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Wemadeourbestspeedacrossthestripofwoodthatnowdividedusfromthestockade,andateverystepwetookthevoicesofthebuccaneersrangnearer.
Soonwecouldheartheirfootfallsastheyranandthecrackingofthebranchesastheybreastedacrossabitofthicket.
Ibegantoseeweshouldhaveabrushforitinearnestandlookedtomypriming.
“Captain,”saidI,“Trelawneyisthedeadshot.Givehimyourgun;hisownisuseless.”
Theyexchangedguns,andTrelawney,silentandcoolashehadbeensincethebeginningofthebustle,hungamomentonhisheeltoseethatallwasfitforservice.
Atthesametime,observingGraytobeunarmed,Ihandedhimmycutlass.
Itdidallourheartsgoodtoseehimspitinhishand,knithisbrows,andmakethebladesingthroughtheair.
Itwasplainfromeverylineofhisbodythatournewhandwasworthhissalt.
Fortypacesfartherwecametotheedgeofthewoodandsawthestockadeinfrontofus.
Westrucktheenclosureaboutthemiddleofthesouthside,andalmostatthesametime,sevenmutineers—JobAnderson,theboatswain,attheirhead—appearedinfullcryatthesouthwesterncorner.
Theypausedasiftakenaback,andbeforetheyrecovered,notonlythesquireandI,butHunterandJoycefromtheblockhouse,hadtimetofire.
Thefourshotscameinratherascatteringvolley,buttheydidthebusiness:oneoftheenemyactuallyfell,andtherest,withouthesitation,turnedandplungedintothetrees.
Afterreloading,wewalkeddowntheoutsideofthepalisadetoseetothefallenenemy.Hewasstonedead—shotthroughtheheart.
Webegantorejoiceoverourgoodsuccesswhenjustatthatmomentapistolcrackedinthebush,aballwhistledclosepastmyear,andpoorTomRedruthstumbledandfellhislengthontheground.
BoththesquireandIreturnedtheshot,butaswehadnothingtoaimat,itisprobableweonlywastedpowder.
ThenwereloadedandturnedourattentiontopoorTom.
ThecaptainandGraywerealreadyexamininghim,andIsawwithhalfaneyethatallwasover.
Ibelievethereadinessofourreturnvolleyhadscatteredthemutineersoncemore,forweweresufferedwithoutfurthermolestationtogetthepooroldgamekeeperhoistedoverthestockadeandcarried,groaningandbleeding,intothelog-house.
Pooroldfellow,hehadnotutteredonewordofsurprise,complaint,fear,orevenacquiescencefromtheverybeginningofourtroublestillnow,whenwehadlaidhimdowninthelog-housetodie.
HehadlainlikeaTrojanbehindhismattressinthegallery;hehadfollowedeveryordersilently,doggedly,andwell;hewastheoldestofourpartybyascoreofyears;andnow,sullen,old,serviceableservant,itwashethatwastodie.
Thesquiredroppeddownbesidehimonhiskneesandkissedhishand,cryinglikeachild.
“BeIgoing,doctor?”heasked.
“Tom,myman,”saidI,“you’regoinghome.”
“IwishIhadhadalickatthemwiththegunfirst,”hereplied.
“Tom,”saidthesquire,“sayyouforgiveme,won’tyou?”
“Wouldthatberespectfullike,frommetoyou,squire?”wastheanswer.“Howsoever,sobeit,amen!”
Afteralittlewhileofsilence,hesaidhethoughtsomebodymightreadaprayer.“It’sthecustom,sir,”headdedapologetically.Andnotlongafter,withoutanotherword,hepassedaway.
Inthemeantimethecaptain,whomIhadobservedtobewonderfullyswollenaboutthechestandpockets,hadturnedoutagreatmanyvariousstores—theBritishcolours,aBible,acoilofstoutishrope,pen,ink,thelog-book,andpoundsoftobacco.
Hehadfoundalongishfir-treelyingfelledandtrimmedintheenclosure,andwiththehelpofHunterhehadsetitupatthecornerofthelog-housewherethetrunkscrossedandmadeanangle.
Then,climbingontheroof,hehadwithhisownhandbentandrunupthecolours.
Thisseemedmightilytorelievehim.Here-enteredthelog-houseandsetaboutcountingupthestoresasifnothingelseexisted.
ButhehadaneyeonTom’spassageforallthat,andassoonasallwasover,cameforwardwithanotherflagandreverentlyspreaditonthebody.
“Don’tyoutakeon,sir,”hesaid,shakingthesquire’shand.
“All’swellwithhim;nofearforahandthat’sbeenshotdowninhisdutytocaptainandowner.
Itmayn’tbegooddivinity,butit’safact.”
Thenhepulledmeaside.
“Dr.Livesey,”hesaid,“inhowmanyweeksdoyouandsquireexpecttheconsort?”
Itoldhimitwasaquestionnotofweeksbutofmonths,thatifwewerenotbackbytheendofAugustBlandlywastosendtofindus,butneithersoonernorlater.
“Youcancalculateforyourself,”Isaid.
“Why,yes,”returnedthecaptain,scratchinghishead;“andmakingalargeallowance,sir,forallthegiftsofProvidence,Ishouldsaywewereprettyclosehauled.”
“Howdoyoumean?”Iasked.
“It’sapity,sir,welostthatsecondload.
That’swhatImean,”repliedthecaptain.“Asforpowderandshot,we’lldo.
Buttherationsareshort,veryshort—soshort,Dr.Livesey,thatwe’reperhapsaswellwithoutthatextramouth.”
Andhepointedtothedeadbodyundertheflag.
Justthen,witharoarandawhistle,around-shotpassedhighabovetheroofofthelog-houseandplumpedfarbeyondusinthewood.
“Oho!”saidthecaptain.“Blazeaway!You’velittleenoughpowderalready,mylads.”
Atthesecondtrial,theaimwasbetter,andtheballdescendedinsidethestockade,scatteringacloudofsandbutdoingnofurtherdamage.
“Captain,”saidthesquire,“thehouseisquiteinvisiblefromtheship.Itmustbetheflagtheyareaimingat.Woulditnotbewisertotakeitin?”
“Strikemycolours!”criedthecaptain.
“No,sir,notI”;andassoonashehadsaidthewords,Ithinkweallagreedwithhim.
Foritwasnotonlyapieceofstout,seamanly,goodfeeling;itwasgoodpolicybesidesandshowedourenemiesthatwedespisedtheircannonade.
Allthroughtheeveningtheykeptthunderingaway.
Ballafterballflewoverorfellshortorkickedupthesandintheenclosure,buttheyhadtofiresohighthattheshotfelldeadandburieditselfinthesoftsand.
Wehadnoricochettofear,andthoughonepoppedinthroughtheroofofthelog-houseandoutagainthroughthefloor,wesoongotusedtothatsortofhorse-playandmindeditnomorethancricket.
“Thereisonegoodthingaboutallthis,”observedthecaptain;“thewoodinfrontofusislikelyclear.
Theebbhasmadeagoodwhile;ourstoresshouldbeuncovered.Volunteerstogoandbringinpork.”
Grayandhunterwerethefirsttocomeforward.
Wellarmed,theystoleoutofthestockade,butitprovedauselessmission.
ThemutineerswerebolderthanwefanciedortheyputmoretrustinIsrael’sgunnery.
Forfourorfiveofthemwerebusycarryingoffourstoresandwadingoutwiththemtooneofthegigsthatlaycloseby,pullinganoarorsotoholdhersteadyagainstthecurrent.
Silverwasinthestern-sheetsincommand;andeverymanofthemwasnowprovidedwithamusketfromsomesecretmagazineoftheirown.
Thecaptainsatdowntohislog,andhereisthebeginningoftheentry:
AlexanderSmollett,master;DavidLivesey,ship’s
doctor;AbrahamGray,carpenter’smate;John
Trelawney,owner;JohnHunterandRichardJoyce,
owner’sservants,landsmen—beingallthatisleft
faithfuloftheship’scompany—withstoresforten
daysatshortrations,cameashorethisdayandflew
Britishcoloursonthelog-houseinTreasureIsland.
ThomasRedruth,owner’sservant,landsman,shotbythe
mutineers;JamesHawkins,cabin-boy—
Andatthesametime,IwaswonderingoverpoorJimHawkins’fate.
Ahailonthelandside.
“Somebodyhailingus,”saidHunter,whowasonguard.
“Doctor!Squire!Captain!Hullo,Hunter,isthatyou?”camethecries.
AndIrantothedoorintimetoseeJimHawkins,safeandsound,comeclimbingoverthestockade.
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