Part Four: The Stockade - Chapter 18: Narrative Continued by the Doctor: End of the First Day's Fighting

by Robert Louis Stevenson

　　We made our best speed across the strip of wood thatnow divided us from the stockade, and at every step wetook the voices of the buccaneers rang nearer. Soon wecould hear their footfalls as they ran and the crackingof the branches as they breasted across a bit of thicket.

　　I began to see we should have a brush for it in earnestand looked to my priming.

　　"Captain," said I, "Trelawney is the dead shot. Givehim your gun; his own is useless."

　　They exchanged guns, and Trelawney, silent and cool ashe had been since the beginning of the bustle, hung amoment on his heel to see that all was fit for service.At the same time, observing Gray to be unarmed, Ihanded him my cutlass. It did all our hearts good tosee him spit in his hand, knit his brows, and make theblade sing through the air. It was plain from everyline of his body that our new hand was worth his salt.

　　Forty paces farther we came to the edge of the wood andsaw the stockade in front of us. We struck theenclosure about the middle of the south side, andalmost at the same time, seven mutineers--Job Anderson,the boatswain, at their head--appeared in full cry atthe southwestern corner.

　　They paused as if taken aback, and before they recovered,not only the squire and I, but Hunter and Joyce from theblock house, had time to fire. The four shots came inrather a scattering volley, but they did the business:one of the enemy actually fell, and the rest, withouthesitation, turned and plunged into the trees.

　　After reloading, we walked down the outside of thepalisade to see to the fallen enemy. He was stonedead--shot through the heart.

　　We began to rejoice over our good success when just atthat moment a pistol cracked in the bush, a ballwhistled close past my ear, and poor Tom Redruthstumbled and fell his length on the ground. Both thesquire and I returned the shot, but as we had nothingto aim at, it is probable we only wasted powder. Thenwe reloaded and turned our attention to poor Tom.

　　The captain and Gray were already examining him, and Isaw with half an eye that all was over.

　　I believe the readiness of our return volley hadscattered the mutineers once more, for we were sufferedwithout further molestation to get the poor oldgamekeeper hoisted over the stockade and carried,groaning and bleeding, into the log-house.

　　Poor old fellow, he had not uttered one word of surprise,complaint, fear, or even acquiescence from the verybeginning of our troubles till now, when we had laid himdown in the log-house to die. He had lain like a Trojanbehind his mattress in the gallery; he had followed everyorder silently, doggedly, and well; he was the oldest ofour party by a score of years; and now, sullen, old,serviceable servant, it was he that was to die.

　　The squire dropped down beside him on his knees andkissed his hand, crying like a child.

　　"Be I going, doctor?" he asked.

　　"Tom, my man," said I, "you're going home."

　　"I wish I had had a lick at them with the gun first,"he replied.

　　"Tom," said the squire, "say you forgive me, won't you?"

　　"Would that be respectful like, from me to you,squire?" was the answer. "Howsoever, so be it, amen!"

　　After a little while of silence, he said he thoughtsomebody might read a prayer. "It's the custom, sir,"he added apologetically. And not long after, withoutanother word, he passed away.

　　In the meantime the captain, whom I had observed to bewonderfully swollen about the chest and pockets, hadturned out a great many various stores--the Britishcolours, a Bible, a coil of stoutish rope, pen, ink,the log-book, and pounds of tobacco. He had found alongish fir-tree lying felled and trimmed in theenclosure, and with the help of Hunter he had set it upat the corner of the log-house where the trunks crossedand made an angle. Then, climbing on the roof, he hadwith his own hand bent and run up the colours.

　　This seemed mightily to relieve him. He re-entered thelog-house and set about counting up the stores as ifnothing else existed. But he had an eye on Tom's passagefor all that, and as soon as all was over, came forwardwith another flag and reverently spread it on the body.

　　"Don't you take on, sir," he said, shaking the squire'shand. "All's well with him; no fear for a hand that'sbeen shot down in his duty to captain and owner. Itmayn't be good divinity, but it's a fact."

　　Then he pulled me aside.

　　"Dr. Livesey," he said, "in how many weeks do you andsquire expect the consort?"

　　I told him it was a question not of weeks but ofmonths, that if we were not back by the end of AugustBlandly was to send to find us, but neither sooner norlater. "You can calculate for yourself," I said.

　　"Why, yes," returned the captain, scratching his head;"and making a large allowance, sir, for all the giftsof Providence, I should say we were pretty close hauled."

　　"How do you mean?" I asked.

　　"It's a pity, sir, we lost that second load. That'swhat I mean," replied the captain. "As for powder andshot, we'll do. But the rations are short, very short--so short, Dr. Livesey, that we're perhaps as wellwithout that extra mouth."

　　And he pointed to the dead body under the flag.

　　Just then, with a roar and a whistle, a round-shotpassed high above the roof of the log-house and plumpedfar beyond us in the wood.

　　"Oho!" said the captain. "Blaze away! You've littleenough powder already, my lads."

　　At the second trial, the aim was better, and the balldescended inside the stockade, scattering a cloud ofsand but doing no further damage.

　　"Captain," said the squire, "the house is quiteinvisible from the ship. It must be the flag they areaiming at. Would it not be wiser to take it in?"

　　"Strike my colours!" cried the captain. "No, sir, not I";and as soon as he had said the words, I think we all agreedwith him. For it was not only a piece of stout, seamanly,good feeling; it was good policy besides and showed ourenemies that we despised their cannonade.

　　All through the evening they kept thundering away.Ball after ball flew over or fell short or kicked upthe sand in the enclosure, but they had to fire so highthat the shot fell dead and buried itself in the softsand. We had no ricochet to fear, and though onepopped in through the roof of the log-house and outagain through the floor, we soon got used to that sortof horse-play and minded it no more than cricket.

　　"There is one good thing about all this," observed thecaptain; "the wood in front of us is likely clear. Theebb has made a good while; our stores should beuncovered. Volunteers to go and bring in pork.

　　Gray and hunter were the first to come forward. Wellarmed, they stole out of the stockade, but it proved auseless mission. The mutineers were bolder than wefancied or they put more trust in Israel's gunnery.For four or five of them were busy carrying off ourstores and wading out with them to one of the gigs thatlay close by, pulling an oar or so to hold her steadyagainst the current. Silver was in the stern-sheets incommand; and every man of them was now provided with amusket from some secret magazine of their own.

　　The captain sat down to his log, and here is thebeginning of the entry:

　　Alexander Smollett, master; David Livesey, ship's doctor; Abraham Gray, carpenter's mate; John Trelawney, owner; John Hunter and Richard Joyce, owner's servants, landsmen--being all that is left faithful of the ship's company--with stores for ten days at short rations, came ashore this day and flew British colours on the log-house in Treasure Island. Thomas Redruth, owner's servant, landsman, shot by the mutineers; James Hawkins, cabin-boy--And at the same time, I was wondering over poor JimHawkins' fate.

　　A hail on the land side.

　　"Somebody hailing us," said Hunter, who was on guard.

　　"Doctor! Squire! Captain! Hullo, Hunter, is thatyou?" came the cries.

　　And I ran to the door in time to see Jim Hawkins, safeand sound, come climbing over the stockade.