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Suddenly I saw a figure. What was it – a bear or a man or a monkey? Silver himself appeared less terrible in contrast with this creature of the woods. No doubt: it’s a cannibal! I began to recall what I heard of cannibals. I stood still, this man of the island advanced towards me.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Ben Gunn ,” he answered, and his voice sounded awkward. “I’m poor Ben Gunn; and I haven’t spoken to a man for three years.”
I could now see that he was a white man like myself. His skin was burnt by the sun; even his lips were black. He was clothed with tatters of old ship’s canvas and old sea-cloth .
“Three years!” I cried. “Were you shipwrecked?”
“No,” said he, “marooned . Marooned three years ago, and lived on goats since then, and berries, and oysters. But do you have a piece of cheese, now? No? Well, I’ve dreamed of cheese!”
“If ever I can get aboard again,” said I, “you will have cheese.”
“What do you call yourself?”
“Jim,” I told him.
“Jim, Jim,” said he, quite pleased apparently. “Well, Jim, I’m rich. Rich! Rich! And I’ll make you rich, too, Jim. Now tell me the truth: is that the Flint’s ship?” he asked.
I began to believe that I found an ally, and I answered him at once.
“It’s not Flint’s ship, and Flint is dead; but there are some of Flint’s men aboard.”
“Not a man with one leg?”
“Silver?” I asked.
“Ah, Silver!” said he. “That was his name.”
“He’s the cook, and the leader too.”
“You’re a good lad, Jim,” he said. “Well, just believe Ben Gunn. I was in Flint’s ship when he buried the treasure; he and six strong seamen. He killed them all. I was in another ship three years ago, and we got to this island. ‘Boys,’ said I, ‘here’s Flint’s treasure; let’s land and find it.’ Twelve days we looked for it. Finally they said, ‘You can stay here and find Flint’s money for yourself.’”
“Well,” I said, “but how am I to get on board?”
“Ah,” said he, “I have a boat that I made with my two hands. I keep it under the white rock. But what’s that?”
We heard shots.
“They have begun to fight!” I cried. “Follow me.”
The captain, the squire, and I were sitting in the cabin. Jim Hawkins slipped into a boat and went ashore with the pirates. It was decided that Hunter and I would go ashore, too. Suddenly we heard a terrible cry and my first thought was, ‘Jim Hawkins is dead’.
The squire was sitting down, as white as a sheet. I told my plan to the captain, and between us we settled on the details of its accomplishment. We put guns, food, powder, and my medicine chest in the boat. The loaded boat made its first trip to the stockade. We hid it in the island, in a log-house, behind the stockade. The boat came back and we put the rest of the arms, powder, pork, and bread-bags in it. The boat made four trips.
The fifth trip was quite different from any of the others. In the first place, the boat was overloaded. Five men, and three of them – Trelawney, Redruth, and the captain – over six feet high, that was already too much. Add to that the powder, pork, and bread-bags. We were afraid to breathe.
In the second place, the current was sweeping us out of our true course and away from our proper landing-place.
“I cannot keep its head for the stockade, sir,” said I to the captain. “We’ll never get ashore,” said I.
“We must keep upstream,” returned the captain.
Suddenly the captain spoke up again, and I thought his voice was a little changed.
“The gun!” said he.
We have forgotten the gun.
Suddenly the ship’s gun fired. It didn’t hit our boat but it turned it over. We found ourselves in shallow water and we easily got to the beach.
There was no great harm. No lives were lost, and we could reach ashore in safety. But we left behind us the poor jollyboat and a good half of all our powder and food.
We began to rejoice over our good success when just at that moment a pistol cracked in the bush, and poor Tom Redruth stumbled and fell on the ground.
Poor old fellow, he followed every order silently; he was the oldest of our party; good servant. The squire dropped down beside him on his knees and kissed his hand, crying like a child.
“Tom, my man,” said I, “you’re going home.”
In the meantime the captain took out the British flag, and with the help of Hunter he set it up at the corner of the log-house .
Then he pulled me aside.
“Dr. Livesey,” he said, “in how many weeks do you and squire expect the consort?”
I told him it was a question not of weeks but of months.
“As for powder and shot, we’ll do . But the rations are short, very short.”
The captain sat down to write his record of events:
‘Alexander Smollett, captain; David Livesey, ship’s doctor; Abraham Gray; John Trelawney, owner; John Hunter, Richard Joyce, owner’s servants – came ashore this day and flew the British flag on the log-house on Treasure Island. Thomas Redruth, owner’s servant, shot by the enemy. James Hawkins —’
And at the same time, I was wondering over poor Jim Hawkins’ fate.
“Somebody hailing us,” said Hunter, who was on guard.
“Doctor! Squire! Captain! Hullo, Hunter, is that you?” came the cries.
And I ran to the door in time to see Jim Hawkins, safe and sound .
As soon as Ben Gunn saw the British flag, he sat down.
“Now,” said he, “your friends, sure enough . Silver would raise the Jolly Roger . Your friends are ashore in the old stockade, as was made years and years ago by Flint.”
“Well,” said I, “that may be so, let’s hurry on and join my friends.”
“Not me,” returned Ben. “When Ben Gunn is wanted, you know where to find him, Jim. Just where you found him today.”
“Well,” said I, “I believe I understand. You have something to propose, and you wish to see the squire or the doctor. Good, and now may I go?”
“You won’t forget?” he inquired anxiously. “I think you can go, Jim.”
The sun set, the sea breeze was rustling. The Hispaniola still lay where it anchored; but there was the Jolly Roger – the black flag of piracy – flying from her peak.
I thought I might return towards the stockade. Soon I was warmly welcomed by my friends.
I told my story and began to look around. The log-house was made of trunks of pine – roof, walls, and floor. There was a porch at the door, and under this porch the little spring welled up into an artificial basin. In one corner there was an old rusty iron basket to contain the fire.
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. Our chimney was a square hole in the roof.
From time to time the doctor came to the door for a little air and to rest his eyes. Before supper was eaten we buried old Tom in the sand.
I was dead tired; and when I got to sleep, I slept like a log. It was a cry of surprise that woke me the next morning.
“Flag of truce ! Silver himself!”
I jumped, and rubbing my eyes, ran to a loophole in the wall.
There were two men just outside the stockade, one of them waving a white cloth, the other – Silver himself, standing by.
It was still quite early. The sky was bright and cloudless overhead. But where Silver stood with his lieutenant, all was still in shadow.
“Keep indoors, men ,” said the captain.
Then he hailed the pirate.
“Who goes? Stand, or we fire.”
“It’s Captain Silver,” was the reply.
“Captain Silver? I don’t know him. Who’s he?”
“Me, sir,” answered Long John for himself. “They chose me to be their captain.”
“And what do you want with your flag of truce?” the captain cried. “I have not the slightest desire to talk to you. If you wish to talk to me, you can come, that’s all.”
“That’s enough, captain,” shouted Long John. “A word from you is enough.”
Silver came to the stockade, threw over his crutch, got a leg up, and with great skill dropped safely to the other side.
“Well, here it is,” said Silver. “We want that treasure, and we’ll have it – that’s our point! You have a chart, haven’t you?”
“Maybe,” replied the captain.
“Oh, well, you have, I know that,” returned Long John. “What I mean is, we want your chart. Now, here it is. You give us the chart. Do it and you’ll save your lives.”
Captain Smollett rose from his seat.
“Is that all?” he asked. “Very good, now you’ll hear me. If you come up one by one, unarmed, I’ll take you home to a trial in England. You won’t find the treasure. You can’t sail the ship. You can’t fight us. I stand here and tell you so; and they’re the last good words you’ll get from me, for I’ll put a bullet in your back when next I meet you.”
Silver’s face was a picture; his eyes started in his head with wrath . He shook the fire out of his pipe. Then he spat into the spring.
“There!” he cried. “That’s what I think of you.”
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