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Treasure Island
Chapter 22. How I Began My Sea Adventure
There was no return of the mutineers, not even another shot from the woods.
They had "got their rations for that day,"
As the captain put it, in his blunt, naval way, no more would be taken.
And we had the place to ourselves and a quiet time to look after the wounded and get dinner.
The squire and I cooked outside, despite the danger.
Even outside, we could hardly see what we were doing.
We were horrified by the loud groans from the doctor's patients.
Out of the eight men who had fallen in the fight, only three still breathed.
They were the pirate who had been shot at the loophole, Hunter, and Captain Smollett.
Of these, the first two were as good as dead.
The mutineer died under the doctor's knife, and Hunter, no matter what we did, never woke up again in this world.
He stayed alive all day, he breathed loudly like the old buccaneer at home in his fit.
But the blow had crushed the bones of his chest.
The fall had broken his skull, Some time in the following night, without a sign or a sound, he went to his Maker.
As for the captain, his wounds were very serious but not dangerous, No important organ was badly hurt.
Anderson's ball, for it was Job who shot him first, had broken his shoulder blade and touched the lung, but not badly.
The second shot had only torn and moved some muscles in his calf.
He was sure to recover, the doctor said.
For the time being and for weeks to come, he mustn't walk, move his arm, or even speak if he could help it.
My own accidental cut across the knuckles was nothing.
Doctor Livesey patched it up with plaster and pulled my ears for me into the bargain.
After dinner the squire and the doctor sat by the captain's side for a while in discussion.
The doctor talked with his friends until they were satisfied.
It was a little past noon, he took his hat, pistols, and a cutlass.
He put the chart in his pocket and a musket over his shoulder.
Then he crossed the palisade on the north side and set off quickly through the trees.
Gray and I were sitting together at the far end of the block house, to be out of earshot of our officers talking.
Gray took his pipe out of his mouth and forgot to put it back again, so shocked he was at this event.
"Why, in the name of Davy Jones," said he, "is Dr. Livesey mad?"
"Why no," says I.
"He's about the last of this crew for that, I think."
"Well, shipmate," said Gray, "mad he may not be. But if he's not, you mark my words, I'm."
"I think," replied I, "the doctor has his idea. And if I'm right, he's going now to see Ben Gunn."
I was right, as appeared later, the house was terribly hot.
The little patch of sand inside the palisade burned in the midday sun.
I began to get another thought into my head.
It wasn't by any means so right.
I began to envy the doctor walking in the cool shadow of the woods.
Birds were around him, and the pleasant smell of the pines filled the air.
Meanwhile, I sat sweating, with my clothes stuck to the hot resin.
So much blood and so many poor dead bodies lay all around.
I began to hate the place almost as much as I feared it.
While I washed the blockhouse and the dishes, my disgust and envy grew stronger.
At last, near a bread-bag and with no one watching, I took the step toward escape and filled both coat pockets with biscuit.
I was a fool, if you like, and certainly I was going to do a foolish, over-bold act.
But I was determined to do it with all the care I could.
These biscuits, if anything should happen to me, would keep me from starving at least till far on in the next day.
The next thing I took hold of was a pair of pistols.
As I already had a powder-horn and bullets, I felt I was well supplied with weapons.
As for the plan I had in my head, it wasn't a bad one in itself.
I was going to go down the sandy spit.
It divides the anchorage on the east from the open sea.
I'd find the white rock I had seen last evening.
Then I'd find out if Ben Gunn had hidden his boat there.
This was a thing quite worth doing, as I still believe.
Certain I wouldn't be allowed out, my only plan was to take French leave and slip out unseen.
That was such a bad way of doing it that it made the thing itself wrong.
But I was only a boy, and I had made up my mind.
Well, as things finally turned out, I found a perfect opportunity.
The squire and Gray were busy helping the captain with his bandages, the coast was clear.
I ran over the stockade into the thickest trees and, before my absence was noticed, was out of earshot of my companions.
This was my second foolish act, far worse than the first, as I left only two healthy men to guard the house.
But like the first, it helped to save all of us.
I took my way straight for the east coast of the island.
I was determined to go down the sea side of the spit to avoid any chance of being seen from the anchorage.
It was already late in the afternoon, although still warm and sunny.
I continued through the tall woods, From far ahead, I heard the continuous thunder of the surf.
I also heard leaves tossing and branches grinding.
This showed the sea breeze was stronger than usual.
Soon cool drafts of air began to reach me, and a few steps farther I came out into the open edges of the grove.
I saw the sea lying blue and sunny to the horizon and the surf tumbling and tossing its foam along the beach.
I have never seen the sea quiet around Treasure Island.
The sun might blaze overhead and the air stand still, the sea surface smooth and blue.
But great waves would still run along the outer coast, thundering day and night.
I hardly believe there's one spot on the island where a man would be out of earshot of their noise.
I walked along beside the surf with great enjoyment, until I thought I was now far enough to the south.
Then I took cover in some thick bushes and crept carefully up to the ridge of the spit.
Behind me was the sea, In front was the anchorage.
The sea breeze, as if it had blown itself out by its unusual force, was already at an end.
It had been followed by light, changing winds from the south and south-east, carrying great banks of fog.
The anchorage, under the shelter of Skeleton Island, lay still and heavy as when we first entered it.
The HISPANIOLA, in that unbroken mirror, was exactly reflected from the top of the mast to the waterline, the Jolly Roger hanging from its peak.
Alongside lay one of the gigs, Silver was in the stern-sheets, I could always recognize him.
A couple of men were leaning over the stern bulwarks.
One of them wore a red cap, he was the very rogue I had seen some hours before sitting on the palisade.
They seemed to be talking and laughing, though at that distance, over a mile.
I could, of course, hear no word of what was said.
All at once there began the most horrible, unearthly screaming, which at first startled me badly.
But I soon remembered Captain Flint's voice and thought I could make out the bird by her bright feathers on her master's wrist.
Soon after, the jolly-boat pushed off and pulled for shore, and the man with the red cap and his comrade went below by the cabin companionway.
Just about the same time, the sun had gone down behind the Spy-glass.
As the fog was gathering quickly, it began to grow dark in earnest.
I saw I must lose no time if I were to find the boat that evening.
The white rock, visible enough above the bushes, was still about an eighth of a mile further down the spit.
It took me quite a while to get to it, crawling often on all fours among the scrub.
Night had almost come when I laid my hand on its rough sides.
Right below it there was a very small hollow of green turf, hidden by banks and thick underwood about knee-deep that grew there very plentifully.
In the center of the dell, sure enough, there was a little tent of goat-skins, like what the gypsies carry around with them in England.
I dropped into the hollow, lifted the side of the tent, and there was Ben Gunn's boat, homemade if anything ever was homemade.
It was a rough, lop-sided frame of tough wood, and stretched over that was a covering of goat-skin with the hair inside.
The thing was extremely small, even for me, and I can hardly imagine that it could have floated with a full-sized man.
There was one seat set as low as possible, a kind of stretcher in the front, and a double paddle for moving it.
I hadn't then seen a coracle, such as the ancient Britons made, but I have seen one since.
I can give you no better idea of Ben Gunn's boat than by saying it was like the first and worst coracle ever made by man.
But it certainly had the great advantage of the coracle, for it was extremely light and easy to carry.
Well, now that I had found the boat, you'd have thought I had had enough of wandering for once.
Meanwhile I had taken another idea and grew so stubborn about it that I would have carried it out even against Captain Smollett
This was to slip out under cover of the night, cut the HISPANIOLA loose, and let her go ashore wherever she wanted.
I had quite made up my mind that the mutineers were defeated that morning.
I believed they wanted more than anything to lift the anchor and sail away to sea.
I thought it would be a fine thing to prevent this.
And now that I had seen how they left their watchmen without a boat, I thought it could be done with little risk.
I sat down to wait for darkness and made a good meal of biscuit.
It was a perfect night for my purpose.
The fog had now covered the whole sky.
As the last rays of daylight faded and disappeared, complete blackness settled down on Treasure Island.
At last I lifted the coracle onto my shoulder and stumbled out of the hollow where I had eaten.
Only two points were visible on the whole anchorage.
One was the great fire on shore, where the defeated pirates lay drinking in the swamp.
The other, a mere blur of light against the darkness, showed the position of the anchored ship.
She had turned around with the falling tide, her bow was now towards me.
The only lights on board were in the cabin, a reflection on the fog showed the stern-window's strong rays.
The tide had already been going out for some time.
I had to wade through a long belt of swampy sand.
There, I sank several times above the ankle.
Finally, I came to the edge of the retreating water.
Wading a little way in, with some strength and skill, I set my coracle, keel downwards, on the surface.