We made our best speed across the strip of wood that now divided us fromthe stockade, and at every step we took the voices of the buccaneersrang nearer. Soon we could hear their footfalls as they ran, and thecracking of the branches as they breasted across a bit of thicket.

I began to see we should have a brush for it in earnest, and looked tomy priming.

"Captain," said I, "Trelawney is the dead shot. Give him your gun; hisown is useless."

They exchanged guns, and Trelawney, silent and cool, as he had beensince the beginning of the bustle, hung a moment on his heel to see thatall was fit for service. At the same time, observing Gray to be unarmed,I handed him my cutlass. It did all our hearts good to see him spit inhis hand, knit his brows, and make the blade sing through the air. Itwas plain from every line of his body that our new hand was worth hissalt.

Forty paces farther we came to the edge of the wood and saw the stockadein front of us. We struck the inclosure about the middle of the southside, and, almost at the same time, seven mutineers--Job Anderson, theboatswain, at their head--appeared in full cry at the southwesterncorner.

They paused, as if taken aback, and before they recovered, not only thesquire and I, but Hunter and Joyce from the blockhouse, had time tofire.

The four shots came in rather a scattering volley, but they did thebusiness; one of the enemy actually fell, and the rest, withouthesitation, turned and plunged into the trees.

After reloading we walked down the outside of the palisade to see to thefallen enemy. He was stone dead--shot through the heart.

We began to rejoice over our good success, when just at that moment apistol cracked in the bush, a ball whistled close past my ear and poorTom Redruth stumbled and fell his length on the ground. Both the squireand I returned the shot, but as we had nothing to aim at, it is probablewe only wasted powder. Then we reloaded and turned our attention to poorTom.

The captain and Gray were already examining him, and I saw with half aneye that all was over.

I believe the readiness of our return volley had scattered the mutineersonce more, for we were suffered without further molestation to get thepoor old gamekeeper hoisted over the stockade, and carried, groaning andbleeding, into the log-house.

Poor old fellow, he had not uttered one word of surprise, complaint,fear, or even acquiescence, from the very beginning of our troubles tillnow, when we had laid him down in the log-house to die! He had lain likea Trojan behind his mattress in the gallery; he had followed every ordersilently, doggedly, and well; he was the oldest of our party by a scoreof years; and now, sullen, old, serviceable servant, it was he that wasto die.

The squire dropped down beside him on his knees and kissed his hand,crying like a child.

"Be I going, doctor?" he asked.

"Tom, my man," said I, "you're going home."

"I wish I had had a lick at them with the gun first," he replied.

"Tom," said the squire, "say you forgive me, won't you?"

"Would that be respectful like, from me to you, squire?" was the answer."Howsoever, so be it, amen!"

After a little while of silence he said he thought somebody might read aprayer. "It's the custom, sir," he added, apologetically. And not longafter, without another word, he passed away.

In the meantime the captain, whom I had observed to be wonderfullyswollen about the chest and pockets, had turned out a great many variousstores--the British colors, a Bible, a coil of stoutish rope, pen, ink,the log-book, and pounds of tobacco. He had found a longish fir treelying felled and cleared in the inclosure, and, with the help of Hunter,he had set it up at the corner of the log-house, where the trunkscrossed and made an angle. Then, climbing on the roof, he had with hisown hand bent and run up the colors.

This seemed mightily to relieve him. He re-entered the log-house and setabout counting up the stores, as if nothing else existed. But he had aneye on Tom's passage for all that, and as soon as all was over cameforward with another flag and reverently spread it on the body.

"Don't you take on, sir," he said, shaking the squire's hand. "All'swell with him; no fear for a hand that's been shot down in his duty tocaptain and owner. It mayn't be good divinity, but it's a fact."

Then he pulled me aside.

"Doctor Livesey," he said, "in how many weeks do you and squire expectthe consort?"

I told him it was a question, not of weeks, but of months; that if wewere not back by the end of August Blandly was to send to find us, butneither sooner nor later. "You can calculate for yourself," I said.

"Why, yes," returned the captain, scratching his head, "and making alarge allowance, sir, for all the gifts of Providence, I should say wewere pretty close hauled."

"How 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 do. But the rationsare short, very short--so short, Doctor Livesey, that we're perhaps aswell without that extra mouth."

And he pointed to the dead body under the flag.

Just then, with a roar and a whistle, a round shot passed high above theroof of the log-house and plumped far beyond us in the wood.

"Oho!" said the captain. "Blaze away! You've little enough powderalready, my lads."

At the second trial the aim was better and the ball descended inside thestockade, 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 are aiming at. Would it not be wiser to take itin?"

"Strike my colors!" cried the captain. "No, sir, not I," and as soon ashe had said the words I think we all agreed with him. For it was notonly a piece of stout, seamanly good feeling; it was good policybesides, and showed our enemies that we despised their cannonade.

All through the evening they kept thundering away. Ball after ball flewover or fell short, or kicked up the sand in the inclosure; but they hadto fire so high that the shot fell dead and buried itself in the softsand. We had no ricochet to fear; and though one popped in through theroof of the log-house and out again through the floor, we soon got usedto that sort of horse-play and minded it no more than cricket.

"There is one thing good about all this," observed the captain; "thewood in front of us is likely clear. The ebb has made a good while; ourstores should be uncovered. Volunteers to go and bring in pork."

Gray and Hunter were the first to come forward. Well armed, they stoleout of the stockade, but it proved a useless mission. The mutineers werebolder than we fancied, or they put more trust in Israel's gunnery, forfour or five of them were busy carrying off our stores and wading outwith them to one of the gigs that lay close by, pulling an oar or so tohold her steady against the current. Silver was in the stern-sheets incommand, and every man of them was now provided with a musket from somesecret magazine of their own.

The captain sat down to his log, and here is 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, owner's servants, landsmen--being all that is left faithful of the ship's company--with stores for ten days at short rations, came ashore this day and 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 hail on the land side.

"Somebody hailing us," said Hunter, who was on guard.

"Doctor! squire! captain! Hallo, Hunter, is that you?" came the cries.

And I ran to the door in time to see Jim Hawkins, safe and sound, comeclimbing over the stockade.

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