Chapters 5 & 6

Chapter 5

The Man on the Island

At first, Treasure Island seemed a fascinating place. There were marshes full of willows and odd, outlandish, swampy plants and trees. Here and there I saw snakes, and one raised his head from a rock and hissed at me with a noise not unlike that of a spinning top. I explored for a while until I wandered into a thicket of live oak trees, which grew along the sand.

Suddenly a wild duck flew up into the air followed by another, and soon, over the whole surface of the marsh, a great cloud of birds hung screaming and circling in the sky above us. I guessed that some of my shipmates must be drawing near. I listened and heard voices, faint but growing louder. I got down on all fours and crawled until I could see down into a little green dell beside the marsh, closely set about with trees. There Long John Silver and a seaman named Tom stood face-to-face in conversation. It was clear that Silver was testing Tom, trying to find out if he would join the mutiny.

“I’ll not be led away,” said Tom. “I’d sooner lose my hand. If I forget my duty—”

All of a sudden, he was interrupted. Faraway out in the marsh arose an angry roar, then another. Tom jumped at the sound, like a horse pricked by a rider’s spurs, but Silver winked not an eye. He stood resting lightly on his crutch, watching his companion, like a snake about to strike.

“John!” said Tom, “what was that?”

“That?” said Silver, with a treacherous smile. “Oh, I reckon that was Alan.”

Then Tom seemed to understand everything all at once.

“Alan!” he cried, fearing the worst for his friend. “Well, John Silver, you’re no mate of mine, and that’s a fact! I’ll have no part in your mutiny.”

With that, the brave fellow turned his back on the cook and set off toward the beach, but he was not destined to go far. With a cry, Silver seized the branch of a tree, whipped the crutch from under his armpit, and sent the missile hurtling through the air. It struck poor Tom right between the shoulders in the middle of his back. His hands flew up, he let out a gasp, and fell.

I felt faint. The whole world seemed to swim before me in a whirling mist. When I gathered my courage to look again, I saw Silver standing next to Tom, who was motionless on the ground.

A moment later, Silver pulled out a whistle and blew upon it. I guessed he was calling the other pirates, and I was worried they might find me. I crawled out of the undergrowth and ran as fast as I could. It was all over for me, I thought. I would be captured by the mutineers.

I ran without knowing where I was going, until a new alarm brought me to a standstill. With a thumping heart, I saw a dark shaggy figure leap behind a tree trunk. Was it a bear? Or a monkey? I could not tell, but I was afraid because I was now cut off on both sides. Behind me were the ferocious pirates, and in front of me, the lurking creature.

The figure flitted from trunk to trunk like a deer, but it ran on two legs like a man. I was tempted to cry for help, when another sighting reassured me that the creature was indeed a man. I took some comfort in this discovery, and in the fact I had just remembered I carried a pistol in my pocket. I put one hand on my pistol and took a few steps forward. At that precise moment, the man leaped out in the open, threw himself on his knees, and held out his hands as if begging for mercy.

I could see that he was an Englishman like myself, but his clothes were old and tattered, and his skin had been burned by the sun. In fact, his bright eyes looked quite startling on a face so burned.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

“I’m Ben Gunn, I am,” he replied. His voice sounded like a rusty lock. “I haven’t spoken with a man for three years! I am surprised I still know how to speak.”

“Three years?” I cried. “Were you shipwrecked here?”

“Nay, friend,” said he. “I was marooned.”

I had heard the word, and I knew it stood for a horrible kind of punishment common enough among buccaneers. It was my understanding that when a person is marooned, he is abandoned on a desolate island with not much to rely on other than his wits.

“Marooned three years ago,” continued the man. “I’ve lived on goats, berries, and oysters, but my heart longs for English food. At night I dream of cheese!”

All this time he had been looking at me and smiling. He seemed to take a childish pleasure in the presence of a fellow creature.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Jim Hawkins,” I told him.

“Well, now, Jim,” he said. “If I ever get back to England, I’m changing my ways and the company I keep. I’m a changed man.

“And, Jim . . .” he continued, looking around and lowering his voice to little more than a whisper. “I’m rich! You’ll thank your lucky stars, you will, that you was the first that found me!”

Then a shadow passed over his face, and he took hold of my hand and raised one finger threateningly before my eyes.

“Now, Jim,” he said, “tell me true. Is that Flint’s ship you came on?”

“No,” I replied. “It’s not Flint’s ship. Flint is dead, but we have some of his men with us.”

“Not a man . . . with . . . one leg?” he gasped.

“John Silver?” I asked.

“Yes, that were his name,” he said anxiously.

After talking with Ben Gunn for a few minutes, I no longer feared him. In fact, I told him the story of our voyage, and he heard it with the keenest of interest.

“Well,” he said, “you and your friends are in a pinch, ain’t you? Well, never you mind. Just put your trust in Ben Gunn. But tell me one thing—is this squire of yours an honest man?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Suppose I gave him a share of my money. Do you think he would let me sail home with you?” he asked.

“I’m sure he would,” I replied. He seemed greatly relieved to hear this.

“Well, then,” he went on, “I’ll tell you my story. I was on Flint’s ship when he buried his treasure. He went ashore on this very island, with six strong men. They were ashore nearly a week, and left the rest of us on the ship. Eventually, Flint came back, all by himself. There he was! And the six men? All dead. How he done it, not a man aboard could make out. Billy Bones was the mate back then, and Silver was also part of the crew.

“Then, three years back, I was on another ship, and we sighted this island. ‘Boys,’ said I, ‘this is where Flint buried his treasure. Let’s go ashore and find it!’ Twelve days we spent lookin’ for it. Then the others gave up and went back aboard. ‘As for you, Benjamin Gunn,’ says they, ‘here’s a musket, and a spade, and a pickaxe. You can stay here and find Flint’s money for yourself.’”

“Well, Jim, that’s my story. Now, be a good lad and run and speak with the squire. Tell him I know this island like it’s my own.”

“How am I to get back to the ship?” I asked.

“You can use my boat,” he said. “I made it with my own two hands. I keep it under a white rock along the shore.”

Then, quite suddenly, we heard the boom of a cannon.

“They’ve begun to fight!” I cried.

We stayed together in the undergrowth, unaware of time passing, listening to the sound of cannon and pistol fire. Eventually I decided I should make my way toward the anchorage. Ben agreed to accompany me. At some point along the way, we spotted a Union Jack fluttering above the trees.

“That must be your friends,” said Ben Gunn.

“It can’t be,” I said, stunned by the sight of the flag. “They’re on the ship. That must be Silver, or some of the other mutineers.”

“Not likely,” said Ben Gunn. “In a place like this, where nobody puts in but gentlemen of fortune, Silver would fly the Jolly Roger. You see, Jim, just over that hill is an old stockade. Flint built it many years ago. I reckon that your friends have retreated to the stockade, and Silver has the ship.”

“Well,” I said, “if it really is them, I should try to help.”

“I’ll not go with you,” said Ben Gunn, “not till I have an opportunity to meet with the squire in private. If he wants to talk, tell him where he can find me and to come with a white flag to show he means well.”

At that moment, a cannonball came whizzing through the trees and tore up the sand, not a hundred yards from us. I ran one way and Ben Gunn ran another.

After parting with Ben Gunn, I decided to assess the situation. First, I went to check on the Hispaniola. I saw she was still anchored in the same place, but now she was flying the Jolly Roger. It seemed that the pirates had indeed taken over the ship. Next, I scouted the shoreline. I spotted a big white rock and I figured it must be the rock beneath which Ben Gunn hid his boat. Then I made my way through the woods until I came to the stockade, a plain log house surrounded by a tall fence. I saw that Ben Gunn had been right. My friends were in the stockade with the Union Jack flying above them. I called out to them and was warmly welcomed. They told me their story, and I told them mine.

When fighting broke out on the ship, they had decided they would be safer on the island, so they escaped in two of the landing boats with some guns and supplies. They had heard about the stockade. When the pirates saw them rowing away, they fired on them from the ship and then attacked the stockade. Old Redruth had been killed, and another of our loyal men, Gray, had been injured.

After telling my story, I had a chance to look about me. The stockade was made of trunks of pine. Near the door of the stockade was a little spring that welled up and provided fresh water. There was a small chimney in the roof through which only a little smoke found its way out. The rest stayed in the house and kept us coughing. If we had been allowed to sit idle, we should have all fallen into the blues, but Captain Smollett divided us into watches.

The doctor questioned me about Ben Gunn, “Do you think he’s sane, Jim?”

“I’m not quite sure. He seems a little strange.”

“Well,” said the doctor, “you can’t expect a man who has spent three years on a deserted island to be as clear-minded as you or me.”

We had very little in the way of supplies, and the captain was worried. He thought our best hope was to get the better of the buccaneers. They had lost four men, and two others were wounded.

On an uninhabited island like the one on which Captain Flint buried his treasure, a stockade, usually built by staking tall wooden fence posts into the ground, provides a structure for protection or capture. In Treasure Island, the stockade provides a barrier to slow down the mutinous attack. Similar forts could be used to hold prisoners as well.

Chapter 6

The Plan

The next morning, I was awakened by the sound of loud voices.

“Flag of truce!” I heard someone yell. Then, “It’s Silver!”

I got up and rubbed my eyes. Sure enough, two men stood just outside the stockade—one of them was waving a white cloth, and the other was Silver himself.

“Stay inside,” said the captain. “Ten to one says this is a trick.” Then he shouted to the buccaneers, “Who goes there? Stand or we’ll fire!”

“Flag of truce!” cried Silver.

“What do you want with your flag of truce?” Captain Smollett shouted back.

“Cap’n Silver wishes to make terms,” the other man called out.

“Captain Silver?” said the captain. “Don’t know him. Who’s he?”

John Silver answered: “Me, sir. These poor lads have chosen me cap’n, after your desertion, sir. We’re willing to submit, if we can come to terms, and no bones about it.”

Captain Smollett agreed to meet with Silver—and only Silver. Silver threw his crutch over the fence, got a leg up, and, with great vigor and skill, climbed over the fence and dropped to the other side.

“Well, now,” he said, “that was a good scare you gave us last night. We lost some men, but you mark me, cap’n, it won’t work twice!” said Silver. “We want that treasure and we’ll have it! You would just as soon save your lives, I reckon. We want the map, so if you hand it over, we won’t do you no harm.”

“Not a chance,” replied the captain.

“Give us the map,” said Silver, “and stop shooting poor seamen. If you do that, we’ll give you a choice. You can come aboard with us once the treasure is stowed away, and I’ll give you my word of honor to put you ashore somewhere safe. Or, if that ain’t to your fancy, you can stay here. We’ll divide the supplies with you, and I’ll send the first ship I sight to pick you up.”

“Is that all?” Captain Smollett asked. “Now hear me! If you come up one by one, unarmed, I’ll clap you all in irons and take you home to a fair trial in England. If not, it won’t end well for you.”

Silver looked scornfully at the captain. “Give me a hand up!” he cried.

“Not I,” returned Captain Smollett.

“Who’ll give me a hand up?” Silver roared.

Not one among us moved. Silver had to crawl along the sand, grumbling, till he got close to the door and could hoist himself up on his crutch. Then he spat into the spring.

“Before an hour’s out, I’ll knock in your old log house. Them that die will be the lucky ones!” he cried.

As soon as Silver left the stockade, we returned to our posts and loaded our muskets. There were several small holes in the walls of the log house. We peered out through the holes and waited for the onslaught.

“Put out the fire!” shouted the captain. “We mustn’t have smoke in our eyes.”

Suddenly, with a loud cry, a group of pirates leaped from the woods on the north side and ran straight toward the stockade. At the same time, gunfire opened from the woods. A rifle ball sang through the doorway and knocked the doctor’s musket to bits.

The pirates climbed over the fence like monkeys. We fired at them, and immediately three of them fell to the ground. Four others made it over the fence and charged forward. In an instant, they were upon us.

“At ’em, all hands!” one of the pirates roared in a voice of thunder. One pirate grasped Hunter’s musket and wrenched it out of his hands. With one stunning blow, he laid poor Hunter senseless on the floor. Meanwhile, another pirate appeared in the doorway and descended upon the doctor with his cutlass.

The log house was filled with smoke, cries, and confusion. Flashes and the reports of pistol shots rang out.

“Out, lads, and fight ’em in the open!” cried Captain Smollett.

I snatched a cutlass and dashed out into the sunlight.

"’Round the house, lads! ’Round the house!" the captain cried.

I raised my cutlass and ran ’round the corner of the house. The next moment I found myself face to face with the pirate named Job Anderson.

He roared and raised his cutlass. I leaped to one side and rolled headlong down the slope.

Gray followed close behind me and took down Anderson before he had time to recover. Another pirate was shot while firing into the house. The doctor had taken down a third. Of the pirates who had made it over the fence, only one remained, and he had seen enough. He dropped his cutlass and clambered back over the fence. In three seconds, nothing remained of the attacking party but the ones who had fallen.

I ran full speed back to the house. Somewhat cleared of smoke, I assessed the price we had paid for the victory. Hunter lay on the ground, stunned. Joyce had been killed. In the center, the squire was holding up the captain, one as pale as the other.

“The captain’s wounded,” said Mr. Trelawney.

“Have they run?” asked Captain Smollett.

“All that could,” returned the doctor. “But there are some that will never run again.”

“That’s good!” cried the captain. “That means fewer men. That’s better odds than when we started.”

The mutineers did not return. They had had enough, so we were able to tend to our wounded and get some food. After dinner, the doctor grabbed his hat, pistols, and a cutlass. He slipped the map in his pocket, and with a musket over his shoulder, climbed the fence, setting off briskly through the trees.

“Is he mad?” Gray asked me.

“I would not have thought him capable of such a thing,” I said. “I bet he’s going to see Ben Gunn.”

I was right, as I found out later. In the meantime, I had another thought. The house was stifling. I began to envy the doctor, walking in the cool shadows of the woods. I longed to escape and set about gathering supplies for my own excursion. I filled both coat pockets with biscuits, then took two pistols to arm myself.

As for the scheme I had in my head, it was not a bad one in itself. I would go down to the shore and look for Ben Gunn’s boat. I knew it was wrong to slip out when nobody was watching, but I was only a boy, and I was determined.

While the squire and Gray were busy helping the captain with his bandages, I bolted into the woods. Before my absence was noticed, I was out of earshot of my companions.

This was my second foolish decision, and it was far worse than the first, for there were only two honest men left to guard the log house. Much like the first time, though, I did it for the good of us all.

I headed up the east coast of the island. After a while, I came out into the open and saw the sea lying blue and sunny to the horizon, and the surf tumbling its foam along the beach. In the distance I could see the Hispaniola, the Jolly Roger waving in the breeze.

The sun was setting, and it grew dark in earnest. I knew I must lose no time if I were to find Ben Gunn’s boat that evening. The white rock was still further down the sandy spit, and it took me a while to get to it. Below the rock was a little hollow, and tucked away inside, covered in old sack cloth, was Ben Gunn’s boat. It was a homemade coracle—a lopsided frame of wood lined with goatskin. It was extremely small, even for me, but it was light and portable.

I thought the mutineers might be planning to raise anchor and sail away. I wondered how I might be able to prevent this. I could paddle out in Ben Gunn’s boat under cover of night, cut the ship loose, and let her drift toward the shore.

I waited for darkness to fall. As the last rays of daylight disappeared, absolute darkness settled over Treasure Island, and I shoved Ben Gunn’s boat out of the hollow.

The little coracle was a safe boat for someone my size, but she was the most difficult craft to manage. Turning round and round was the maneuver at which she was best. She turned in every direction but the one I chose. However, by good fortune, the tide swept me down to where the Hispaniola was anchored.

As I drew near, I could hear loud voices in the cabin. One I recognized as Israel Hands, who was having a disagreement with another pirate. Both men were angry and oaths flew like hailstones.

I quietly rowed next to the schooner, then carefully cut the ropes that held the ship in place. The Hispaniola drifted free in the current. To my surprise, the coracle suddenly lurched. She seemed to change course and her speed had strangely increased. I realized that I was being whirled along by the wake of the Hispaniola.

The current turned at right angles, sweeping the tall schooner and the little coracle out to sea. Not knowing what to do, I lay on the bottom of my boat, sure this would be my final day. I must have lain there motionless for some time, but then, even in the midst of my fear, weariness overcame me and I fell asleep.

When I awoke, it was broad daylight. I found myself tossing about in the boat at the southwestern end of Treasure Island. I was barely a quarter of a mile from the shore, and my first thought was to paddle in.

I soon saw the problem with this idea. The coast was rocky, and powerful waves crashed against the rocks. If I tried to land, I might be dashed to death upon the rough shore.

I attempted to paddle to a safer landing spot along the cape, but there was no use. Try as I might, the current carried the coracle past the point of the cape. There, I beheld a sight that changed the nature of my thoughts. It was the Hispaniola. I knew there were at least a few pirates on board, but I could not see any of them. To and fro, up and down, the ship sailed by swoops and dashes, as if nobody was steering. I thought maybe the pirates had deserted the ship, or maybe they were sleeping. I figured if I could get onboard, I could return the ship to the captain.

I set myself to paddle and did so till I drew up alongside the ship, and the bowsprit was just over my head. I sprang to my feet, and leaped up, pushing the coracle under water. Then, with one hand, I caught the jibboom and pulled myself up onto the deck of the Hispaniola.

At first I did not see a soul. However, on the afterdeck I discovered the two men who had been left to watch the ship. One was on his back, lifeless. A little further on sat Israel Hands, propped against the ship wall, with his chin on his chest. His hands lay open, and his face was as white as a candle.

I saw the signs of a fight and felt sure the two men had killed each other. Just then, Israel Hands gave a low moan. He opened his eyes wearily and caught sight of me. He said only two words, “Help me!”