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Treasure Island
Chapter 18. Narrative Continued by the Doctor, End of the First Day's Fighting
We hurried across the strip of wood dividing us from the stockade, and with each step the pirates' voices rang nearer.
Soon we could hear their footsteps as they ran and the cracking of branches as they pushed through a bit of thicket.
I began to see we'd have a fight for it in earnest and checked my priming.
"Captain," I said, "Trelawney is the best shot. Give him your gun, his own is useless."
They exchanged guns, and Trelawney, silent and cool since the trouble began, paused on his heel to see all was ready.
At the same time, seeing Gray was 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 clear from every line of his body that our new man was worth his salt.
Forty paces farther, we came to the edge of the wood and saw the stockade in front of us.
We reached the fence 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.
They paused as if surprised, and before they recovered, not only the squire.
I, but Hunter and Joyce from the block house, had time to fire.
The four shots came in a rather scattered volley.
But they did the job, one of the enemy actually fell, and the rest, without hesitation, turned and ran into the trees.
After reloading, we walked down the outside of the fence to check on the fallen enemy.
He was stone dead, shot through the heart.
We began to celebrate our good success.
Just then, a pistol cracked in the bush.
A ball whistled close past my ear.
Poor Tom Redruth stumbled and fell his full length on the ground.
Both the squire and I returned the shot, but since we had nothing to aim at, we probably only wasted powder.
Then we reloaded and turned our attention to poor Tom.
The captain and Gray were already examining him, and I saw with half an eye that it was all over.
The speed of our return volley scattered the mutineers once more.
We were left without further trouble to lift the poor old gamekeeper over the stockade.
We carried him, groaning and bleeding, into the log-house.
Poor old fellow, he hadn't said one word of surprise, complaint, or fear.
He hadn't even agreed with us from the start of our troubles until now.
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, stubbornly, and well.
He was the oldest of our party by twenty years.
Now, this sullen, old, faithful servant was to die.
The squire dropped down beside him on his knees and kissed his hand, crying like a child.
"Am I going, doctor?" he asked.
"Tom, my man," I said, "you're going home."
"I wish I had had a hit at them with the gun first," he replied.
"Tom," said the squire, "say you forgive me, won't you?"
"Would that be respectful, from me to you, squire?" was the answer.
"However, so be it, amen!"
After a little while of silence, he said he thought someone might read a prayer.
"It's the custom, sir," he added apologetically.
And not long after, without another word, he passed away.
The captain had taken out many different stores.
I noticed he was wonderfully swollen about the chest and pockets.
These items included the British flag, a Bible, and a coil of fairly strong rope.
There were also pen, ink, the log-book, and pounds of tobacco.
He found a long fir tree lying cut and trimmed in the enclosure.
With Hunter's help, he set it up at the corner of the log-house.
The logs crossed there and made an angle.
Then, climbing on the roof, he had with his own hand bent and raised the flag.
This seemed to relieve him greatly, he came back into the log-house and began counting up the stores as if nothing else existed.
But he kept an eye on Tom's passing for all that.
As soon as it was over, he came forward with another flag and carefully spread it on the body.
"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 may not be good religion, but it's a fact."
Then he pulled me aside and spoke to me in a low, serious voice.
"Dr. Livesey," he said, "in how many weeks do you and the squire expect the second ship?"
I told him it was a question not of weeks but of months.
If we weren't back by the end of August, Blandly was to send to find us, but neither sooner nor later.
"You can figure it out for yourself," I said.
"Well, yes," replied the captain, scratching his head.
"And making a large allowance, sir, for all the gifts of Providence, I'd say we were in a tight spot."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"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 manage."
"But the rations are short, very short, so short, Dr."
"Livesey, that we're maybe just as well without that extra mouth."
And he pointed to the dead body under the flag.
Just then, with a roar and a whistle, a cannonball passed high above the roof of the log-house and landed far beyond us in the wood.
"Oho!" said the captain.
"Fire away! You've little enough powder already, my lads."
At the second try, the aim was better, and the ball came down inside the stockade, scattering a cloud of sand but doing no further damage.
"Captain," said the squire.
"The house is quite invisible from the ship. It must be the flag they're aiming at. Wouldn't it be wiser to take it down?"
"Lower my colors!" 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 wasn't only a piece of brave, seamanly, good feeling, it was also good strategy and showed our enemies that we despised their cannon fire.
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, One bullet popped in through the roof of the log-house and out through the floor.
We soon got used to that sort of play.
We minded it no more than a game of cricket.
"There's one good thing about all this,"
Observed the captain, "The wood in front of us is probably clear."
"Observed the captain, "Tide's been going out, so our stores should be uncovered, volunteers bring pork.
Gray and Hunter were the first to come forward.
Well armed, they crept out of the stockade, but it proved a useless mission.
The mutineers were bolder than we thought, or they trusted more in Israel's gunnery.
Four or five of them were busy carrying off our stores.
They waded out with them to one of the small boats that lay close by.
They pulled 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 supply of their own.
The captain sat down to his log, and here's the beginning of the entry,
Alexander Smollett, master, David Livesey, ship's doctor.
Abraham Gray, carpenter's mate, John Trelawney, owner.
John Hunter and Richard Joyce came ashore this day.
They were the owner's servants and landsmen.
They're all that's left faithful of the ship's company.
They brought stores for ten days at short rations.
They flew British colors 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 Jim Hawkins' fate.
A shout came loudly from the land side of the clearing.
"Someone's 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, come climbing over the stockade.