الفصل الفصل 22 · XXII. How I Began My Sea Adventure

XXII. How I Began My Sea Adventure

There was no return of the mutineers--not so much as another shot out of

the woods. They had “got their rations for that day,” as the captain put

it, and we had the place to ourselves and a quiet time to overhaul the

wounded and get dinner. Squire and I cooked outside in spite of the

danger, and even outside we could hardly tell what we were at, for

horror of the loud groans that reached us from the doctor’s patients.

Out of the eight men who had fallen in the action, only three still

breathed--that one of the pirates who had been shot at the loophole,

Hunter, and Captain Smollett; and of these, the first two were as good

as dead; the mutineer indeed died under the doctor’s knife, and Hunter,

do what we could, never recovered consciousness in this world. He

lingered all day, breathing loudly like the old buccaneer at home in his

apoplectic fit, but the bones of his chest had been crushed by the

blow and his skull fractured in falling, and some time in the following

night, without sign or sound, he went to his Maker.

As for the captain, his wounds were grievous indeed, but not dangerous.

No organ was fatally injured. Anderson’s ball--for it was Job that

shot him first--had broken his shoulder-blade and touched the lung, not

badly; the second had only torn and displaced some muscles in the calf.

He was sure to recover, the doctor said, but in the meantime, and for

weeks to come, he must not walk nor move his arm, nor so much as speak

when he could help it.

My own accidental cut across the knuckles was a flea-bite. 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 awhile

in consultation; and when they had talked to their hearts’ content, it

being then a little past noon, the doctor took up his hat and pistols,

girt on a cutlass, put the chart in his pocket, and with a musket over

his shoulder crossed the palisade on the north side and set off briskly

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 consulting; and Gray took his pipe out

of his mouth and fairly forgot to put it back again, so thunder-struck

he was at this occurrence.

“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 take

it.”

“Well, shipmate,” said Gray, “mad he may not be; but if HE’S not, you

mark my words, I am.”

“I take it,” replied I, “the doctor has his idea; and if I am right,

he’s going now to see Ben Gunn.”

I was right, as appeared later; but in the meantime, the house being

stifling hot and the little patch of sand inside the palisade ablaze

with midday sun, I began to get another thought into my head, which was

not by any means so right. What I began to do was to envy the doctor

walking in the cool shadow of the woods with the birds about him and the

pleasant smell of the pines, while I sat grilling, with my clothes

stuck to the hot resin, and so much blood about me and so many poor

dead bodies lying all around that I took a disgust of the place that was

almost as strong as fear.

All the time I was washing out the block house, and then washing up

the things from dinner, this disgust and envy kept growing stronger

and stronger, till at last, being near a bread-bag, and no one then

observing me, I took the first step towards my escapade and filled both

pockets of my coat 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 precautions in

my power. These biscuits, should anything befall me, would keep me, at

least, from starving till far on in the next day.

The next thing I laid hold of was a brace of pistols, and as I already

had a powder-horn and bullets, I felt myself well supplied with arms.

As for the scheme I had in my head, it was not a bad one in itself. I

was to go down the sandy spit that divides the anchorage on the east

from the open sea, find the white rock I had observed last evening, and

ascertain whether it was there or not that Ben Gunn had hidden his boat,

a thing quite worth doing, as I still believe. But as I was certain I

should not be allowed to leave the enclosure, my only plan was to take

French leave and slip out when nobody was watching, and that was so bad

a way of doing it as made the thing itself wrong. But I was only a boy,

and I had made my mind up.

Well, as things at last fell out, I found an admirable opportunity. The

squire and Gray were busy helping the captain with his bandages, the

coast was clear, I made a bolt for it over the stockade and into the

thickest of the trees, and before my absence was observed I was out of

cry of my companions.

This was my second folly, far worse than the first, as I left but two

sound men to guard the house; but like the first, it was a help towards

saving all of us.

I took my way straight for the east coast of the island, for I was

determined to go down the sea side of the spit to avoid all chance of

observation from the anchorage. It was already late in the afternoon,

although still warm and sunny. As I continued to thread the tall woods,

I could hear from far before me not only the continuous thunder of the

surf, but a certain tossing of foliage and grinding of boughs which

showed me the sea breeze had set in higher than usual. Soon cool

draughts of air began to reach me, and a few steps farther I came forth

into the open borders of the grove, and 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 round Treasure Island. The sun might

blaze overhead, the air be without a breath, the surface smooth and

blue, but still these great rollers would be running along all the

external coast, thundering and thundering by day and night; and I scarce

believe there is one spot in the island where a man would be out of

earshot of their noise.

I walked along beside the surf with great enjoyment, till, thinking

I was now got far enough to the south, I took the cover of some thick

bushes and crept warily up to the ridge of the spit.

Behind me was the sea, in front the anchorage. The sea breeze, as though

it had the sooner blown itself out by its unusual violence, was already

at an end; it had been succeeded by light, variable airs from the south

and south-east, carrying great banks of fog; and the anchorage, under

lee of Skeleton Island, lay still and leaden as when first we entered

it. The HISPANIOLA, in that unbroken mirror, was exactly portrayed from

the truck to the waterline, the Jolly Roger hanging from her peak.

Alongside lay one of the gigs, Silver in the stern-sheets--him I could

always recognize--while a couple of men were leaning over the stern

bulwarks, one of them with a red cap--the very rogue that I had seen

some hours before stride-legs upon the palisade. Apparently they were

talking and laughing, though at that distance--upwards of a mile--I

could, of course, hear no word of what was said. All at once there began

the most horrid, unearthly screaming, which at first startled me badly,

though I had soon remembered the voice of Captain Flint and even thought

I could make out the bird by her bright plumage as she sat perched upon

her master’s wrist.

Soon after, the jolly-boat shoved off and pulled for shore, and the man

with the red cap and his comrade went below by the cabin companion.

Just about the same time, the sun had gone down behind the Spy-glass,

and as the fog was collecting rapidly, 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 brush, was still some eighth of

a mile further down the spit, and it took me a goodish while to get up

with 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

an exceedingly small hollow of green turf, hidden by banks and a thick

underwood about knee-deep, that grew there very plentifully; and in the

centre of the dell, sure enough, a little tent of goat-skins, like what

the gipsies carry about with them in England.

I dropped into the hollow, lifted the side of the tent, and there was

Ben Gunn’s boat--home-made if ever anything was home-made; a rude,

lop-sided framework of tough wood, and stretched upon that 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 thwart set as low as possible, a kind of

stretcher in the bows, and a double paddle for propulsion.

I had not then seen a coracle, such as the ancient Britons made, but

I have seen one since, and I can give you no fairer idea of Ben Gunn’s

boat than by saying it was like the first and the worst coracle ever

made by man. But the great advantage of the coracle it certainly

possessed, for it was exceedingly light and portable.

Well, now that I had found the boat, you would have thought I had had

enough of truantry for once, but in the meantime I had taken another

notion and become so obstinately fond of it that I would have carried

it out, I believe, in the teeth of Captain Smollett himself. This was

to slip out under cover of the night, cut the HISPANIOLA adrift, and let

her go ashore where she fancied. I had quite made up my mind that the

mutineers, after their repulse of the morning, had nothing nearer their

hearts than to up anchor and away to sea; this, I thought, it would be

a fine thing to prevent, and now that I had seen how they left their

watchmen unprovided with a boat, I thought it might be done with little

risk.

Down I sat to wait for darkness, and made a hearty meal of biscuit. It

was a night out of ten thousand for my purpose. The fog had now buried

all heaven. As the last rays of daylight dwindled and disappeared,

absolute blackness settled down on Treasure Island. And when, at last,

I shouldered the coracle and groped my way stumblingly out of the hollow

where I had supped, there were but two points visible on the whole

anchorage.

One was the great fire on shore, by which the defeated pirates lay

carousing in the swamp. The other, a mere blur of light upon the

darkness, indicated the position of the anchored ship. She had swung

round to the ebb--her bow was now towards me--the only lights on board

were in the cabin, and what I saw was merely a reflection on the fog of

the strong rays that flowed from the stern window.

The ebb had already run some time, and I had to wade through a long belt

of swampy sand, where I sank several times above the ankle, before I

came to the edge of the retreating water, and wading a little way in,

with some strength and dexterity, set my coracle, keel downwards, on the

surface.