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Treasure Island
Chapter 19. Narrative Resumed by Jim Hawkins, The Garrison in the Stockade
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, where nobody puts in but gentlemen of fortune, Silver would fly the Jolly Roger, you don't make no doubt of that."
"No, that's your friends."
"There's been blows too, and I reckon your friends has had the best of it,"
"And here they're ashore in the old stockade, as was made years and years ago by Flint."
"Ah, he was the man to have a headpiece, was Flint!"
"Barring rum, his match were never seen."
"He were afraid of none, not he, only Silver."
"Silver was that genteel."
"Well," said I, "that may be so, and so be it, all the more reason that I should hurry on and join my friends."
"No, mate," returned Ben.
Not you," said he, "you're a good boy, or I'm mistaken, but you're only a boy, all told.
Now, Ben Gunn is fly, rum wouldn't bring me there where you're going until I see your born gentleman and get his word of honour.
Now, Ben Gunn is fly, rum wouldn't bring me there where you're going until I see your born gentleman and get his word of honour.
"You won't forget my words, 'A precious sight, that's what you'll say, a precious sight more confidence', and then nips him."
And he pinched me the third time with the same air of cleverness.
"When Ben Gunn is wanted, you know where to find him, Jim, just where you found him today."
"The man who comes must have a white thing in his hand and must come alone, you'll then say, 'Ben Gunn,' says you, 'has reasons of his own."
"Well," said I.
"I believe I understand."
"You have something to propose, and you wish to see the squire or the doctor, and you're to be found where I found you."
"Is that all?"
"And when?" says you," he added".
"Why, from about noon observation to about six bells."
"Good," said I, "and now may I go?"
"You won't forget?" he asked anxiously.
"Precious sight, and reasons of his own, says you. Reasons of his own, that's the mainstay, as between man and man. Well, then"
Still holding me, he said, "I reckon you can go, Jim."
"And, Jim, if you was to see Silver, you wouldn't sell Ben Gunn? Wild horses wouldn't draw it from you, no, says you."
"And if them pirates camp ashore, Jim, what would you say but there'd be widows in the morning"?
Here he was interrupted by a loud report.
A cannonball came tearing through the trees and pitched in the sand not a hundred yards from where we two were talking.
The next moment each of us had taken to his heels in a different direction.
For a good hour to come frequent reports shook the island, and balls kept crashing through the woods.
I moved from hiding-place to hiding-place, always pursued, or so it seemed to me, by these terrifying missiles.
Towards the end of the bombardment, I still didn't dare go near the stockade.
The cannonballs fell most often there, but I began to pluck up my heart again.
After a long detour to the east, I crept down among the shore-side trees.
The sun had just set, the sea breeze rustled and tumbled in the woods.
It ruffled the grey surface of the anchorage.
The tide was far out, and great tracts of sand lay uncovered.
The air, after the heat of the day, chilled me through my jacket.
The HISPANIOLA still lay where she had anchored, but, sure enough, there was the Jolly Roger, the black flag of piracy, flying from her peak.
Even as I looked, there came another red flash and another report that sent the echoes clattering, and one more round-shot whistled through the air.
It was the last of the cannonade.
I lay for some time watching the bustle which followed the attack.
Men were demolishing something with axes on the beach near the stockade, the poor jolly-boat, I later discovered.
A great fire was glowing among the trees near the mouth of the river.
Between that point and the ship, one of the gigs kept coming and going.
The men, whom I had seen so gloomy, were shouting at the oars like children.
But there was a sound in their voices which suggested rum.
At length I thought I might return towards the stockade.
I was pretty far down on the low, sandy spit.
This spit encloses the anchorage to the east and joins Skeleton Island at half-water.
As I rose to my feet, I saw an isolated rock some distance further down the spit.
It was rising from among low bushes, pretty high, and peculiarly white in colour.
I realized this might be the white rock Ben Gunn had spoken about.
Someday a boat might be needed, and I'd know where to find one.
Then I skirted the woods, reached the rear, shoreward side, of the stockade, and was soon warmly 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 several places as much as a foot or a foot and a half above the surface of the sand.
At the door, there was a porch.
Under this porch, a little spring flowed into an artificial basin.
The basin was a large iron ship's kettle with its bottom knocked out.
It was sunk into the sand, as the captain said, "to her bearings."
Little had been left besides the framework of the house.
In one corner lay a stone slab used as a hearth and an old rusty iron basket to hold the fire.
The slopes of the knoll and the inside of the stockade had been cleared of timber.
This was done to build the house.
We could see by the stumps what a fine and lofty grove had been destroyed.
Most of the soil had been washed away or buried in drift after the removal of the trees.
Only where the streamlet ran down from the kettle, a thick bed of moss and some ferns were still green among the sand.
Little creeping bushes also remained there, clinging to the sand around the stream.
Very close around the stockade, too close for defence, they said.
The wood still flourished high and dense, all fir on the land side, but towards the sea with many live-oaks.
The cold evening breeze whistled through every chink of the rude building and sprinkled the floor with a steady rain of fine sand.
There was sand in our eyes, sand in our teeth, and sand in our suppers.
Sand danced in the spring at the bottom of the kettle, just like porridge beginning to boil.
Our chimney was a square hole in the roof.
Only a little smoke found its way out.
The rest eddied about the house, it kept us coughing and crying.
Gray, the new man, had his face tied up in a bandage.
He got the cut while breaking away from the mutineers.
Poor old Tom Redruth still lay unburied along the wall.
He was stiff and stark under the Union Jack.
If we had been allowed to sit idle, we should all have fallen in the blues, but Captain Smollett was never the man for that.
All hands were called up before him, and he divided us into watches.
The doctor and Gray and I for one, the squire, Hunter, and Joyce upon the other.
Tired though we all were, two were sent out for firewood, two more were set to dig a grave for Redruth, the doctor was named cook.
I was made sentry at the door, and the captain went from one to another, keeping up our spirits and helping where wanted.
The doctor came to the door from time to time.
He wanted fresh air and to rest his eyes, which were almost smoked out.
Whenever he did so, he had a word for me.
"That man Smollett," he said once, "is a better man than I'm. And when I say that it means a deal, Jim."
Another time he came and was silent for a while.
Then he put his head on one side, and looked at me.
"Is this Ben Gunn a man?" he asked.
"I don't know, sir," said I.
"I'm not very sure whether he's sane."
"If there's any doubt about the matter, he's," returned the doctor.
"A man who has been three years biting his nails on a desert island, Jim, can't expect to appear as sane as you or me."
"It doesn't lie in human nature."
"Was it cheese you said he had a fancy for?"
"Yes, sir, cheese," I answered.
"Well, Jim," says he.
"Just see the good that comes of being dainty in your food."
"You've seen my snuff-box, haven't you?"
"And you never saw me take snuff, the reason being that in my snuff-box I carry a piece of Parmesan cheese, a cheese made in Italy, very nutritious."
"Well, that's for Ben Gunn!"
Before supper was eaten we buried old Tom in the sand and stood round him for a while bare-headed in the breeze.
A good deal of firewood had been got in, but not enough for the captain's fancy.
And he shook his head over it and told us we.
"must get back to this tomorrow rather livelier."
After we ate our pork and drank a stiff glass of brandy grog, the three chiefs met in a corner to discuss prospects.
They seemed at their wits' end, stores were so low we would have starved and surrendered long before help arrived.
But our best hope, it was decided, was to kill off the buccaneers until they either hauled down their flag or ran away with the HISPANIOLA.
From nineteen they were down to fifteen, two more wounded, and one, the man shot by the gun, was perhaps dead.
Every time we had a crack at them, we were to take it, saving our own lives, with the extremest care.
And besides that, we had two able allies, rum and the climate.
We were about half a mile away.
Still, we could hear them roaring and singing late into the night.
The doctor staked his wig on the second group.
Camped in the marsh without remedies, half would be sick within a week.
So, he added, if we aren't all shot first they'll be glad to pack into the schooner and get to buccaneering again, I suppose.
"First ship that ever I lost," said Captain Smollett.
I was dead tired, and when I finally slept after much tossing, I slept like a log.
The rest had long been up and had already breakfasted.
They had increased the pile of firewood by about half as much again when a bustle and the sound of voices woke me.
"Flag of truce!" I heard someone say, and then, immediately after, with a cry of surprise, "Silver himself!"
And at that, up I jumped, and rubbing my eyes, ran to a loophole in the wall.