Part Four: The Stockade - Chapter 19: Narrative Resumed by Jim Hawkins: The Garrison in the Stockade

by Robert Louis Stevenson

　　As soon as Ben Gunn saw the colours he came to a halt,stopped me by the arm, and sat down.

　　"Now," said he, "there's your friends, sure enough."

　　"Far more likely it's the mutineers," I answered.

　　"That!" he cried. "Why, in a place like this, wherenobody puts in but gen'lemen of fortune, Silver wouldfly the Jolly Roger, you don't make no doubt of that.No, that's your friends. There's been blows too, and Ireckon your friends has had the best of it; and herethey are ashore in the old stockade, as was made yearsand years ago by Flint. Ah, he was the man to have aheadpiece, was Flint! Barring rum, his match werenever seen. He were afraid of none, not he; on'ySilver--Silver was that genteel."

　　"Well," said I, "that may be so, and so be it; all themore reason that I should hurry on and join my friends."

　　"Nay, mate," returned Ben, "not you. You're a goodboy, 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 yourborn gen'leman and gets it on his word of honour. Andyou won't forget my words; 'A precious sight (that'swhat you'll say), a precious sight more confidence'--and then nips him.

　　And he pinched me the third time with the same airof cleverness.

　　"And when Ben Gunn is wanted, you know where to findhim, Jim. Just wheer you found him today. And himthat comes is to have a white thing in his hand, andhe's to come alone. Oh! And you'll say this: 'BenGunn,' says you, 'has reasons of his own.'"

　　"Well," said I, "I believe I understand. You havesomething to propose, and you wish to see the squire orthe doctor, and you're to be found where I found you.Is that all?"

　　"And when? says you," he added. "Why, from about noonobservation to about six bells."

　　"Good," said I, "and now may I go?"

　　"You won't forget?" he inquired anxiously. "Precioussight, and reasons of his own, says you. Reasons ofhis 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'tgo for to sell Ben Gunn? Wild horses wouldn't draw itfrom you? No, says you. And if them pirates campashore, Jim, what would you say but there'd be widdersin the morning?"

　　Here he was interrupted by a loud report, and acannonball came tearing through the trees and pitchedin the sand not a hundred yards from where we two weretalking. The next moment each of us had taken to hisheels in a different direction.

　　For a good hour to come frequent reports shook theisland, and balls kept crashing through the woods. Imoved from hiding-place to hiding-place, alwayspursued, or so it seemed to me, by these terrifyingmissiles. But towards the end of the bombardment,though still I durst not venture in the direction ofthe stockade, where the balls fell oftenest, I hadbegun, in a manner, to pluck up my heart again, andafter a long detour to the east, crept down among theshore-side trees.

　　The sun had just set, the sea breeze was rustling andtumbling in the woods and ruffling the grey surface ofthe anchorage; the tide, too, was far out, and greattracts of sand lay uncovered; the air, after the heatof the day, chilled me through my jacket.

　　The Hispaniola still lay where she had anchored; but, sureenough, there was the Jolly Roger--the black flag of piracy--flying from her peak. Even as I looked, there came anotherred flash and another report that sent the echoes clattering,and one more round-shot whistled through the air. It was thelast of the cannonade.

　　I lay for some time watching the bustle which succeededthe attack. Men were demolishing something with axeson the beach near the stockade--the poor jolly-boat, Iafterwards discovered. Away, near the mouth of theriver, a great fire was glowing among the trees, andbetween that point and the ship one of the gigs keptcoming and going, the men, whom I had seen so gloomy,shouting at the oars like children. But there was asound in their voices which suggested rum.

　　At length I thought I might return towards thestockade. I was pretty far down on the low, sandy spitthat encloses the anchorage to the east, and is joinedat half-water to Skeleton Island; and now, as I rose tomy feet, I saw, some distance further down the spit andrising from among low bushes, an isolated rock, prettyhigh, and peculiarly white in colour. It occurred tome that this might be the white rock of which Ben Gunnhad spoken and that some day or other a boat might bewanted and I should know where to look for one.

　　Then I skirted among the woods until I had regained therear, or shoreward side, of the stockade, and was soonwarmly welcomed by the faithful party.

　　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 severalplaces as much as a foot or a foot and a half above thesurface of the sand. There was a porch at the door,and under this porch the little spring welled up intoan artificial basin of a rather odd kind--no other thana great ship's kettle of iron, with the bottom knockedout, and sunk "to her bearings," as the captain said,among the sand.

　　Little had been left besides the framework of thehouse, but in one corner there was a stone slab laiddown by way of hearth and an old rusty iron basket tocontain the fire.

　　The slopes of the knoll and all the inside of thestockade had been cleared of timber to build the house,and we could see by the stumps what a fine and loftygrove had been destroyed. Most of the soil had beenwashed away or buried in drift after the removal of thetrees; only where the streamlet ran down from thekettle a thick bed of moss and some ferns and littlecreeping bushes were still green among the sand. Veryclose around the stockade--too close for defence, theysaid--the wood still flourished high and dense, all offir on the land side, but towards the sea with a largeadmixture of live-oaks.

　　The cold evening breeze, of which I have spoken,whistled through every chink of the rude building andsprinkled the floor with a continual rain of fine sand.There was sand in our eyes, sand in our teeth, sand inour suppers, sand dancing in the spring at the bottomof the kettle, for all the world like porridgebeginning to boil. Our chimney was a square hole inthe roof; it was but a little part of the smoke thatfound its way out, and the rest eddied about the houseand kept us coughing and piping the eye.

　　Add to this that Gray, the new man, had his face tiedup in a bandage for a cut he had got in breaking awayfrom the mutineers and that poor old Tom Redruth, stillunburied, lay along the wall, stiff and stark, underthe Union Jack.

　　If we had been allowed to sit idle, we should all havefallen in the blues, but Captain Smollett was never theman for that. All hands were called up before him, andhe divided us into watches. The doctor and Gray and Ifor one; the squire, Hunter, and Joyce upon the other.Tired though we all were, two were sent out forfirewood; 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, keepingup our spirits and lending a hand wherever it was wanted.

　　From time to time the doctor came to the door for a littleair and to rest his eyes, which were almost smoked out ofhis head, and whenever he did so, he had a word for me.

　　"That man Smollett," he said once, "is a better manthan I am. And when I say that it means a deal, Jim."

　　Another time he came and was silent for a while. Thenhe put his head on one side, and looked at me.

　　"Is this Ben Gunn a man?" he asked.

　　"I do not know, sir," said I. "I am not very surewhether he's sane."

　　"If there's any doubt about the matter, he is," returnedthe doctor. "A man who has been three years biting hisnails on a desert island, Jim, can't expect to appear assane as you or me. It doesn't lie in human nature. Wasit cheese you said he had a fancy for?"

　　"Yes, sir, cheese," I answered.

　　"Well, Jim," says he, "just see the good that comes ofbeing dainty in your food. You've seen my snuff-box,haven't you? And you never saw me take snuff, thereason being that in my snuff-box I carry a piece ofParmesan cheese--a cheese made in Italy, verynutritious. Well, that's for Ben Gunn!"

　　Before supper was eaten we buried old Tom in the sandand stood round him for a while bare-headed in thebreeze. A good deal of firewood had been got in, butnot enough for the captain's fancy, and he shook hishead over it and told us we "must get back to thistomorrow rather livelier." Then, when we had eaten ourpork and each had a good stiff glass of brandy grog,the three chiefs got together in a corner to discussour prospects.

　　It appears they were at their wits' end what to do, thestores being so low that we must have been starved intosurrender long before help came. But our best hope, itwas decided, was to kill off the buccaneers until theyeither hauled down their flag or ran away with theHispaniola. From nineteen they were already reducedto fifteen, two others were wounded, and one at least--the man shot beside the gun--severely wounded, if hewere not dead. Every time we had a crack at them, wewere to take it, saving our own lives, with theextremest care. And besides that, we had two ableallies--rum and the climate.

　　As for the first, though we were about half a mileaway, we could hear them roaring and singing late intothe night; and as for the second, the doctor staked hiswig that, camped where they were in the marsh andunprovided with remedies, the half of them would be ontheir backs before a week.

　　"So," he added, "if we are not all shot down first they'llbe glad to be packing in the schooner. It's always a ship,and they can get to buccaneering again, I suppose."

　　"First ship that ever I lost," said Captain Smollett.

　　I was dead tired, as you may fancy; and when I got tosleep, which was not till after a great deal oftossing, I slept like a log of wood.

　　The rest had long been up and had already breakfasted andincreased the pile of firewood by about half as much againwhen I was wakened by a bustle and the sound of voices.

　　"Flag of truce!" I heard someone say; and then, immediatelyafter, with a cry of surprise, "Silver himself!"

　　And at that, up I jumped, and rubbing my eyes, ran to aloophole in the wall.