The mutineers did not come back. Not even a single shot came from the woods.
“They have had their share of trouble for today,” Captain Smollett said.
We finally had the place to ourselves. It gave us time to treat the wounded and prepare dinner.
The squire and I cooked outside, even though it was risky. But the terrible cries coming from inside the blockhouse made it hard to think about anything else. The doctor’s patients were suffering badly.
Eight men had been injured in the fight.
Only three were still alive: one of the pirates who had been shot through the loophole, Hunter, and Captain Smollett.
The pirate was already beyond saving. The doctor tried to help him, but he died during the operation.
Hunter was also badly hurt. No matter what we did, he never woke up again.
He spent the whole day breathing heavily, like an old sailor having a terrible fit. The blow had crushed his chest bones, and his skull had been badly damaged when he fell.
Sometime during the night, he quietly died.
As for Captain Smollett, his injuries looked frightening, but they were not life-threatening.
The bullet from Job Anderson had broken his shoulder blade and slightly injured his lung. Another bullet had only torn some muscles in his leg.
The doctor said he would recover.
But for several weeks, he could not walk, move his arm, or even speak unless absolutely necessary.
My own injury was nothing compared with theirs. I had only cut my knuckles by accident.
Doctor Livesey treated it with a bandage, then pulled my ears for being careless.
After dinner, the squire and the doctor sat beside the captain and discussed their plans.
They talked for a long time.
When it was a little after noon, the doctor suddenly stood up.
He picked up his hat and pistols, attached a cutlass to his belt, placed the map in his pocket, grabbed a musket, and walked out through the north side of the fence.
Then he disappeared into the woods.
Gray and I were sitting at the far end of the blockhouse so we would not hear the officers’ conversation.
When Gray saw the doctor leave, he was completely shocked.
He took his pipe out of his mouth but forgot to put it back.
“Why in the name of Davy Jones is Dr. Livesey doing that?” Gray asked.
“You don’t think he’s gone mad, do you?” I replied.
“Mad? No, I don’t think so,” Gray said. “But if he has a good reason for this, I’d like to know what it is.”
“I think the doctor has a plan,” I said. “And if I’m right, he’s gone to find Ben Gunn.”
Later, I discovered that I was correct.
But at that moment, I was not thinking clearly.
The blockhouse was hot and uncomfortable. The little patch of sand inside the fence was burning under the midday sun.
I started imagining the doctor walking peacefully through the cool woods, surrounded by birds and the fresh smell of pine trees.
Meanwhile, I was trapped there, sweating in my clothes, surrounded by blood and dead bodies.
The place began to disgust me almost as much as it frightened me.
While I cleaned the blockhouse and washed the dishes, that feeling grew stronger and stronger.
Then I noticed the bread bag nearby.
No one was watching.
I made my decision.
I filled both pockets of my coat with biscuits.
Perhaps it was foolish. Perhaps it was dangerously brave.
But I wanted to be prepared.
If something happened to me, the biscuits would keep me alive until at least the next day.
Next, I took two pistols.
Since I already carried a powder horn and bullets, I felt ready.
My plan itself was not completely foolish.
I wanted to walk down the sandy strip of land that separated the eastern anchorage from the open sea.
There I would search for the white rock I had seen the night before.
I wanted to discover whether Ben Gunn had hidden his boat there.
It seemed worth trying.
The problem was that I knew Captain Smollett would never allow me to leave.
So my only choice was to sneak away without permission.
That was the wrong part of my plan.
But I was only a boy, and I had already made up my mind.
Soon, I found my chance.
The squire and Gray were helping Captain Smollett change his bandages.
No one was watching the gate.
I quickly climbed over the fence and ran into the thickest part of the woods.
Before anyone noticed I was gone, I was already too far away to hear their calls.
This was my second mistake.
It was even worse than the first because I had left only two healthy men to guard the blockhouse.
Yet, strangely enough, this mistake would later help save all of us.
I headed straight toward the eastern shore.
I planned to travel along the seaward side of the sandy strip so the pirates at the anchorage would not see me.
It was already late afternoon, but the day was still warm and bright.
As I moved through the tall trees, I heard the waves crashing in the distance.
I also heard branches shaking and leaves moving.
The sea wind had become stronger.
Soon, cool air reached me.
A few steps later, I left the forest and saw the open sea.
The ocean stretched blue and shining all the way to the horizon.
The waves rolled endlessly along the beach, throwing white foam into the air.
I had never seen the sea around Treasure Island completely calm.
Even when the sun was bright and the air was still, those huge waves continued crashing along the shore day and night.
I doubt there was any place on the island where a person could escape their sound.
I walked happily beside the waves.
When I thought I had gone far enough south, I hid behind thick bushes and carefully climbed to the top of the sandy ridge.
Behind me was the sea.
Ahead of me was the anchorage.
The strong sea wind had already disappeared.
Now gentle winds came from the south and southeast, carrying thick clouds of fog.
The anchorage looked silent and gray, just as it had when we first arrived.
The Hispaniola was reflected perfectly in the still water.
From the mast to the waterline, I could see the ship clearly.
The pirate flag still flew from the top.
Beside the ship was one of the small boats.
Silver sat in the back.
I could always recognize him.
Two other men leaned against the rear of the boat.
One wore a red cap.
I recognized him immediately—the same pirate I had seen earlier standing near the fence.
They seemed to be talking and laughing, though they were too far away for me to hear their words.
Suddenly, a horrible, unnatural scream filled the air.
At first, it frightened me badly.
Then I remembered Captain Flint’s voice.
Looking carefully, I thought I could see the bright-colored bird sitting on Silver’s shoulder.
Soon afterward, the small boat pushed away from the ship and headed toward the shore.
The man with the red cap and his companion went below deck.
At almost the same moment, the sun disappeared behind Spy-glass Hill.
The fog grew thicker, and darkness quickly covered the island.
I knew I had no time to waste.
If I wanted to find the boat that night, I had to hurry.
The white rock was still about an eighth of a mile farther along the sandy strip.
It took me a long time to reach it.
I crawled through the bushes, often moving on my hands and knees.
Night was almost here when I finally touched the rough surface of the rock.
Directly below it was a tiny hollow covered with green grass.
Thick bushes surrounded it, hiding it from view.
In the middle of the hollow stood a small tent made of goat skins, just like the ones carried by traveling people in England.
I dropped into the hollow and lifted the side of the tent.
There it was.
Ben Gunn’s boat.
It was the strangest homemade boat I had ever seen.
It was made from rough wooden branches covered with goat skin, with the hairy side facing inward.
It was extremely small.
Even I could hardly imagine a grown man floating safely in it.
There was one low seat, a small platform near the front, and a double paddle for moving through the water.
I had never seen a coracle at that time, but later I did.
The best way I can describe Ben Gunn’s boat is this:
It looked like the first and worst coracle ever made.
But it had one great advantage.
It was incredibly light and easy to carry.
After finding the boat, you might think I would have finally had enough adventure.
But another idea had already taken hold of me.
I became so determined that I believe I would have done it even if Captain Smollett himself had tried to stop me.
I planned to sneak out during the night, cut the Hispaniola loose, and let the ship drift wherever the sea carried it.
I believed the pirates would soon try to escape after their defeat that morning.
I wanted to stop them.
And now that I had seen they had no small boat ready for their guards, I thought my plan might actually work.
I sat down and waited for darkness.
While waiting, I ate a good meal of biscuits.
It was the perfect night for my plan.
Fog covered the entire sky.
As the last light disappeared, complete darkness fell over Treasure Island.
Finally, I lifted the little boat onto my shoulder and stumbled out of the hollow.
Only two lights could be seen across the entire anchorage.
One was the large fire on the shore, where the defeated pirates were drinking and celebrating.
The other was a faint glow in the darkness.
That was the Hispaniola.
The ship had turned with the falling tide.
Its bow now faced me.
The only lights came from the cabin.
What I saw was only the reflection of those bright lamps shining through the fog.
The tide had already been going out for some time.
I had to cross a long stretch of wet sand.
Several times I sank above my ankles.
At last, I reached the edge of the water.
Wading in carefully, I placed Ben Gunn’s little boat onto the sea and prepared to begin my next adventure.