the light. He looked up, however, at my
            coming, knocked the neck off the bottle like a man who had done the same thing
            often, and took a good swig, with his favourite toast of "Here's luck!" Then he
            lay quiet for a little, and then, pulling out a stick of tobacco, begged me to cut
            him a quid.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Cut me a junk o' that," says he, "for I haven't no knife and hardly strength
            enough, so be as I had. Ah, Jim, Jim, I reckon I've missed stays! Cut me a quid,
            as'll likely be the last, lad, for I'm for my long home, and no mistake."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well," said I, "I'll cut you some tobacco, but if I was you and thought myself so
            badly, I would go to my prayers like a Christian man."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Why?" said he. "Now, you tell me why."</p>
         
         <p>"Why?" I cried. "You were asking me just now about the dead. You've broken your
            trust; you've lived in sin and lies and blood; there's a man you killed lying at
            your feet this moment, and you ask me why! For God's mercy, Mr. Hands, that's
            why."
         </p>
         
         <p>I spoke with a little heat, thinking of the bloody dirk he had hidden in his
            pocket and designed, in his ill thoughts, to end me with. He, for his part, took a
            great draught of the wine and spoke with the most unusual solemnity.
         </p>
         
         <p>"For thirty years," he said, "I've sailed the seas and seen good and bad, better
            and worse, fair weather and foul, provisions running out, knives going, and what
            not. Well, now I tell you, I never seen good come o' goodness yet. Him as strikes
            first is my fancy; dead men don't bite; them's my views—amen, so be it. And now,
            you look here," he added, suddenly changing his tone, "we've had about enough of
            this foolery. The tide's made good enough by now. You just take my orders, Cap'n
            Hawkins, and we'll sail slap in and be done with it."
         </p>
         
         <p>All told, we had scarce two miles to run; but the navigation was delicate, the
            entrance to this northern anchorage was not only narrow and shoal, but lay east
            and west, so that the schooner must be nicely handled to be got in. I think I was
            a good, prompt subaltern, and I am very sure that Hands was an excellent pilot,
            for we went about and about and dodged in, shaving the banks, with a certainty and
            a neatness that were a pleasure to behold.
         </p>
         
         <p>Scarcely had we passed the heads before the land closed around us. The shores of
            North Inlet were as thickly wooded as those of the southern anchorage, but the
            space was longer and narrower and more like, what in truth it was, the estuary of
            a river. Right before us, at the southern end, we saw the wreck of a ship in the
            last stages of dilapidation. It had been a great vessel of three masts but had
            lain so long exposed to the injuries of the weather that it was hung about with
            great webs of dripping seaweed, and on the deck of it shore bushes had taken root
            and now flourished thick with flowers. It was a sad sight, but it showed us that
            the anchorage was calm.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now," said Hands, "look there; there's a pet bit for to beach a ship in. Fine
            flat sand, never a cat's paw, trees all around of it, and flowers a-blowing like a
            garding on that old ship."
         </p>
         
         <p>"And once beached," I inquired, "how shall we get her off again?"</p>
         
         <p>"Why, so," he replied: "you take a line ashore there on the other side at low
            water, take a turn about one of them big pines; bring it back, take a turn around
            the capstan, and lie to for the tide. Come high water, all hands take a pull upon
            the line, and off she comes as sweet as natur'. And now, boy, you stand by. We're
            near the bit now, and she's too much way on her. Starboard a
            little—so—steady—starboard—larboard a little—steady—steady!"
         </p>
         
         <p>So he issued his commands, which I breathlessly obeyed, till, all of a sudden, he
            cried, "Now, my hearty, luff!" And I put the helm hard up, and the HISPANIOLA
            swung round rapidly and ran stem on for the low, wooded shore.
         </p>
         
         <p>The excitement of these last manoeuvres had somewhat interfered with the watch I
            had kept hitherto, sharply enough, upon the coxswain. Even then I was still so
            much interested, waiting for the ship to touch, that I had quite forgot the peril
            that hung over my head and stood craning over the starboard bulwarks and watching
            the ripples spreading wide before the bows. I might have fallen without a struggle
            for my life had not a sudden disquietude seized upon me and made me turn my head.
            Perhaps I had heard a creak or seen his shadow moving with the tail of my eye;
            perhaps it was an instinct like a cat's; but, sure enough, when I looked round,
            there was Hands, already half-way towards me, with the dirk in his right hand.
         </p>
         
         <p>We must both have cried out aloud when our eyes met, but while mine was the shrill
            cry of terror, his was a roar of fury like a charging bully's. At the same
            instant, he threw himself forward and I leapt sideways towards the bows. As I did
            so, I let go of the tiller, which sprang sharp to leeward, and I think this saved
            my life, for it struck Hands across the chest and stopped him, for the moment,
            dead.
         </p>
         
         <p>Before he could recover, I was safe out of the corner where he had me trapped,
            with all the deck to dodge about. Just forward of the main-mast I stopped, drew a
            pistol from my pocket, took a cool aim, though he had already turned and was once
            more coming directly after me, and drew the trigger. The hammer fell, but there
            followed neither flash nor sound; the priming was useless with sea-water. I cursed
            myself for my neglect. Why had not I, long before, reprimed and reloaded my only
            weapons? Then I should not have been as now, a mere fleeing sheep before this
            butcher.
         </p>
         
         <p>Wounded as he was, it was wonderful how fast he could move, his grizzled hair
            tumbling over his face, and his face itself as red as a red ensign with his haste
            and fury. I had no time to try my other pistol, nor indeed much inclination, for I
            was sure it would be useless. One thing I saw plainly: I must not simply retreat
            before him, or he would speedily hold me boxed into the bows, as a moment since he
            had so nearly boxed me in the stern. Once so caught, and nine or ten inches of the
            blood-stained dirk would be my last experience on this side of eternity. I placed
            my palms against the main-mast, which was of a goodish bigness, and waited, every
            nerve upon the stretch.
         </p>
         
         <p>Seeing that I meant to dodge, he also paused; and a moment or two passed in feints
            on his part and corresponding movements upon mine. It was such a game as I had
            often played at home about the rocks of Black Hill Cove, but never before, you may
            be sure, with such a wildly beating heart as now. Still, as I say, it was a boy's
            game, and I thought I could hold my own at it against an elderly seaman with a
            wounded thigh. Indeed my courage had begun to rise so high that I allowed myself a
            few darting thoughts on what would be the end of the affair, and while I saw
            certainly that I could spin it out for long, I saw no hope of any ultimate
            escape.
         </p>
         
         <p>Well, while things stood thus, suddenly the HISPANIOLA struck, staggered, ground
            for an instant in the sand, and then, swift as a blow, canted over to the port
            side till the deck stood at an angle of forty-five degrees and about a puncheon of
            water splashed into the scupper holes and lay, in a pool, between the deck and
            bulwark.
         </p>
         
         <p>We were both of us capsized in a second, and both of us rolled, almost together,
            into the scuppers, the dead red-cap, with his arms still spread out, tumbling
            stiffly after us. So near were we, indeed, that my head came against the
            coxswain's foot with a crack that made my teeth rattle. Blow and all, I was the
            first afoot again, for Hands had got involved with the dead body. The sudden
            canting of the ship had made the deck no place for running on; I had to find some
            new way of escape, and that upon the instant, for my foe was almost touching me.
            Quick as thought, I sprang into the mizzen shrouds, rattled up hand over hand, and
            did not draw a breath till I was seated on the cross-trees.
         </p>
         
         <p>I had been saved by being prompt; the dirk had struck not half a foot below me as
            I pursued my upward flight; and there stood Israel Hands with his mouth open and
            his face upturned to mine, a perfect statue of surprise and disappointment.
         </p>
         
         <p>Now that I had a moment to myself, I lost no time in changing the priming of my
            pistol, and then, having one ready for service, and to make assurance doubly sure,
            I proceeded to draw the load of the other and recharge it afresh from the
            beginning.
         </p>
         
         <p>My new employment struck Hands all of a heap; he began to see the dice going
            against him, and after an obvious hesitation, he also hauled himself heavily into
            the shrouds, and with the dirk in his teeth, began slowly and painfully to mount.
            It cost him no end of time and groans to haul his wounded leg behind him, and I
            had quietly finished my arrangements before he was much more than a third of the
            way up. Then, with a pistol in either hand, I addressed him.
         </p>
         
         <p>"One more step, Mr. Hands," said I, "and I'll blow your brains out! Dead men don't
            bite, you know," I added with a chuckle.
         </p>
         
         <p>He stopped instantly. I could see by the working of his face that he was trying to
            think, and the process was so slow and laborious that, in my new-found security, I
            laughed aloud. At last, with a swallow or two, he spoke, his face still wearing
            the same expression of extreme perplexity. In order to speak he had to take the
            dagger from his mouth, but in all else he remained unmoved.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Jim," says he, "I reckon we're fouled, you and me, and we'll have to sign
            articles. I'd have had you but for that there lurch, but I don't have no luck, not
            I; and I reckon I'll have to strike, which comes hard, you see, for a master
            mariner to a ship's younker like you, Jim."
         </p>
         
         <p>I was drinking in his words and smiling away, as conceited as a cock upon a wall,
            when, all in a breath, back went his right hand over his shoulder. Something sang
            like an arrow through the air; I felt a blow and then a sharp pang, and there I
            was pinned by the shoulder to the mast. In the horrid pain and surprise of the
            moment—I scarce can say it was by my own volition, and I am sure it was without a
            conscious aim—both my pistols went off, and both escaped out of my hands. They did
            not fall alone; with a choked cry, the coxswain loosed his grasp upon the shrouds
            and plunged head first into the water.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="chapterHeader">"Pieces of Eight"</span>
         
         <p>OWING to the cant of the vessel, the masts hung far out over the water, and from
            my perch on the cross-trees I had nothing below me but the surface of the bay.
            Hands, who was not so far up, was in consequence nearer to the ship and fell
            between me and the bulwarks. He rose once to the surface in a lather of foam and
            blood and then sank again for good. As the water settled, I could see him lying
            huddled together on the clean, bright sand in the shadow of the vessel's sides. A
            fish or two whipped past his body. Sometimes, by the quivering of the water, he
            appeared to move a little, as if he were trying to rise. But he was dead enough,
            for all that, being both shot and drowned, and was food for fish in the very place
            where he had designed my slaughter.
         </p>
         
         <p>I was no sooner certain of this than I began to feel sick, faint, and terrified.
            The hot blood was running over my back and chest. The dirk, where it had pinned my
            shoulder to the mast, seemed to burn like a hot iron; yet it was not so much these
            real sufferings that distressed me, for these, it seemed to me, I could bear
            without a murmur; it was the horror I had upon my mind of falling from the
            cross-trees into that still green water, beside the body of the coxswain.
         </p>
         
         <p>I clung with both hands till my nails ached, and I shut my eyes as if to cover up
            the peril. Gradually my mind came back again, my pulses quieted down to a more
            natural time, and I was once more in possession of myself.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was my first thought to pluck forth the dirk, but either it stuck too hard or
            my nerve failed me, and I desisted with a violent shudder. Oddly enough, that very
            shudder did the business. The knife, in fact, had come the nearest in the world to
            missing me altogether; it held me by a mere pinch of skin, and this the shudder
            tore away. The blood ran down the faster, to be sure, but I was my own master
            again and only tacked to the mast by my coat and shirt.
         </p>
         
         <p>These last I broke through with a sudden jerk, and then regained the deck by the
            starboard shrouds. For nothing in the world would I have again ventured, shaken as
            I was, upon the overhanging port shrouds from which Israel had so lately
            fallen.
         </p>
         
         <p>I went below and did what I could for my wound; it pained me a good deal and still
            bled freely, but it was neither deep nor dangerous, nor did it greatly gall me
            when I used my arm. Then I looked around me, and as the ship was now, in a sense,
            my own, I began to think of clearing it from its last passenger—the dead man,
            O'Brien.
         </p>
         
         <p>He had pitched, as I have said, against the bulwarks, where he lay like some
            horrible, ungainly sort of puppet, life-size, indeed, but how different from
            life's colour or life's comeliness! In that position I could easily have my way
            with him, and as the habit of tragical adventures had worn off almost all my
            terror for the dead, I took him by the waist as if he had been a sack of bran and
            with one good heave, tumbled him overboard. He went in with a sounding plunge; the
            red cap came off and remained floating on the surface; and as soon as the splash
            subsided, I could see him and Israel lying side by side, both wavering with the
            tremulous movement of the water. O'Brien, though still quite a young man, was very
            bald. There he lay, with that bald head across the knees of the man who had killed
            him and the quick fishes steering to and fro over both.
         </p>
         
         <p>I was now alone upon the ship; the tide had just turned. The sun was within so few
            degrees of setting that already the shadow of the pines upon the western shore
            began to reach right across the anchorage and fall in patterns on the deck. The
            evening breeze had sprung up, and though it was well warded off by the hill with
            the two peaks upon the east, the cordage had begun to sing a little softly to
            itself and the idle sails to rattle to and fro.
         </p>
         
         <p>I began to see a danger to the ship. The jibs I speedily doused and brought
            tumbling to the deck, but the main-sail was a harder matter. Of course, when the
            schooner canted over, the boom had swung out-board, and the cap of it and a foot
            or two of sail hung even under water. I thought this made it still more dangerous;
            yet the strain was so heavy that I half feared to meddle. At last I got my knife
            and cut the halyards. The peak dropped instantly, a great belly of loose canvas
            floated broad upon the water, and since, pull as I liked, I could not budge the
            downhall, that was the extent of what I could accomplish. For the rest, the
            HISPANIOLA must trust to luck, like myself.
         </p>
         
         <p>By this time the whole anchorage had fallen into shadow—the last rays, I remember,
            falling through a glade of the wood and shining bright as jewels on the flowery
            mantle of the wreck. It began to be chill; the tide was rapidly fleeting seaward,
            the schooner settling more and more on her beam-ends.
         </p>
         
         <p>I scrambled forward and looked over. It seemed shallow enough, and holding the cut
            hawser in both hands for a last security, I let myself drop softly overboard. The
            water scarcely reached my waist; the sand was firm and covered with ripple marks,
            and I waded ashore in great spirits, leaving the HISPANIOLA on her side, with her
            main-sail trailing wide upon the surface of the bay. About the same time, the sun
            went fairly down and the breeze whistled low in the dusk among the tossing
            pines.
         </p>
         
         <p>At least, and at last, I was off the sea, nor had I returned thence empty-handed.
            There lay the schooner, clear at last from buccaneers and ready for our own men to
            board and get to sea again. I had nothing nearer my fancy than to get home to the
            stockade and boast of my achievements. Possibly I might be blamed a bit for my
            truantry, but the recapture of the HISPANIOLA was a clenching answer, and I hoped
            that even Captain Smollett would confess I had not lost my time.
         </p>
         
         <p>So thinking, and in famous spirits, I began to set my face homeward for the block
            house and my companions. I remembered that the most easterly of the rivers which
            drain into Captain Kidd's anchorage ran from the two-peaked hill upon my left, and
            I bent my course in that direction that I might pass the stream while it was
            small. The wood was pretty open, and keeping along the lower spurs, I had soon
            turned the corner of that hill, and not long after waded to the mid-calf across
            the watercourse.
         </p>
         
         <p>This brought me near to where I had encountered Ben Gunn, the maroon; and I walked
            more circumspectly, keeping an eye on every side. The dusk had come nigh hand
            completely, and as I opened out the cleft between the two peaks, I became aware of
            a wavering glow against the sky, where, as I judged, the man of the island was
            cooking his supper before a roaring fire. And yet I wondered, in my heart, that he
            should show himself so careless. For if I could see this radiance, might it not
            reach the eyes of Silver himself where he camped upon the shore among the
            marshes?
         </p>
         
         <p>Gradually the night fell blacker; it was all I could do to guide myself even
            roughly towards my destination; the double hill behind me and the Spy-glass on my
            right hand loomed faint and fainter; the stars were few and pale; and in the low
            ground where I wandered I kept tripping among bushes and rolling into sandy
            pits.
         </p>
         
         <p>Suddenly a kind of brightness fell about me. I looked up; a pale glimmer of
            moonbeams had alighted on the summit of the Spy-glass, and soon after I saw
            something broad and silvery moving low down behind the trees, and knew the moon
            had risen.
         </p>
         
         <p>With this to help me, I passed rapidly over what remained to me of my journey, and
            sometimes walking, sometimes running, impatiently drew near to the stockade. Yet,
            as I began to thread the grove that lies before it, I was not so thoughtless but
            that I slacked my pace and went a trifle warily. It would have been a poor end of
            my adventures to get shot down by my own party in mistake.
         </p>
         
         <p>The moon was climbing higher and higher, its light began to fall here and there in
            masses through the more open districts of the wood, and right in front of me a
            glow of a different colour appeared among the trees. It was red and hot, and now
            and again it was a little darkened—as it were, the embers of a bonfire
            smouldering.
         </p>
         
         <p>For the life of me I could not think what it might be.</p>
         
         <p>At last I came right down upon the borders of the clearing. The western end was
            already steeped in moonshine; the rest, and the block house itself, still lay in a
            black shadow chequered with long silvery streaks of light. On the other side of
            the house an immense fire had burned itself into clear embers and shed a steady,
            red reverberation, contrasted strongly with the mellow paleness of the moon. There
            was not a soul stirring nor a sound beside the noises of the breeze.
         </p>
         
         <p>I stopped, with much wonder in my heart, and perhaps a little terror also. It had
            not been our way to build great fires; we were, indeed, by the captain's orders,
            somewhat niggardly of firewood, and I began to fear that something had gone wrong
            while I was absent.
         </p>
         
         <p>I stole round by the eastern end, keeping close in shadow, and at a convenient
            place, where the darkness was thickest, crossed the palisade.
         </p>
         
         <p>To make assurance surer, I got upon my hands and knees and crawled, without a
            sound, towards the corner of the house. As I drew nearer, my heart was suddenly
            and greatly lightened. It is not a pleasant noise in itself, and I have often
            complained of it at other times, but just then it was like music to hear my
            friends snoring together so loud and peaceful in their sleep. The sea-cry of the
            watch, that beautiful "All's well," never fell more reassuringly on my ear.
         </p>
         
         <p>In the meantime, there was no doubt of one thing; they kept an infamous bad watch.
            If it had been Silver and his lads that were now creeping in on them, not a soul
            would have seen daybreak. That was what it was, thought I, to have the captain
            wounded; and again I blamed myself sharply for leaving them in that danger with so
            few to mount guard.
         </p>
         
         <p>By this time I had got to the door and stood up. All was dark within, so that I
            could distinguish nothing by the eye. As for sounds, there was the steady drone of
            the snorers and a small occasional noise, a flickering or pecking that I could in
            no way account for.
         </p>
         
         <p>With my arms before me I walked steadily in. I should lie down in my own place (I
            thought with a silent chuckle) and enjoy their faces when they found me in the
            morning.
         </p>
         
         <p>My foot struck something yielding—it was a sleeper's leg; and he turned and
            groaned, but without awaking.
         </p>
         
         <p>And then, all of a sudden, a shrill voice broke forth out of the darkness:</p>
         
         <p>"Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight! Pieces of
            eight!" and so forth, without pause or change, like the clacking of a tiny
            mill.
         </p>
         
         <p>Silver's green parrot, Captain Flint! It was she whom I had heard pecking at a
            piece of bark; it was she, keeping better watch than any human being, who thus
            announced my arrival with her wearisome refrain.
         </p>
         
         <p>I had no time left me to recover. At the sharp, clipping tone of the parrot, the
            sleepers awoke and sprang up; and with a mighty oath, the voice of Silver cried,
            "Who goes?"
         </p>
         
         <p>I turned to run, struck violently against one person, recoiled, and ran full into
            the arms of a second, who for his part closed upon and held me tight.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Bring a torch, Dick," said Silver when my capture was thus assured.</p>
         
         <p>And one of the men left the log-house and presently returned with a lighted
            brand.
         </p>
         
         
         
         <span class="partHeader">PART SIX—Captain Silver</span>
         
         <span class="partHeader">In the Enemy's Camp</span>
         
         <p>THE red glare of the torch, lighting up the interior of the block house, showed me
            the worst of my apprehensions realized. The pirates were in possession of the
            house and stores: there was the cask of cognac, there were the pork and bread, as
            before, and what tenfold increased my horror, not a sign of any prisoner. I could
            only judge that all had perished, and my heart smote me sorely that I had not been
            there to perish with them.
         </p>
         
         <p>There were six of the buccaneers, all told; not another man was left alive. Five
            of them were on their feet, flushed and swollen, suddenly called out of the first
            sleep of drunkenness. The sixth had only risen upon his elbow; he was deadly pale,
            and the blood-stained bandage round his head told that he had recently been
            wounded, and still more recently dressed. I remembered the man who had been shot
            and had run back among the woods in the great attack, and doubted not that this
            was he.
         </p>
         
         <p>The parrot sat, preening her plumage, on Long John's shoulder. He himself, I
            thought, looked somewhat paler and more stern than I was used to. He still wore
            the fine broadcloth suit in which he had fulfilled his mission, but it was
            bitterly the worse for wear, daubed with clay and torn with the sharp briers of
            the wood.
         </p>
         
         <p>"So," said he, "here's Jim Hawkins, shiver my timbers! Dropped in, like, eh? Well,
            come, I take that friendly."
         </p>
         
         <p>And thereupon he sat down across the brandy cask and began to fill a pipe.</p>
         
         <p>"Give me a loan of the link, Dick," said he; and then, when he had a good light,
            "That'll do, lad," he added; "stick the glim in the wood heap; and you, gentlemen,
            bring yourselves to! You needn't stand up for Mr. Hawkins; HE'LL excuse you, you
            may lay to that. And so, Jim"—stopping the tobacco—"here you were, and quite a
            pleasant surprise for poor old John. I see you were smart when first I set my eyes
            on you, but this here gets away from me clean, it do."
         </p>
         
         <p>To all this, as may be well supposed, I made no answer. They had set me with my
            back against the wall, and I stood there, looking Silver in the face, pluckily
            enough, I hope, to all outward appearance, but with black despair in my heart.
         </p>
         
         <p>Silver took a whiff or two of his pipe with great composure and then ran on
            again.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Now, you see, Jim, so be as you ARE here," says he, "I'll give you a piece of my
            mind. I've always liked you, I have, for a lad of spirit, and the picter of my own
            self when I was young and handsome. I always wanted you to jine and take your
            share, and die a gentleman, and now, my cock, you've got to. Cap'n Smollett's a
            fine seaman, as I'll own up to any day, but stiff on discipline. 'Dooty is dooty,'
            says he, and right he is. Just you keep clear of the cap'n. The doctor himself is
            gone dead again you—'ungrateful scamp' was what he said; and the short and the
            long of the whole story is about here: you can't go back to your own lot, for they
            won't have you; and without you start a third ship's company all by yourself,
            which might be lonely, you'll have to jine with Cap'n Silver."
         </p>
         
         <p>So far so good. My friends, then, were still alive, and though I partly believed
            the truth of Silver's statement, that the cabin party were incensed at me for my
            desertion, I was more relieved than distressed by what I heard.
         </p>
         
         <p>"I don't say nothing as to your being in our hands," continued Silver, "though
            there you are, and you may lay to it. I'm all for argyment; I never seen good come
            out o' threatening. If you like the service, well, you'll jine; and if you don't,
            Jim, why, you're free to answer no—free and welcome, shipmate; and if fairer can
            be said by mortal seaman, shiver my sides!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Am I to answer, then?" I asked with a very tremulous voice. Through all this
            sneering talk, I was made to feel the threat of death that overhung me, and my
            cheeks burned and my heart beat painfully in my breast.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Lad," said Silver, "no one's a-pressing of you. Take your bearings. None of us
            won't hurry you, mate; time goes so pleasant in your company, you see."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well," says I, growing a bit bolder, "if I'm to choose, I declare I have a right
            to know what's what, and why you're here, and where my friends are."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Wot's wot?" repeated one of the buccaneers in a deep growl. "Ah, he'd be a lucky
            one as knowed that!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"You'll perhaps batten down your hatches till you're spoke to, my friend," cried
            Silver truculently to this speaker. And then, in his first gracious tones, he
            replied to me, "Yesterday morning, Mr. Hawkins," said he, "in the dog-watch, down
            came Doctor Livesey with a flag of truce. Says he, 'Cap'n Silver, you're sold out.
            Ship's gone.' Well, maybe we'd been taking a glass, and a song to help it round. I
            won't say no. Leastways, none of us had looked out. We looked out, and by thunder,
            the old ship was gone! I never seen a pack o' fools look fishier; and you may lay
            to that, if I tells you that looked the fishiest. 'Well,' says the doctor, 'let's
            bargain.' We bargained, him and I, and here we are: stores, brandy, block house,
            the firewood you was thoughtful enough to cut, and in a manner of speaking, the
            whole blessed boat, from cross-trees to kelson. As for them, they've tramped; I
            don't know where's they are."
         </p>
         
         <p>He drew again quietly at his pipe.</p>
         
         <p>"And lest you should take it into that head of yours," he went on, "that you was
            included in the treaty, here's the last word that was said: 'How many are you,'
            says I, 'to leave?' 'Four,' says he; 'four, and one of us wounded. As for that
            boy, I don't know where he is, confound him,' says he, 'nor I don't much care.
            We're about sick of him.' These was his words.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Is that all?" I asked.</p>
         
         <p>"Well, it's all that you're to hear, my son," returned Silver.</p>
         
         <p>"And now I am to choose?"</p>
         
         <p>"And now you are to choose, and you may lay to that," said Silver.</p>
         
         <p>"Well," said I, "I am not such a fool but I know pretty well what I have to look
            for. Let the worst come to the worst, it's little I care. I've seen too many die
            since I fell in with you. But there's a thing or two I have to tell you," I said,
            and by this time I was quite excited; "and the first is this: here you are, in a
            bad way—ship lost, treasure lost, men lost, your whole business gone to wreck; and
            if you want to know who did it—it was I! I was in the apple barrel the night we
            sighted land, and I heard you, John, and you, Dick Johnson, and Hands, who is now
            at the bottom of the sea, and told every word you said before the hour was out.
            And as for the schooner, it was I who cut her cable, and it was I that killed the
            men you had aboard of her, and it was I who brought her where you'll never see her
            more, not one of you. The laugh's on my side; I've had the top of this business
            from the first; I no more fear you than I fear a fly. Kill me, if you please, or
            spare me. But one thing I'll say, and no more; if you spare me, bygones are
            bygones, and when you fellows are in court for piracy, I'll save you all I can. It
            is for you to choose. Kill another and do yourselves no good, or spare me and keep
            a witness to save you from the gallows."
         </p>
         
         <p>I stopped, for, I tell you, I was out of breath, and to my wonder, not a man of
            them moved, but all sat staring at me like as many sheep. And while they were
            still staring, I broke out again, "And now, Mr. Silver," I said, "I believe you're
            the best man here, and if things go to the worst, I'll take it kind of you to let
            the doctor know the way I took it."
         </p>
         
         <p>"I'll bear it in mind," said Silver with an accent so curious that I could not,
            for the life of me, decide whether he were laughing at my request or had been
            favourably affected by my courage.
         </p>
         
         <p>"I'll put one to that," cried the old mahogany-faced seaman—Morgan by name—whom I
            had seen in Long John's public-house upon the quays of Bristol. "It was him that
            knowed Black Dog."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, and see here," added the sea-cook. "I'll put another again to that, by
            thunder! For it was this same boy that faked the chart from Billy Bones. First and
            last, we've split upon Jim Hawkins!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Then here goes!" said Morgan with an oath.</p>
         
         <p>And he sprang up, drawing his knife as if he had been twenty.</p>
         
         <p>"Avast, there!" cried Silver. "Who are you, Tom Morgan? Maybe you thought you was
            cap'n here, perhaps. By the powers, but I'll teach you better! Cross me, and
            you'll go where many a good man's gone before you, first and last, these thirty
            year back—some to the yard-arm, shiver my timbers, and some by the board, and all
            to feed the fishes. There's never a man looked me between the eyes and seen a good
            day a'terwards, Tom Morgan, you may lay to that."
         </p>
         
         <p>Morgan paused, but a hoarse murmur rose from the others.</p>
         
         <p>"Tom's right," said one.</p>
         
         <p>"I stood hazing long enough from one," added another. "I'll be hanged if I'll be
            hazed by you, John Silver."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Did any of you gentlemen want to have it out with ME?" roared Silver, bending far
            forward from his position on the keg, with his pipe still glowing in his right
            hand. "Put a name on what you're at; you ain't dumb, I reckon. Him that wants
            shall get it. Have I lived this many years, and a son of a rum puncheon cock his
            hat athwart my hawse at the latter end of it? You know the way; you're all
            gentlemen o' fortune, by your account. Well, I'm ready. Take a cutlass, him that
            dares, and I'll see the colour of his inside, crutch and all, before that pipe's
            empty."
         </p>
         
         <p>Not a man stirred; not a man answered.</p>
         
         <p>"That's your sort, is it?" he added, returning his pipe to his mouth. "Well,
            you're a gay lot to look at, anyway. Not much worth to fight, you ain't. P'r'aps
            you can understand King George's English. I'm cap'n here by 'lection. I'm cap'n
            here because I'm the best man by a long sea-mile. You won't fight, as gentlemen o'
            fortune should; then, by thunder, you'll obey, and you may lay to it! I like that
            boy, now; I never seen a better boy than that. He's more a man than any pair of
            rats of you in this here house, and what I say is this: let me see him that'll lay
            a hand on him—that's what I say, and you may lay to it."
         </p>
         
         <p>There was a long pause after this. I stood straight up against the wall, my heart
            still going like a sledge-hammer, but with a ray of hope now shining in my bosom.
            Silver leant back against the wall, his arms crossed, his pipe in the corner of
            his mouth, as calm as though he had been in church; yet his eye kept wandering
            furtively, and he kept the tail of it on his unruly followers. They, on their
            part, drew gradually together towards the far end of the block house, and the low
            hiss of their whispering sounded in my ear continuously, like a stream. One after
            another, they would look up, and the red light of the torch would fall for a
            second on their nervous faces; but it was not towards me, it was towards Silver
            that they turned their eyes.
         </p>
         
         <p>"You seem to have a lot to say," remarked Silver, spitting far into the air. "Pipe
            up and let me hear it, or lay to."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ax your pardon, sir," returned one of the men; "you're pretty free with some of
            the rules; maybe you'll kindly keep an eye upon the rest. This crew's
            dissatisfied; this crew don't vally bullying a marlin-spike; this crew has its
            rights like other crews, I'll make so free as that; and by your own rules, I take
            it we can talk together. I ax your pardon, sir, acknowledging you for to be
            captaing at this present; but I claim my right, and steps outside for a
            council."
         </p>
         
         <p>And with an elaborate sea-salute, this fellow, a long, ill-looking, yellow-eyed
            man of five and thirty, stepped coolly towards the door and disappeared out of the
            house. One after another the rest followed his example, each making a salute as he
            passed, each adding some apology. "According to rules," said one. "Forecastle
            council," said Morgan. And so with one remark or another all marched out and left
            Silver and me alone with the torch.
         </p>
         
         <p>The sea-cook instantly removed his pipe.</p>
         
         <p>"Now, look you here, Jim Hawkins," he said in a steady whisper that was no more
            than audible, "you're within half a plank of death, and what's a long sight worse,
            of torture. They're going to throw me off. But, you mark, I stand by you through
            thick and thin. I didn't mean to; no, not till you spoke up. I was about desperate
            to lose that much blunt, and be hanged into the bargain. But I see you was the
            right sort. I says to myself, you stand by Hawkins, John, and Hawkins'll stand by
            you. You're his last card, and by the living thunder, John, he's yours! Back to
            back, says I. You save your witness, and he'll save your neck!"
         </p>
         
         <p>I began dimly to understand.</p>
         
         <p>"You mean all's lost?" I asked.</p>
         
         <p>"Aye, by gum, I do!" he answered. "Ship gone, neck gone—that's the size of it.
            Once I looked into that bay, Jim Hawkins, and seen no schooner—well, I'm tough,
            but I gave out. As for that lot and their council, mark me, they're outright fools
            and cowards. I'll save your life—if so be as I can—from them. But, see here,
            Jim—tit for tat—you save Long John from swinging."
         </p>
         
         <p>I was bewildered; it seemed a thing so hopeless he was asking—he, the old
            buccaneer, the ringleader throughout.
         </p>
         
         <p>"What I can do, that I'll do," I said.</p>
         
         <p>"It's a bargain!" cried Long John. "You speak up plucky, and by thunder, I've a
            chance!"
         </p>
         
         <p>He hobbled to the torch, where it stood propped among the firewood, and took a
            fresh light to his pipe.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Understand me, Jim," he said, returning. "I've a head on my shoulders, I have.
            I'm on squire's side now. I know you've got that ship safe somewheres. How you
            done it, I don't know, but safe it is. I guess Hands and O'Brien turned soft. I
            never much believed in neither of THEM. Now you mark me. I ask no questions, nor I
            won't let others. I know when a game's up, I do; and I know a lad that's staunch.
            Ah, you that's young—you and me might have done a power of good together!"
         </p>
         
         <p>He drew some cognac from the cask into a tin cannikin.</p>
         
         <p>"Will you taste, messmate?" he asked; and when I had refused: "Well, I'll take a
            drain myself, Jim," said he. "I need a caulker, for there's trouble on hand. And
            talking o' trouble, why did that doctor give me the chart, Jim?"
         </p>
         
         <p>My face expressed a wonder so unaffected that he saw the needlessness of further
            questions.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ah, well, he did, though," said he. "And there's something under that, no
            doubt—something, surely, under that, Jim—bad or good."
         </p>
         
         <p>And he took another swallow of the brandy, shaking his great fair head like a man
            who looks forward to the worst.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="partHeader">The Black Spot Again</span>
         
         <p>THE council of buccaneers had lasted some time, when one of them re-entered the
            house, and with a repetition of the same salute, which had in my eyes an ironical
            air, begged for a moment's loan of the torch. Silver briefly agreed, and this
            emissary retired again, leaving us together in the dark.
         </p>
         
         <p>"There's a breeze coming, Jim," said Silver, who had by this time adopted quite a
            friendly and familiar tone.
         </p>
         
         <p>I turned to the loophole nearest me and looked out. The embers of the great fire
            had so far burned themselves out and now glowed so low and duskily that I
            understood why these conspirators desired a torch. About half-way down the slope
            to the stockade, they were collected in a group; one held the light, another was
            on his knees in their midst, and I saw the blade of an open knife shine in his
            hand with varying colours in the moon and torchlight. The rest were all somewhat
            stooping, as though watching the manoeuvres of this last. I could just make out
            that he had a book as well as a knife in his hand, and was still wondering how
            anything so incongruous had come in their possession when the kneeling figure rose
            once more to his feet and the whole party began to move together towards the
            house.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Here they come," said I; and I returned to my former position, for it seemed
            beneath my dignity that they should find me watching them.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, let 'em come, lad—let 'em come," said Silver cheerily. "I've still a shot
            in my locker."
         </p>
         
         <p>The door opened, and the five men, standing huddled together just inside, pushed
            one of their number forward. In any other circumstances it would have been comical
            to see his slow advance, hesitating as he set down each foot, but holding his
            closed right hand in front of him.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Step up, lad," cried Silver. "I won't eat you. Hand it over, lubber. I know the
            rules, I do; I won't hurt a depytation."
         </p>
         
         <p>Thus encouraged, the buccaneer stepped forth more briskly, and having passed
            something to Silver, from hand to hand, slipped yet more smartly back again to his
            companions.
         </p>
         
         <p>The sea-cook looked at what had been given him.</p>
         
         <p>"The black spot! I thought so," he observed. "Where might you have got the paper?
            Why, hillo! Look here, now; this ain't lucky! You've gone and cut this out of a
            Bible. What fool's cut a Bible?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ah, there!" said Morgan. "There! Wot did I say? No good'll come o' that, I
            said."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, you've about fixed it now, among you," continued Silver. "You'll all swing
            now, I reckon. What soft-headed lubber had a Bible?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"It was Dick," said one.</p>
         
         <p>"Dick, was it? Then Dick can get to prayers," said Silver. "He's seen his slice of
            luck, has Dick, and you may lay to that."
         </p>
         
         <p>But here the long man with the yellow eyes struck in.</p>
         
         <p>"Belay that talk, John Silver," he said. "This crew has tipped you the black spot
            in full council, as in dooty bound; just you turn it over, as in dooty bound, and
            see what's wrote there. Then you can talk."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Thanky, George," replied the sea-cook. "You always was brisk for business, and
            has the rules by heart, George, as I'm pleased to see. Well, what is it, anyway?
            Ah! 'Deposed'—that's it, is it? Very pretty wrote, to be sure; like print, I
            swear. Your hand o' write, George? Why, you was gettin' quite a leadin' man in
            this here crew. You'll be cap'n next, I shouldn't wonder. Just oblige me with that
            torch again, will you? This pipe don't draw."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Come, now," said George, "you don't fool this crew no more. You're a funny man,
            by your account; but you're over now, and you'll maybe step down off that barrel
            and help vote."
         </p>
         
         <p>"I thought you said you knowed the rules," returned Silver contemptuously.
            "Leastways, if you don't, I do; and I wait here—and I'm still your cap'n,
            mind—till you outs with your grievances and I reply; in the meantime, your black
            spot ain't worth a biscuit. After that, we'll see."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Oh," replied George, "you don't be under no kind of apprehension; WE'RE all
            square, we are. First, you've made a hash of this cruise—you'll be a bold man to
            say no to that. Second, you let the enemy out o' this here trap for nothing. Why
            did they want out? I dunno, but it's pretty plain they wanted it. Third, you
            wouldn't let us go at them upon the march. Oh, we see through you, John Silver;
            you want to play booty, that's what's wrong with you. And then, fourth, there's
            this here boy."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Is that all?" asked Silver quietly.</p>
         
         <p>"Enough, too," retorted George. "We'll all swing and sun-dry for your
            bungling."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well now, look here, I'll answer these four p'ints; one after another I'll answer
            'em. I made a hash o' this cruise, did I? Well now, you all know what I wanted,
            and you all know if that had been done that we'd 'a been aboard the HISPANIOLA
            this night as ever was, every man of us alive, and fit, and full of good
            plum-duff, and the treasure in the hold of her, by thunder! Well, who crossed me?
            Who forced my hand, as was the lawful cap'n? Who tipped me the black spot the day
            we landed and began this dance? Ah, it's a fine dance—I'm with you there—and looks
            mighty like a hornpipe in a rope's end at Execution Dock by London town, it does.
            But who done it? Why, it was Anderson, and Hands, and you, George Merry! And
            you're the last above board of that same meddling crew; and you have the Davy
            Jones's insolence to up and stand for cap'n over me—you, that sank the lot of us!
            By the powers! But this tops the stiffest yarn to nothing."
         </p>
         
         <p>Silver paused, and I could see by the faces of George and his late comrades that
            these words had not been said in vain.
         </p>
         
         <p>"That's for number one," cried the accused, wiping the sweat from his brow, for he
            had been talking with a vehemence that shook the house. "Why, I give you my word,
            I'm sick to speak to you. You've neither sense nor memory, and I leave it to fancy
            where your mothers was that let you come to sea. Sea! Gentlemen o' fortune! I
            reckon tailors is your trade."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Go on, John," said Morgan. "Speak up to the others."</p>
         
         <p>"Ah, the others!" returned John. "They're a nice lot, ain't they? You say this
            cruise is bungled. Ah! By gum, if you could understand how bad it's bungled, you
            would see! We're that near the gibbet that my neck's stiff with thinking on it.
            You've seen 'em, maybe, hanged in chains, birds about 'em, seamen p'inting 'em out
            as they go down with the tide. 'Who's that?' says one. 'That! Why, that's John
            Silver. I knowed him well,' says another. And you can hear the chains a-jangle as
            you go about and reach for the other buoy. Now, that's about where we are, every
            mother's son of us, thanks to him, and Hands, and Anderson, and other ruination
            fools of you. And if you want to know about number four, and that boy, why, shiver
            my timbers, isn't he a hostage? Are we a-going to waste a hostage? No, not us; he
            might be our last chance, and I shouldn't wonder. Kill that boy? Not me, mates!
            And number three? Ah, well, there's a deal to say to number three. Maybe you don't
            count it nothing to have a real college doctor to see you every day—you, John,
            with your head broke—or you, George Merry, that had the ague shakes upon you not
            six hours agone, and has your eyes the colour of lemon peel to this same moment on
            the clock? And maybe, perhaps, you didn't know there was a consort coming either?
            But there is, and not so long till then; and we'll see who'll be glad to have a
            hostage when it comes to that. And as for number two, and why I made a
            bargain—well, you came crawling on your knees to me to make it—on your knees you
            came, you was that downhearted—and you'd have starved too if I hadn't—but that's a
            trifle! You look there—that's why!"
         </p>
         
         <p>And he cast down upon the floor a paper that I instantly recognized—none other
            than the chart on yellow paper, with the three red crosses, that I had found in
            the oilcloth at the bottom of the captain's chest. Why the doctor had given it to
            him was more than I could fancy.
         </p>
         
         <p>But if it were inexplicable to me, the appearance of the chart was incredible to
            the surviving mutineers. They leaped upon it like cats upon a mouse. It went from
            hand to hand, one tearing it from another; and by the oaths and the cries and the
            childish laughter with which they accompanied their examination, you would have
            thought, not only they were fingering the very gold, but were at sea with it,
            besides, in safety.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Yes," said one, "that's Flint, sure enough. J. F., and a score below, with a
            clove hitch to it; so he done ever."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Mighty pretty," said George. "But how are we to get away with it, and us no
            ship."
         </p>
         
         <p>Silver suddenly sprang up, and supporting himself with a hand against the wall:
            "Now I give you warning, George," he cried. "One more word of your sauce, and I'll
            call you down and fight you. How? Why, how do I know? You had ought to tell me
            that—you and the rest, that lost me my schooner, with your interference, burn you!
            But not you, you can't; you hain't got the invention of a cockroach. But civil you
            can speak, and shall, George Merry, you may lay to that."
         </p>
         
         <p>"That's fair enow," said the old man Morgan.</p>
         
         <p>"Fair! I reckon so," said the sea-cook. "You lost the ship; I found the treasure.
            Who's the better man at that? And now I resign, by thunder! Elect whom you please
            to be your cap'n now; I'm done with it."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Silver!" they cried. "Barbecue forever! Barbecue for cap'n!"</p>
         
         <p>"So that's the toon, is it?" cried the cook. "George, I reckon you'll have to wait
            another turn, friend; and lucky for you as I'm not a revengeful man. But that was
            never my way. And now, shipmates, this black spot? 'Tain't much good now, is it?
            Dick's crossed his luck and spoiled his Bible, and that's about all."
         </p>
         
         <p>"It'll do to kiss the book on still, won't it?" growled Dick, who was evidently
            uneasy at the curse he had brought upon himself.
         </p>
         
         <p>"A Bible with a bit cut out!" returned Silver derisively. "Not it. It don't bind
            no more'n a ballad-book."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Don't it, though?" cried Dick with a sort of joy. "Well, I reckon that's worth
            having too."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Here, Jim—here's a cur'osity for you," said Silver, and he tossed me the
            paper.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was around about the size of a crown piece. One side was blank, for it had been
            the last leaf; the other contained a verse or two of Revelation—these words among
            the rest, which struck sharply home upon my mind: "Without are dogs and
            murderers." The printed side had been blackened with wood ash, which already began
            to come off and soil my fingers; on the blank side had been written with the same
            material the one word "Depposed." I have that curiosity beside me at this moment,
            but not a trace of writing now remains beyond a single scratch, such as a man
            might make with his thumb-nail.
         </p>
         
         <p>That was the end of the night's business. Soon after, with a drink all round, we
            lay down to sleep, and the outside of Silver's vengeance was to put George Merry
            up for sentinel and threaten him with death if he should prove unfaithful.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was long ere I could close an eye, and heaven knows I had matter enough for
            thought in the man whom I had slain that afternoon, in my own most perilous
            position, and above all, in the remarkable game that I saw Silver now engaged
            upon—keeping the mutineers together with one hand and grasping with the other
            after every means, possible and impossible, to make his peace and save his
            miserable life. He himself slept peacefully and snored aloud, yet my heart was
            sore for him, wicked as he was, to think on the dark perils that environed and the
            shameful gibbet that awaited him.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="partHeader">On Parole</span>
         
         <p>I WAS wakened—indeed, we were all wakened, for I could see even the sentinel shake
            himself together from where he had fallen against the door-post—by a clear, hearty
            voice hailing us from the margin of the wood:
         </p>
         
         <p>"Block house, ahoy!" it cried. "Here's the doctor."</p>
         
         <p>And the doctor it was. Although I was glad to hear the sound, yet my gladness was
            not without admixture. I remembered with confusion my insubordinate and stealthy
            conduct, and when I saw where it had brought me—among what companions and
            surrounded by what dangers—I felt ashamed to look him in the face.
         </p>
         
         <p>He must have risen in the dark, for the day had hardly come; and when I ran to a
            loophole and looked out, I saw him standing, like Silver once before, up to the
            mid-leg in creeping vapour.
         </p>
         
         <p>"You, doctor! Top o' the morning to you, sir!" cried Silver, broad awake and
            beaming with good nature in a moment. "Bright and early, to be sure; and it's the
            early bird, as the saying goes, that gets the rations. George, shake up your
            timbers, son, and help Dr. Livesey over the ship's side. All a-doin' well, your
            patients was—all well and merry."
         </p>
         
         <p>So he pattered on, standing on the hilltop with his crutch under his elbow and one
            hand upon the side of the log-house—quite the old John in voice, manner, and
            expression.
         </p>
         
         <p>"We've quite a surprise for you too, sir," he continued. "We've a little stranger
            here—he! he! A noo boarder and lodger, sir, and looking fit and taut as a fiddle;
            slep' like a supercargo, he did, right alongside of John—stem to stem we was, all
            night."
         </p>
         
         <p>Dr. Livesey was by this time across the stockade and pretty near the cook, and I
            could hear the alteration in his voice as he said, "Not Jim?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"The very same Jim as ever was," says Silver.</p>
         
         <p>The doctor stopped outright, although he did not speak, and it was some seconds
            before he seemed able to move on.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, well," he said at last, "duty first and pleasure afterwards, as you might
            have said yourself, Silver. Let us overhaul these patients of yours."
         </p>
         
         <p>A moment afterwards he had entered the block house and with one grim nod to me
            proceeded with his work among the sick. He seemed under no apprehension, though he
            must have known that his life, among these treacherous demons, depended on a hair;
            and he rattled on to his patients as if he were paying an ordinary professional
            visit in a quiet English family. His manner, I suppose, reacted on the men, for
            they behaved to him as if nothing had occurred, as if he were still ship's doctor
            and they still faithful hands before the mast.
         </p>
         
         <p>"You're doing well, my friend," he said to the fellow with the bandaged head, "and
            if ever any person had a close shave, it was you; your head must be as hard as
            iron. Well, George, how goes it? You're a pretty colour, certainly; why, your
            liver, man, is upside down. Did you take that medicine? Did he take that medicine,
            men?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Aye, aye, sir, he took it, sure enough," returned Morgan.</p>
         
         <p>"Because, you see, since I am mutineers' doctor, or prison doctor as I prefer to
            call it," says Doctor Livesey in his pleasantest way, "I make it a point of honour
            not to lose a man for King George (God bless him!) and the gallows."
         </p>
         
         <p>The rogues looked at each other but swallowed the home-thrust in silence.</p>
         
         <p>"Dick don't feel well, sir," said one.</p>
         
         <p>"Don't he?" replied the doctor. "Well, step up here, Dick, and let me see your
            tongue. No, I should be surprised if he did! The man's tongue is fit to frighten
            the French. Another fever."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ah, there," said Morgan, "that comed of sp'iling Bibles."</p>
         
         <p>"That comes—as you call it—of being arrant asses," retorted the doctor, "and not
            having sense enough to know honest air from poison, and the dry land from a vile,
            pestiferous slough. I think it most probable—though of course it's only an
            opinion—that you'll all have the deuce to pay before you get that malaria out of
            your systems. Camp in a bog, would you? Silver, I'm surprised at you. You're less
            of a fool than many, take you all round; but you don't appear to me to have the
            rudiments of a notion of the rules of health.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well," he added after he had dosed them round and they had taken his
            prescriptions, with really laughable humility, more like charity schoolchildren
            than blood-guilty mutineers and pirates—"well, that's done for today. And now I
            should wish to have a talk with that boy, please."
         </p>
         
         <p>And he nodded his head in my direction carelessly.</p>
         
         <p>George Merry was at the door, spitting and spluttering over some bad-tasted
            medicine; but at the first word of the doctor's proposal he swung round with a
            deep flush and cried "No!" and swore.
         </p>
         
         <p>Silver struck the barrel with his open hand.</p>
         
         <p>"Si-lence!" he roared and looked about him positively like a lion. "Doctor," he
            went on in his usual tones, "I was a-thinking of that, knowing as how you had a
            fancy for the boy. We're all humbly grateful for your kindness, and as you see,
            puts faith in you and takes the drugs down like that much grog. And I take it I've
            found a way as'll suit all. Hawkins, will you give me your word of honour as a
            young gentleman—for a young gentleman you are, although poor born—your word of
            honour not to slip your cable?"
         </p>
         
         <p>I readily gave the pledge required.</p>
         
         <p>"Then, doctor," said Silver, "you just step outside o' that stockade, and once
            you're there I'll bring the boy down on the inside, and I reckon you can yarn
            through the spars. Good day to you, sir, and all our dooties to the squire and
            Cap'n Smollett."
         </p>
         
         <p>The explosion of disapproval, which nothing but Silver's black looks had
            restrained, broke out immediately the doctor had left the house. Silver was
            roundly accused of playing double—of trying to make a separate peace for himself,
            of sacrificing the interests of his accomplices and victims, and, in one word, of
            the identical, exact thing that he was doing. It seemed to me so obvious, in this
            case, that I could not imagine how he was to turn their anger. But he was twice
            the man the rest were, and his last night's victory had given him a huge
            preponderance on their minds. He called them all the fools and dolts you can
            imagine, said it was necessary I should talk to the doctor, fluttered the chart in
            their faces, asked them if they could afford to break the treaty the very day they
            were bound a-treasure-hunting.
         </p>
         
         <p>"No, by thunder!" he cried. "It's us must break the treaty when the time comes;
            and till then I'll gammon that doctor, if I have to ile his boots with
            brandy."
         </p>
         
         <p>And then he bade them get the fire lit, and stalked out upon his crutch, with his
            hand on my shoulder, leaving them in a disarray, and silenced by his volubility
            rather than convinced.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Slow, lad, slow," he said. "They might round upon us in a twinkle of an eye if we
            was seen to hurry."
         </p>
         
         <p>Very deliberately, then, did we advance across the sand to where the doctor
            awaited us on the other side of the stockade, and as soon as we were within easy
            speaking distance Silver stopped.
         </p>
         
         <p>"You'll make a note of this here also, doctor," says he, "and the boy'll tell you
            how I saved his life, and were deposed for it too, and you may lay to that.
            Doctor, when a man's steering as near the wind as me—playing chuck-farthing with
            the last breath in his body, like—you wouldn't think it too much, mayhap, to give
            him one good word? You'll please bear in mind it's not my life only now—it's that
            boy's into the bargain; and you'll speak me fair, doctor, and give me a bit o'
            hope to go on, for the sake of mercy."
         </p>
         
         <p>Silver was a changed man once he was out there and had his back to his friends and
            the block house; his cheeks seemed to have fallen in, his voice trembled; never
            was a soul more dead in earnest.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Why, John, you're not afraid?" asked Dr. Livesey.</p>
         
         <p>"Doctor, I'm no coward; no, not I—not SO much!" and he snapped his fingers. "If I
            was I wouldn't say it. But I'll own up fairly, I've the shakes upon me for the
            gallows. You're a good man and a true; I never seen a better man! And you'll not
            forget what I done good, not any more than you'll forget the bad, I know. And I
            step aside—see here—and leave you and Jim alone. And you'll put that down for me
            too, for it's a long stretch, is that!"
         </p>
         
         <p>So saying, he stepped back a little way, till he was out of earshot, and there sat
            down upon a tree-stump and began to whistle, spinning round now and again upon his
            seat so as to command a sight, sometimes of me and the doctor and sometimes of his
            unruly ruffians as they went to and fro in the sand between the fire—which they
            were busy rekindling—and the house, from which they brought forth pork and bread
            to make the breakfast.
         </p>
         
         <p>"So, Jim," said the doctor sadly, "here you are. As you have brewed, so shall you
            drink, my boy. Heaven knows, I cannot find it in my heart to blame you, but this
            much I will say, be it kind or unkind: when Captain Smollett was well, you dared
            not have gone off; and when he was ill and couldn't help it, by George, it was
            downright cowardly!"
         </p>
         
         <p>I will own that I here began to weep. "Doctor," I said, "you might spare me. I
            have blamed myself enough; my life's forfeit anyway, and I should have been dead
            by now if Silver hadn't stood for me; and doctor, believe this, I can die—and I
            dare say I deserve it—but what I fear is torture. If they come to torture me—"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Jim," the doctor interrupted, and his voice was quite changed, "Jim, I can't have
            this. Whip over, and we'll run for it."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Doctor," said I, "I passed my word."</p>
         
         <p>"I know, I know," he cried. "We can't help that, Jim, now. I'll take it on my
            shoulders, holus bolus, blame and shame, my boy; but stay here, I cannot let you.
            Jump! One jump, and you're out, and we'll run for it like antelopes."
         </p>
         
         <p>"No," I replied; "you know right well you wouldn't do the thing yourself—neither
            you nor squire nor captain; and no more will I. Silver trusted me; I passed my
            word, and back I go. But, doctor, you did not let me finish. If they come to
            torture me, I might let slip a word of where the ship is, for I got the ship, part
            by luck and part by risking, and she lies in North Inlet, on the southern beach,
            and just below high water. At half tide she must be high and dry."
         </p>
         
         <p>"The ship!" exclaimed the doctor.</p>
         
         <p>Rapidly I described to him my adventures, and he heard me out in silence.</p>
         
         <p>"There is a kind of fate in this," he observed when I had done. "Every step, it's
            you that saves our lives; and do you suppose by any chance that we are going to
            let you lose yours? That would be a poor return, my boy. You found out the plot;
            you found Ben Gunn—the best deed that ever you did, or will do, though you live to
            ninety. Oh, by Jupiter, and talking of Ben Gunn! Why, this is the mischief in
            person. Silver!" he cried. "Silver! I'll give you a piece of advice," he continued
            as the cook drew near again; "don't you be in any great hurry after that
            treasure."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Why, sir, I do my possible, which that ain't," said Silver. "I can only, asking
            your pardon, save my life and the boy's by seeking for that treasure; and you may
            lay to that."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, Silver," replied the doctor, "if that is so, I'll go one step further: look
            out for squalls when you find it."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Sir," said Silver, "as between man and man, that's too much and too little. What
            you're after, why you left the block house, why you given me that there chart, I
            don't know, now, do I? And yet I done your bidding with my eyes shut and never a
            word of hope! But no, this here's too much. If you won't tell me what you mean
            plain out, just say so and I'll leave the helm."
         </p>
         
         <p>"No," said the doctor musingly; "I've no right to say more; it's not my secret,
            you see, Silver, or, I give you my word, I'd tell it you. But I'll go as far with
            you as I dare go, and a step beyond, for I'll have my wig sorted by the captain or
            I'm mistaken! And first, I'll give you a bit of hope; Silver, if we both get alive
            out of this wolf-trap, I'll do my best to save you, short of perjury."
         </p>
         
         <p>Silver's face was radiant. "You couldn't say more, I'm sure, sir, not if you was
            my mother," he cried.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, that's my first concession," added the doctor. "My second is a piece of
            advice: keep the boy close beside you, and when you need help, halloo. I'm off to
            seek it for you, and that itself will show you if I speak at random. Good-bye,
            Jim."
         </p>
         
         <p>And Dr. Livesey shook hands with me through the stockade, nodded to Silver, and
            set off at a brisk pace into the wood.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="partHeader">The Treasure-hunt—Flint's Pointer</span>
         
         <p>"JIM," said Silver when we were alone, "if I saved your life, you saved mine; and
            I'll not forget it. I seen the doctor waving you to run for it—with the tail of my
            eye, I did; and I seen you say no, as plain as hearing. Jim, that's one to you.
            This is the first glint of hope I had since the attack failed, and I owe it you.
            And now, Jim, we're to go in for this here treasure-hunting, with sealed orders
            too, and I don't like it; and you and me must stick close, back to back like, and
            we'll save our necks in spite o' fate and fortune."
         </p>
         
         <p>Just then a man hailed us from the fire that breakfast was ready, and we were soon
            seated here and there about the sand over biscuit and fried junk. They had lit a
            fire fit to roast an ox, and it was now grown so hot that they could only approach
            it from the windward, and even there not without precaution. In the same wasteful
            spirit, they had cooked, I suppose, three times more than we could eat; and one of
            them, with an empty laugh, threw what was left into the fire, which blazed and
            roared again over this unusual fuel. I never in my life saw men so careless of the
            morrow; hand to mouth is the only word that can describe their way of doing; and
            what with wasted food and sleeping sentries, though they were bold enough for a
            brush and be done with it, I could see their entire unfitness for anything like a
            prolonged campaign.
         </p>
         
         <p>Even Silver, eating away, with Captain Flint upon his shoulder, had not a word of
            blame for their recklessness. And this the more surprised me, for I thought he had
            never shown himself so cunning as he did then.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Aye, mates," said he, "it's lucky you have Barbecue to think for you with this
            here head. I got what I wanted, I did. Sure enough, they have the ship. Where they
            have it, I don't know yet; but once we hit the treasure, we'll have to jump about
            and find out. And then, mates, us that has the boats, I reckon, has the upper
            hand."
         </p>
         
         <p>Thus he kept running on, with his mouth full of the hot bacon; thus he restored
            their hope and confidence, and, I more than suspect, repaired his own at the same
            time.
         </p>
         
         <p>"As for hostage," he continued, "that's his last talk, I guess, with them he loves
            so dear. I've got my piece o' news, and thanky to him for that; but it's over and
            done. I'll take him in a line when we go treasure-hunting, for we'll keep him like
            so much gold, in case of accidents, you mark, and in the meantime. Once we got the
            ship and treasure both and off to sea like jolly companions, why then we'll talk
            Mr. Hawkins over, we will, and we'll give him his share, to be sure, for all his
            kindness."
         </p>
         
         <p>It was no wonder the men were in a good humour now. For my part, I was horribly
            cast down. Should the scheme he had now sketched prove feasible, Silver, already
            doubly a traitor, would not hesitate to adopt it. He had still a foot in either
            camp, and there was no doubt he would prefer wealth and freedom with the pirates
            to a bare escape from hanging, which was the best he had to hope on our side.
         </p>
         
         <p>Nay, and even if things so fell out that he was forced to keep his faith with Dr.
            Livesey, even then what danger lay before us! What a moment that would be when the
            suspicions of his followers turned to certainty and he and I should have to fight
            for dear life—he a cripple and I a boy—against five strong and active seamen!
         </p>
         
         <p>Add to this double apprehension the mystery that still hung over the behaviour of
            my friends, their unexplained desertion of the stockade, their inexplicable
            cession of the chart, or harder still to understand, the doctor's last warning to
            Silver, "Look out for squalls when you find it," and you will readily believe how
            little taste I found in my breakfast and with how uneasy a heart I set forth
            behind my captors on the quest for treasure.
         </p>
         
         <p>We made a curious figure, had anyone been there to see us—all in soiled sailor
            clothes and all but me armed to the teeth. Silver had two guns slung about him—one
            before and one behind—besides the great cutlass at his waist and a pistol in each
            pocket of his square-tailed coat. To complete his strange appearance, Captain
            Flint sat perched upon his shoulder and gabbling odds and ends of purposeless
            sea-talk. I had a line about my waist and followed obediently after the sea-cook,
            who held the loose end of the rope, now in his free hand, now between his powerful
            teeth. For all the world, I was led like a dancing bear.
         </p>
         
         <p>The other men were variously burthened, some carrying picks and shovels—for that
            had been the very first necessary they brought ashore from the HISPANIOLA—others
            laden with pork, bread, and brandy for the midday meal. All the stores, I
            observed, came from our stock, and I could see the truth of Silver's words the
            night before. Had he not struck a bargain with the doctor, he and his mutineers,
            deserted by the ship, must have been driven to subsist on clear water and the
            proceeds of their hunting. Water would have been little to their taste; a sailor
            is not usually a good shot; and besides all that, when they were so short of
            eatables, it was not likely they would be very flush of powder.
         </p>
         
         <p>Well, thus equipped, we all set out—even the fellow with the broken head, who
            should certainly have kept in shadow—and straggled, one after another, to the
            beach, where the two gigs awaited us. Even these bore trace of the drunken folly
            of the pirates, one in a broken thwart, and both in their muddy and unbailed
            condition. Both were to be carried along with us for the sake of safety; and so,
            with our numbers divided between them, we set forth upon the bosom of the
            anchorage.
         </p>
         
         <p>As we pulled over, there was some discussion on the chart. The red cross was, of
            course, far too large to be a guide; and the terms of the note on the back, as you
            will hear, admitted of some ambiguity. They ran, the reader may remember,
            thus:
         </p>
         
         
         <p>A tall tree was thus the principal mark. Now, right before us the anchorage was
            bounded by a plateau from two to three hundred feet high, adjoining on the north
            the sloping southern shoulder of the Spy-glass and rising again towards the south
            into the rough, cliffy eminence called the Mizzen-mast Hill. The top of the
            plateau was dotted thickly with pine-trees of varying height. Every here and
            there, one of a different species rose forty or fifty feet clear above its
            neighbours, and which of these was the particular "tall tree" of Captain Flint
            could only be decided on the spot, and by the readings of the compass.
         </p>
         
         <p>Yet, although that was the case, every man on board the boats had picked a
            favourite of his own ere we were half-way over, Long John alone shrugging his
            shoulders and bidding them wait till they were there.
         </p>
         
         <p>We pulled easily, by Silver's directions, not to weary the hands prematurely, and
            after quite a long passage, landed at the mouth of the second river—that which
            runs down a woody cleft of the Spy-glass. Thence, bending to our left, we began to
            ascend the slope towards the plateau.
         </p>
         
         <p>At the first outset, heavy, miry ground and a matted, marish vegetation greatly
            delayed our progress; but by little and little the hill began to steepen and
            become stony under foot, and the wood to change its character and to grow in a
            more open order. It was, indeed, a most pleasant portion of the island that we
            were now approaching. A heavy-scented broom and many flowering shrubs had almost
            taken the place of grass. Thickets of green nutmeg-trees were dotted here and
            there with the red columns and the broad shadow of the pines; and the first
            mingled their spice with the aroma of the others. The air, besides, was fresh and
            stirring, and this, under the sheer sunbeams, was a wonderful refreshment to our
            senses.
         </p>
         
         <p>The party spread itself abroad, in a fan shape, shouting and leaping to and fro.
            About the centre, and a good way behind the rest, Silver and I followed—I tethered
            by my rope, he ploughing, with deep pants, among the sliding gravel. From time to
            time, indeed, I had to lend him a hand, or he must have missed his footing and
            fallen backward down the hill.
         </p>
         
         <p>We had thus proceeded for about half a mile and were approaching the brow of the
            plateau when the man upon the farthest left began to cry aloud, as if in terror.
            Shout after shout came from him, and the others began to run in his direction.
         </p>
         
         <p>"He can't 'a found the treasure," said old Morgan, hurrying past us from the
            right, "for that's clean a-top."
         </p>
         
         <p>Indeed, as we found when we also reached the spot, it was something very
            different. At the foot of a pretty big pine and involved in a green creeper, which
            had even partly lifted some of the smaller bones, a human skeleton lay, with a few
            shreds of clothing, on the ground. I believe a chill struck for a moment to every
            heart.
         </p>
         
         <p>"He was a seaman," said George Merry, who, bolder than the rest, had gone up close
            and was examining the rags of clothing. "Leastways, this is good sea-cloth."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Aye, aye," said Silver; "like enough; you wouldn't look to find a bishop here, I
            reckon. But what sort of a way is that for bones to lie? 'Tain't in natur'."
         </p>
         
         <p>Indeed, on a second glance, it seemed impossible to fancy that the body was in a
            natural position. But for some disarray (the work, perhaps, of the birds that had
            fed upon him or of the slow-growing creeper that had gradually enveloped his
            remains) the man lay perfectly straight—his feet pointing in one direction, his
            hands, raised above his head like a diver's, pointing directly in the
            opposite.
         </p>
         
         <p>"I've taken a notion into my old numbskull," observed Silver. "Here's the compass;
            there's the tip-top p'int o' Skeleton Island, stickin' out like a tooth. Just take
            a bearing, will you, along the line of them bones."
         </p>
         
         <p>It was done. The body pointed straight in the direction of the island, and the
            compass read duly E.S.E. and by E.
         </p>
         
         <p>"I thought so," cried the cook; "this here is a p'inter. Right up there is our
            line for the Pole Star and the jolly dollars. But, by thunder! If it don't make me
            cold inside to think of Flint. This is one of HIS jokes, and no mistake. Him and
            these six was alone here; he killed 'em, every man; and this one he hauled here
            and laid down by compass, shiver my timbers! They're long bones, and the hair's
            been yellow. Aye, that would be Allardyce. You mind Allardyce, Tom Morgan?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Aye, aye," returned Morgan; "I mind him; he owed me money, he did, and took my
            knife ashore with him."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Speaking of knives," said another, "why don't we find his'n lying round? Flint
            warn't the man to pick a seaman's pocket; and the birds, I guess, would leave it
            be."
         </p>
         
         <p>"By the powers, and that's true!" cried Silver.</p>
         
         <p>"There ain't a thing left here," said Merry, still feeling round among the bones;
            "not a copper doit nor a baccy box. It don't look nat'ral to me."
         </p>
         
         <p>"No, by gum, it don't," agreed Silver; "not nat'ral, nor not nice, says you. Great
            guns! Messmates, but if Flint was living, this would be a hot spot for you and me.
            Six they were, and six are we; and bones is what they are now."
         </p>
         
         <p>"I saw him dead with these here deadlights," said Morgan. "Billy took me in. There
            he laid, with penny-pieces on his eyes."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Dead—aye, sure enough he's dead and gone below," said the fellow with the
            bandage; "but if ever sperrit walked, it would be Flint's. Dear heart, but he died
            bad, did Flint!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Aye, that he did," observed another; "now he raged, and now he hollered for the
            rum, and now he sang. 'Fifteen Men' were his only song, mates; and I tell you
            true, I never rightly liked to hear it since. It was main hot, and the windy was
            open, and I hear that old song comin' out as clear as clear—and the death-haul on
            the man already."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Come, come," said Silver; "stow this talk. He's dead, and he don't walk, that I
            know; leastways, he won't walk by day, and you may lay to that. Care killed a cat.
            Fetch ahead for the doubloons."
         </p>
         
         <p>We started, certainly; but in spite of the hot sun and the staring daylight, the
            pirates no longer ran separate and shouting through the wood, but kept side by
            side and spoke with bated breath. The terror of the dead buccaneer had fallen on
            their spirits.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="partHeader">The Treasure-hunt—The Voice Among the Trees</span>
         
         <p>PARTLY from the damping influence of this alarm, partly to rest Silver and the
            sick folk, the whole party sat down as soon as they had gained the brow of the
            ascent.
         </p>
         
         <p>The plateau being somewhat tilted towards the west, this spot on which we had
            paused commanded a wide prospect on either hand. Before us, over the tree-tops, we
            beheld the Cape of the Woods fringed with surf; behind, we not only looked down
            upon the anchorage and Skeleton Island, but saw—clear across the spit and the
            eastern lowlands—a great field of open sea upon the east. Sheer above us rose the
            Spyglass, here dotted with single pines, there black with precipices. There was no
            sound but that of the distant breakers, mounting from all round, and the chirp of
            countless insects in the brush. Not a man, not a sail, upon the sea; the very
            largeness of the view increased the sense of solitude.
         </p>
         
         <p>Silver, as he sat, took certain bearings with his compass.</p>
         
         <p>"There are three 'tall trees'" said he, "about in the right line from Skeleton
            Island. 'Spy-glass shoulder,' I take it, means that lower p'int there. It's
            child's play to find the stuff now. I've half a mind to dine first."
         </p>
         
         <p>"I don't feel sharp," growled Morgan. "Thinkin' o' Flint—I think it were—as done
            me."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ah, well, my son, you praise your stars he's dead," said Silver.</p>
         
         <p>"He were an ugly devil," cried a third pirate with a shudder; "that blue in the
            face too!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"That was how the rum took him," added Merry. "Blue! Well, I reckon he was blue.
            That's a true word."
         </p>
         
         <p>Ever since they had found the skeleton and got upon this train of thought, they
            had spoken lower and lower, and they had almost got to whispering by now, so that
            the sound of their talk hardly interrupted the silence of the wood. All of a
            sudden, out of the middle of the trees in front of us, a thin, high, trembling
            voice struck up the well-known air and words:
         </p>
         
         
         <p>I never have seen men more dreadfully affected than the pirates. The colour went
            from their six faces like enchantment; some leaped to their feet, some clawed hold
            of others; Morgan grovelled on the ground.
         </p>
         
         <p>"It's Flint, by ——!" cried Merry.</p>
         
         <p>The song had stopped as suddenly as it began—broken off, you would have said, in
            the middle of a note, as though someone had laid his hand upon the singer's mouth.
            Coming through the clear, sunny atmosphere among the green tree-tops, I thought it
            had sounded airily and sweetly; and the effect on my companions was the
            stranger.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Come," said Silver, struggling with his ashen lips to get the word out; "this
            won't do. Stand by to go about. This is a rum start, and I can't name the voice,
            but it's someone skylarking—someone that's flesh and blood, and you may lay to
            that."
         </p>
         
         <p>His courage had come back as he spoke, and some of the colour to his face along
            with it. Already the others had begun to lend an ear to this encouragement and
            were coming a little to themselves, when the same voice broke out again—not this
            time singing, but in a faint distant hail that echoed yet fainter among the clefts
            of the Spy-glass.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Darby M'Graw," it wailed—for that is the word that best describes the
            sound—"Darby M'Graw! Darby M'Graw!" again and again and again; and then rising a
            little higher, and with an oath that I leave out: "Fetch aft the rum, Darby!"
         </p>
         
         <p>The buccaneers remained rooted to the ground, their eyes starting from their
            heads. Long after the voice had died away they still stared in silence,
            dreadfully, before them.
         </p>
         
         <p>"That fixes it!" gasped one. "Let's go."</p>
         
         <p>"They was his last words," moaned Morgan, "his last words above board."</p>
         
         <p>Dick had his Bible out and was praying volubly. He had been well brought up, had
            Dick, before he came to sea and fell among bad companions.
         </p>
         
         <p>Still Silver was unconquered. I could hear his teeth rattle in his head, but he
            had not yet surrendered.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Nobody in this here island ever heard of Darby," he muttered; "not one but us
            that's here." And then, making a great effort: "Shipmates," he cried, "I'm here to
            get that stuff, and I'll not be beat by man or devil. I never was feared of Flint
            in his life, and, by the powers, I'll face him dead. There's seven hundred
            thousand pound not a quarter of a mile from here. When did ever a gentleman o'
            fortune show his stern to that much dollars for a boozy old seaman with a blue
            mug—and him dead too?"
         </p>
         
         <p>But there was no sign of reawakening courage in his followers, rather, indeed, of
            growing terror at the irreverence of his words.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Belay there, John!" said Merry. "Don't you cross a sperrit."</p>
         
         <p>And the rest were all too terrified to reply. They would have run away severally
            had they dared; but fear kept them together, and kept them close by John, as if
            his daring helped them. He, on his part, had pretty well fought his weakness
            down.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Sperrit? Well, maybe," he said. "But there's one thing not clear to me. There was
            an echo. Now, no man ever seen a sperrit with a shadow; well then, what's he doing
            with an echo to him, I should like to know? That ain't in natur', surely?"
         </p>
         
         <p>This argument seemed weak enough to me. But you can never tell what will affect
            the superstitious, and to my wonder, George Merry was greatly relieved.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Well, that's so," he said. "You've a head upon your shoulders, John, and no
            mistake. 'Bout ship, mates! This here crew is on a wrong tack, I do believe. And
            come to think on it, it was like Flint's voice, I grant you, but not just so
            clear-away like it, after all. It was liker somebody else's voice now—it was
            liker—"
         </p>
         
         <p>"By the powers, Ben Gunn!" roared Silver.</p>
         
         <p>"Aye, and so it were," cried Morgan, springing on his knees. "Ben Gunn it
            were!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"It don't make much odds, do it, now?" asked Dick. "Ben Gunn's not here in the
            body any more'n Flint."
         </p>
         
         <p>But the older hands greeted this remark with scorn.</p>
         
         <p>"Why, nobody minds Ben Gunn," cried Merry; "dead or alive, nobody minds him."</p>
         
         <p>It was extraordinary how their spirits had returned and how the natural colour had
            revived in their faces. Soon they were chatting together, with intervals of
            listening; and not long after, hearing no further sound, they shouldered the tools
            and set forth again, Merry walking first with Silver's compass to keep them on the
            right line with Skeleton Island. He had said the truth: dead or alive, nobody
            minded Ben Gunn.
         </p>
         
         <p>Dick alone still held his Bible, and looked around him as he went, with fearful
            glances; but he found no sympathy, and Silver even joked him on his
            precautions.
         </p>
         
         <p>"I told you," said he—"I told you you had sp'iled your Bible. If it ain't no good
            to swear by, what do you suppose a sperrit would give for it? Not that!" and he
            snapped his big fingers, halting a moment on his crutch.
         </p>
         
         <p>But Dick was not to be comforted; indeed, it was soon plain to me that the lad was
            falling sick; hastened by heat, exhaustion, and the shock of his alarm, the fever,
            predicted by Dr. Livesey, was evidently growing swiftly higher.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was fine open walking here, upon the summit; our way lay a little downhill,
            for, as I have said, the plateau tilted towards the west. The pines, great and
            small, grew wide apart; and even between the clumps of nutmeg and azalea, wide
            open spaces baked in the hot sunshine. Striking, as we did, pretty near north-west
            across the island, we drew, on the one hand, ever nearer under the shoulders of
            the Spy-glass, and on the other, looked ever wider over that western bay where I
            had once tossed and trembled in the coracle.
         </p>
         
         <p>The first of the tall trees was reached, and by the bearings proved the wrong one.
            So with the second. The third rose nearly two hundred feet into the air above a
            clump of underwood—a giant of a vegetable, with a red column as big as a cottage,
            and a wide shadow around in which a company could have manoeuvred. It was
            conspicuous far to sea both on the east and west and might have been entered as a
            sailing mark upon the chart.
         </p>
         
         <p>But it was not its size that now impressed my companions; it was the knowledge
            that seven hundred thousand pounds in gold lay somewhere buried below its
            spreading shadow. The thought of the money, as they drew nearer, swallowed up
            their previous terrors. Their eyes burned in their heads; their feet grew speedier
            and lighter; their whole soul was found up in that fortune, that whole lifetime of
            extravagance and pleasure, that lay waiting there for each of them.
         </p>
         
         <p>Silver hobbled, grunting, on his crutch; his nostrils stood out and quivered; he
            cursed like a madman when the flies settled on his hot and shiny countenance; he
            plucked furiously at the line that held me to him and from time to time turned his
            eyes upon me with a deadly look. Certainly he took no pains to hide his thoughts,
            and certainly I read them like print. In the immediate nearness of the gold, all
            else had been forgotten: his promise and the doctor's warning were both things of
            the past, and I could not doubt that he hoped to seize upon the treasure, find and
            board the HISPANIOLA under cover of night, cut every honest throat about that
            island, and sail away as he had at first intended, laden with crimes and
            riches.
         </p>
         
         <p>Shaken as I was with these alarms, it was hard for me to keep up with the rapid
            pace of the treasure-hunters. Now and again I stumbled, and it was then that
            Silver plucked so roughly at the rope and launched at me his murderous glances.
            Dick, who had dropped behind us and now brought up the rear, was babbling to
            himself both prayers and curses as his fever kept rising. This also added to my
            wretchedness, and to crown all, I was haunted by the thought of the tragedy that
            had once been acted on that plateau, when that ungodly buccaneer with the blue
            face—he who died at Savannah, singing and shouting for drink—had there, with his
            own hand, cut down his six accomplices. This grove that was now so peaceful must
            then have rung with cries, I thought; and even with the thought I could believe I
            heard it ringing still.
         </p>
         
         <p>We were now at the margin of the thicket.</p>
         
         <p>"Huzza, mates, all together!" shouted Merry; and the foremost broke into a
            run.
         </p>
         
         <p>And suddenly, not ten yards further, we beheld them stop. A low cry arose. Silver
            doubled his pace, digging away with the foot of his crutch like one possessed; and
            next moment he and I had come also to a dead halt.
         </p>
         
         <p>Before us was a great excavation, not very recent, for the sides had fallen in and
            grass had sprouted on the bottom. In this were the shaft of a pick broken in two
            and the boards of several packing-cases strewn around. On one of these boards I
            saw, branded with a hot iron, the name WALRUS—the name of Flint's ship.
         </p>
         
         <p>All was clear to probation. The CACHE had been found and rifled; the seven hundred
            thousand pounds were gone!
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="partHeader">The Fall of a Chieftain</span>
         
         <p>THERE never was such an overturn in this world. Each of these six men was as
            though he had been struck. But with Silver the blow passed almost instantly. Every
            thought of his soul had been set full-stretch, like a racer, on that money; well,
            he was brought up, in a single second, dead; and he kept his head, found his
            temper, and changed his plan before the others had had time to realize the
            disappointment.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Jim," he whispered, "take that, and stand by for trouble."</p>
         
         <p>And he passed me a double-barrelled pistol.</p>
         
         <p>At the same time, he began quietly moving northward, and in a few steps had put
            the hollow between us two and the other five. Then he looked at me and nodded, as
            much as to say, "Here is a narrow corner," as, indeed, I thought it was. His looks
            were not quite friendly, and I was so revolted at these constant changes that I
            could not forbear whispering, "So you've changed sides again."
         </p>
         
         <p>There was no time left for him to answer in. The buccaneers, with oaths and cries,
            began to leap, one after another, into the pit and to dig with their fingers,
            throwing the boards aside as they did so. Morgan found a piece of gold. He held it
            up with a perfect spout of oaths. It was a two-guinea piece, and it went from hand
            to hand among them for a quarter of a minute.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Two guineas!" roared Merry, shaking it at Silver. "That's your seven hundred
            thousand pounds, is it? You're the man for bargains, ain't you? You're him that
            never bungled nothing, you wooden-headed lubber!"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Dig away, boys," said Silver with the coolest insolence; "you'll find some
            pig-nuts and I shouldn't wonder."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Pig-nuts!" repeated Merry, in a scream. "Mates, do you hear that? I tell you now,
            that man there knew it all along. Look in the face of him and you'll see it wrote
            there."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ah, Merry," remarked Silver, "standing for cap'n again? You're a pushing lad, to
            be sure."
         </p>
         
         <p>But this time everyone was entirely in Merry's favour. They began to scramble out
            of the excavation, darting furious glances behind them. One thing I observed,
            which looked well for us: they all got out upon the opposite side from Silver.
         </p>
         
         <p>Well, there we stood, two on one side, five on the other, the pit between us, and
            nobody screwed up high enough to offer the first blow. Silver never moved; he
            watched them, very upright on his crutch, and looked as cool as ever I saw him. He
            was brave, and no mistake.
         </p>
         
         <p>At last Merry seemed to think a speech might help matters.</p>
         
         <p>"Mates," says he, "there's two of them alone there; one's the old cripple that
            brought us all here and blundered us down to this; the other's that cub that I
            mean to have the heart of. Now, mates—"
         </p>
         
         <p>He was raising his arm and his voice, and plainly meant to lead a charge. But just
            then—crack! crack! crack!—three musket-shots flashed out of the thicket. Merry
            tumbled head foremost into the excavation; the man with the bandage spun round
            like a teetotum and fell all his length upon his side, where he lay dead, but
            still twitching; and the other three turned and ran for it with all their
            might.
         </p>
         
         <p>Before you could wink, Long John had fired two barrels of a pistol into the
            struggling Merry, and as the man rolled up his eyes at him in the last agony,
            "George," said he, "I reckon I settled you."
         </p>
         
         <p>At the same moment, the doctor, Gray, and Ben Gunn joined us, with smoking
            muskets, from among the nutmeg-trees.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Forward!" cried the doctor. "Double quick, my lads. We must head 'em off the
            boats."
         </p>
         
         <p>And we set off at a great pace, sometimes plunging through the bushes to the
            chest.
         </p>
         
         <p>I tell you, but Silver was anxious to keep up with us. The work that man went
            through, leaping on his crutch till the muscles of his chest were fit to burst,
            was work no sound man ever equalled; and so thinks the doctor. As it was, he was
            already thirty yards behind us and on the verge of strangling when we reached the
            brow of the slope.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Doctor," he hailed, "see there! No hurry!"</p>
         
         <p>Sure enough there was no hurry. In a more open part of the plateau, we could see
            the three survivors still running in the same direction as they had started, right
            for Mizzenmast Hill. We were already between them and the boats; and so we four
            sat down to breathe, while Long John, mopping his face, came slowly up with
            us.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Thank ye kindly, doctor," says he. "You came in in about the nick, I guess, for
            me and Hawkins. And so it's you, Ben Gunn!" he added. "Well, you're a nice one, to
            be sure."
         </p>
         
         <p>"I'm Ben Gunn, I am," replied the maroon, wriggling like an eel in his
            embarrassment. "And," he added, after a long pause, "how do, Mr. Silver? Pretty
            well, I thank ye, says you."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ben, Ben," murmured Silver, "to think as you've done me!"</p>
         
         <p>The doctor sent back Gray for one of the pick-axes deserted, in their flight, by
            the mutineers, and then as we proceeded leisurely downhill to where the boats were
            lying, related in a few words what had taken place. It was a story that profoundly
            interested Silver; and Ben Gunn, the half-idiot maroon, was the hero from
            beginning to end.
         </p>
         
         <p>Ben, in his long, lonely wanderings about the island, had found the skeleton—it
            was he that had rifled it; he had found the treasure; he had dug it up (it was the
            haft of his pick-axe that lay broken in the excavation); he had carried it on his
            back, in many weary journeys, from the foot of the tall pine to a cave he had on
            the two-pointed hill at the north-east angle of the island, and there it had lain
            stored in safety since two months before the arrival of the HISPANIOLA.
         </p>
         
         <p>When the doctor had wormed this secret from him on the afternoon of the attack,
            and when next morning he saw the anchorage deserted, he had gone to Silver, given
            him the chart, which was now useless—given him the stores, for Ben Gunn's cave was
            well supplied with goats' meat salted by himself—given anything and everything to
            get a chance of moving in safety from the stockade to the two-pointed hill, there
            to be clear of malaria and keep a guard upon the money.
         </p>
         
         <p>"As for you, Jim," he said, "it went against my heart, but I did what I thought
            best for those who had stood by their duty; and if you were not one of these,
            whose fault was it?"
         </p>
         
         <p>That morning, finding that I was to be involved in the horrid disappointment he
            had prepared for the mutineers, he had run all the way to the cave, and leaving
            the squire to guard the captain, had taken Gray and the maroon and started, making
            the diagonal across the island to be at hand beside the pine. Soon, however, he
            saw that our party had the start of him; and Ben Gunn, being fleet of foot, had
            been dispatched in front to do his best alone. Then it had occurred to him to work
            upon the superstitions of his former shipmates, and he was so far successful that
            Gray and the doctor had come up and were already ambushed before the arrival of
            the treasure-hunters.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ah," said Silver, "it were fortunate for me that I had Hawkins here. You would
            have let old John be cut to bits, and never given it a thought, doctor."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Not a thought," replied Dr. Livesey cheerily.</p>
         
         <p>And by this time we had reached the gigs. The doctor, with the pick-axe,
            demolished one of them, and then we all got aboard the other and set out to go
            round by sea for North Inlet.
         </p>
         
         <p>This was a run of eight or nine miles. Silver, though he was almost killed already
            with fatigue, was set to an oar, like the rest of us, and we were soon skimming
            swiftly over a smooth sea. Soon we passed out of the straits and doubled the
            south-east corner of the island, round which, four days ago, we had towed the
            HISPANIOLA.
         </p>
         
         <p>As we passed the two-pointed hill, we could see the black mouth of Ben Gunn's cave
            and a figure standing by it, leaning on a musket. It was the squire, and we waved
            a handkerchief and gave him three cheers, in which the voice of Silver joined as
            heartily as any.
         </p>
         
         <p>Three miles farther, just inside the mouth of North Inlet, what should we meet but
            the HISPANIOLA, cruising by herself? The last flood had lifted her, and had there
            been much wind or a strong tide current, as in the southern anchorage, we should
            never have found her more, or found her stranded beyond help. As it was, there was
            little amiss beyond the wreck of the main-sail. Another anchor was got ready and
            dropped in a fathom and a half of water. We all pulled round again to Rum Cove,
            the nearest point for Ben Gunn's treasure-house; and then Gray, single-handed,
            returned with the gig to the HISPANIOLA, where he was to pass the night on
            guard.
         </p>
         
         <p>A gentle slope ran up from the beach to the entrance of the cave. At the top, the
            squire met us. To me he was cordial and kind, saying nothing of my escapade either
            in the way of blame or praise. At Silver's polite salute he somewhat flushed.
         </p>
         
         <p>"John Silver," he said, "you're a prodigious villain and imposter—a monstrous
            imposter, sir. I am told I am not to prosecute you. Well, then, I will not. But
            the dead men, sir, hang about your neck like mill-stones."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Thank you kindly, sir," replied Long John, again saluting.</p>
         
         <p>"I dare you to thank me!" cried the squire. "It is a gross dereliction of my duty.
            Stand back."
         </p>
         
         <p>And thereupon we all entered the cave. It was a large, airy place, with a little
            spring and a pool of clear water, overhung with ferns. The floor was sand. Before
            a big fire lay Captain Smollett; and in a far corner, only duskily flickered over
            by the blaze, I beheld great heaps of coin and quadrilaterals built of bars of
            gold. That was Flint's treasure that we had come so far to seek and that had cost
            already the lives of seventeen men from the HISPANIOLA. How many it had cost in
            the amassing, what blood and sorrow, what good ships scuttled on the deep, what
            brave men walking the plank blindfold, what shot of cannon, what shame and lies
            and cruelty, perhaps no man alive could tell. Yet there were still three upon that
            island—Silver, and old Morgan, and Ben Gunn—who had each taken his share in these
            crimes, as each had hoped in vain to share in the reward.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Come in, Jim," said the captain. "You're a good boy in your line, Jim, but I
            don't think you and me'll go to sea again. You're too much of the born favourite
            for me. Is that you, John Silver? What brings you here, man?"
         </p>
         
         <p>"Come back to my dooty, sir," returned Silver.</p>
         
         <p>"Ah!" said the captain, and that was all he said.</p>
         
         <p>What a supper I had of it that night, with all my friends around me; and what a
            meal it was, with Ben Gunn's salted goat and some delicacies and a bottle of old
            wine from the HISPANIOLA. Never, I am sure, were people gayer or happier. And
            there was Silver, sitting back almost out of the firelight, but eating heartily,
            prompt to spring forward when anything was wanted, even joining quietly in our
            laughter—the same bland, polite, obsequious seaman of the voyage out.
         </p>
         
         
         <span class="partHeader">And Last</span>
         
         <p>THE next morning we fell early to work, for the transportation of this great mass
            of gold near a mile by land to the beach, and thence three miles by boat to the
            HISPANIOLA, was a considerable task for so small a number of workmen. The three
            fellows still abroad upon the island did not greatly trouble us; a single sentry
            on the shoulder of the hill was sufficient to ensure us against any sudden
            onslaught, and we thought, besides, they had had more than enough of fighting.
         </p>
         
         <p>Therefore the work was pushed on briskly. Gray and Ben Gunn came and went with the
            boat, while the rest during their absences piled treasure on the beach. Two of the
            bars, slung in a rope's end, made a good load for a grown man—one that he was glad
            to walk slowly with. For my part, as I was not much use at carrying, I was kept
            busy all day in the cave packing the minted money into bread-bags.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was a strange collection, like Billy Bones's hoard for the diversity of
            coinage, but so much larger and so much more varied that I think I never had more
            pleasure than in sorting them. English, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Georges, and
            Louises, doubloons and double guineas and moidores and sequins, the pictures of
            all the kings of Europe for the last hundred years, strange Oriental pieces
            stamped with what looked like wisps of string or bits of spider's web, round
            pieces and square pieces, and pieces bored through the middle, as if to wear them
            round your neck—nearly every variety of money in the world must, I think, have
            found a place in that collection; and for number, I am sure they were like autumn
            leaves, so that my back ached with stooping and my fingers with sorting them
            out.
         </p>
         
         <p>Day after day this work went on; by every evening a fortune had been stowed
            aboard, but there was another fortune waiting for the morrow; and all this time we
            heard nothing of the three surviving mutineers.
         </p>
         
         <p>At last—I think it was on the third night—the doctor and I were strolling on the
            shoulder of the hill where it overlooks the lowlands of the isle, when, from out
            the thick darkness below, the wind brought us a noise between shrieking and
            singing. It was only a snatch that reached our ears, followed by the former
            silence.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Heaven forgive them," said the doctor; "'tis the mutineers!"</p>
         
         <p>"All drunk, sir," struck in the voice of Silver from behind us.</p>
         
         <p>Silver, I should say, was allowed his entire liberty, and in spite of daily
            rebuffs, seemed to regard himself once more as quite a privileged and friendly
            dependent. Indeed, it was remarkable how well he bore these slights and with what
            unwearying politeness he kept on trying to ingratiate himself with all. Yet, I
            think, none treated him better than a dog, unless it was Ben Gunn, who was still
            terribly afraid of his old quartermaster, or myself, who had really something to
            thank him for; although for that matter, I suppose, I had reason to think even
            worse of him than anybody else, for I had seen him meditating a fresh treachery
            upon the plateau. Accordingly, it was pretty gruffly that the doctor answered
            him.
         </p>
         
         <p>"Drunk or raving," said he.</p>
         
         <p>"Right you were, sir," replied Silver; "and precious little odds which, to you and
            me."
         </p>
         
         <p>"I suppose you would hardly ask me to call you a humane man," returned the doctor
            with a sneer, "and so my feelings may surprise you, Master Silver. But if I were
            sure they were raving—as I am morally certain one, at least, of them is down with
            fever—I should leave this camp, and at whatever risk to my own carcass, take them
            the assistance of my skill."
         </p>
         
         <p>"Ask your pardon, sir, you would be very wrong," quoth Silver. "You would lose
            your precious life, and you may lay to that. I'm on your side now, hand and glove;
            and I shouldn't wish for to see the party weakened, let alone yourself, seeing as
            I know what I owes you. But these men down there, they couldn't keep their
            word—no, not supposing they wished to; and what's more, they couldn't believe as
            you could."
         </p>
         
         <p>"No," said the doctor. "You're the man to keep your word, we know that."</p>
         
         <p>Well, that was about the last news we had of the three pirates. Only once we heard
            a gunshot a great way off and supposed them to be hunting. A council was held, and
            it was decided that we must desert them on the island—to the huge glee, I must
            say, of Ben Gunn, and with the strong approval of Gray. We left a good stock of
            powder and shot, the bulk of the salt goat, a few medicines, and some other
            necessaries, tools, clothing, a spare sail, a fathom or two of rope, and by the
            particular desire of the doctor, a handsome present of tobacco.
         </p>
         
         <p>That was about our last doing on the island. Before that, we had got the treasure
            stowed and had shipped enough water and the remainder of the goat meat in case of
            any distress; and at last, one fine morning, we weighed anchor, which was about
            all that we could manage, and stood out of North Inlet, the same colours flying
            that the captain had flown and fought under at the palisade.
         </p>
         
         <p>The three fellows must have been watching us closer than we thought for, as we
            soon had proved. For coming through the narrows, we had to lie very near the
            southern point, and there we saw all three of them kneeling together on a spit of
            sand, with their arms raised in supplication. It went to all our hearts, I think,
            to leave them in that wretched state; but we could not risk another mutiny; and to
            take them home for the gibbet would have been a cruel sort of kindness. The doctor
            hailed them and told them of the stores we had left, and where they were to find
            them. But they continued to call us by name and appeal to us, for God's sake, to
            be merciful and not leave them to die in such a place.
         </p>
         
         <p>At last, seeing the ship still bore on her course and was now swiftly drawing out
            of earshot, one of them—I know not which it was—leapt to his feet with a hoarse
            cry, whipped his musket to his shoulder, and sent a shot whistling over Silver's
            head and through the main-sail.
         </p>
         
         <p>After that, we kept under cover of the bulwarks, and when next I looked out they
            had disappeared from the spit, and the spit itself had almost melted out of sight
            in the growing distance. That was, at least, the end of that; and before noon, to
            my inexpressible joy, the highest rock of Treasure Island had sunk into the blue
            round of sea.
         </p>
         
         <p>We were so short of men that everyone on board had to bear a hand—only the captain
            lying on a mattress in the stern and giving his orders, for though greatly
            recovered he was still in want of quiet. We laid her head for the nearest port in
            Spanish America, for we could not risk the voyage home without fresh hands; and as
            it was, what with baffling winds and a couple of fresh gales, we were all worn out
            before we reached it.
         </p>
         
         <p>It was just at sundown when we cast anchor in a most beautiful land-locked gulf,
            and were immediately surrounded by shore boats full of Negroes and Mexican Indians
            and half-bloods selling fruits and vegetables and offering to dive for bits of
            money. The sight of so many good-humoured faces (especially the blacks), the taste
            of the tropical fruits, and above all the lights that began to shine in the town
            made a most charming contrast to our dark and bloody sojourn on the island; and
            the doctor and the squire, taking me along with them, went ashore to pass the
            early part of the night. Here they met the captain of an English man-of-war, fell
            in talk with him, went on board his ship, and, in short, had so agreeable a time
            that day was breaking when we came alongside the HISPANIOLA.
         </p>
         
         <p>Ben Gunn was on deck alone, and as soon as we came on board he began, with
            wonderful contortions, to make us a confession. Silver was gone. The maroon had
            connived at his escape in a shore boat some hours ago, and he now assured us he
            had only done so to preserve our lives, which would certainly have been forfeit if
            "that man with the one leg had stayed aboard." But this was not all. The sea-cook
            had not gone empty-handed. He had cut through a bulkhead unobserved and had
            removed one of the sacks of coin, worth perhaps three or four hundred guineas, to
            help him on his further wanderings.
         </p>
         
         <p>I think we were all pleased to be so cheaply quit of him.</p>
         
         <p>Well, to make a long story short, we got a few hands on board, made a good cruise
            home, and the HISPANIOLA reached Bristol just as Mr. Blandly was beginning to
            think of fitting out her consort. Five men only of those who had sailed returned
            with her. "Drink and the devil had done for the rest," with a vengeance, although,
            to be sure, we were not quite in so bad a case as that other ship they sang
            about:
         </p>
         
         
         <p>All of us had an ample share of the treasure and used it wisely or foolishly,
            according to our natures. Captain Smollett is now retired from the sea. Gray not
            only saved his money, but being suddenly smit with the desire to rise, also
            studied his profession, and he is now mate and part owner of a fine full-rigged
            ship, married besides, and the father of a family. As for Ben Gunn, he got a
            thousand pounds, which he spent or lost in three weeks, or to be more exact, in
            nineteen days, for he was back begging on the twentieth. Then he was given a lodge
            to keep, exactly as he had feared upon the island; and he still lives, a great
            favourite, though something of a butt, with the country boys, and a notable singer
            in church on Sundays and saints' days.
         </p>
         
         <p>Of Silver we have heard no more. That formidable seafaring man with one leg has at
            last gone clean out of my life; but I dare say he met his old Negress, and perhaps
            still lives in comfort with her and Captain Flint. It is to be hoped so, I
            suppose, for his chances of comfort in another world are very small.
         </p>
         
         <p>The bar silver and the arms still lie, for all that I know, where Flint buried
            them; and certainly they shall lie there for me. Oxen and wain-ropes would not
            bring me back again to that accursed island; and the worst dreams that ever I have
            are when I hear the surf booming about its coasts or start upright in bed with the
            sharp voice of Captain Flint still ringing in my ears: "Pieces of eight! Pieces of
            eight!"
         </p>
         
         
         
         
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