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1"Nay, mate," returned Ben, "not you. You're a good boy, or I'm mistook; but you're on'y a boy, all told. Now, Ben Gunn
2is fly. Rum wouldn't bring me there, where you're going--not rum wouldn't, till I see your born gen'leman and gets it on
3his word of honour. And you won't forget my words; 'A precious sight (that's what you'll say), a precious sight more
4confidence'--and then nips him." And he pinched me the third time with the same air of cleverness. "And when Ben Gunn is
5wanted, you know where to find him, Jim. Just wheer you found him today. And him that comes is to have a white thing in
6his hand, and he's to come alone. Oh! And you'll say this: 'Ben Gunn,' says you, 'has reasons of his own.'" "Well," said
7I, "I believe I understand. You have something to propose, and you wish to see the squire or the doctor, and you're to
8be found where I found you. Is that all?" "And when? says you," he added. "Why, from about noon observation to about six
9bells." "Good," said I, "and now may I go?" "You won't forget?" he inquired anxiously. "Precious sight, and reasons of
10his own, says you. Reasons of his own; that's the mainstay; as between man and man. Well, then"--still holding me--"I
11reckon you can go, Jim. And, Jim, if you was to see Silver, you wouldn't go for to sell Ben Gunn? Wild horses wouldn't
12draw it from you? No, says you. And if them pirates camp ashore, Jim, what would you say but there'd be widders in the
13morning?" Here he was interrupted by a loud report, and a cannonball came tearing through the trees and pitched in the
14sand not a hundred yards from where we two were talking. The next moment each of us had taken to his heels in a
15different direction. For a good hour to come frequent reports shook the island, and balls kept crashing through the
16woods. I moved from hiding-place to hiding-place, always pursued, or so it seemed to me, by these terrifying missiles.
17But towards the end of the bombardment, though still I durst not venture in the direction of the stockade, where the
18balls fell oftenest, I had begun, in a manner, to pluck up my heart again, and after a long detour to the east, crept
19down among the shore-side trees. The sun had just set, the sea breeze was rustling and tumbling in the woods and
20ruffling the grey surface of the anchorage; the tide, too, was far out, and great tracts of sand lay uncovered; the air,
21after the heat of the day, chilled me through my jacket. The HISPANIOLA still lay where she had anchored; but, sure
22enough, there was the Jolly Roger--the black flag of piracy--flying from her peak. Even as I looked, there came another
23red flash and another report that sent the echoes clattering, and one more round-shot whistled through the air. It was
24the last of the cannonade. I lay for some time watching the bustle which succeeded the attack. Men were demolishing
25something with axes on the beach near the stockade--the poor jolly-boat, I afterwards discovered. Away, near the mouth
26of the river, a great fire was glowing among the trees, and between that point and the ship one of the gigs kept coming
27and going, the men, whom I had seen so gloomy, shouting at the oars like children. But there was a sound in their voices
28which suggested rum. At length I thought I might return towards the stockade. I was pretty far down on the low, sandy
29spit that encloses the anchorage to the east, and is joined at half-water to Skeleton Island; and now, as I rose to my
30feet, I saw, some distance further down the spit and rising from among low bushes, an isolated rock, pretty high, and
31peculiarly white in colour. It occurred to me that this might be the white rock of which Ben Gunn had spoken and that
32some day or other a boat might be wanted and I should know where to look for one. Then I skirted among the woods until I
33had regained the rear, or shoreward side, of the stockade, and was soon warmly welcomed by the faithful party. I had
34soon told my story and began to look about me. The log-house was made of unsquared trunks of pine--roof, walls, and
35floor. The latter stood in several places as much as a foot or a foot and a half above the surface of the sand. There
36was a porch at the door, and under this porch the little spring welled up into an artificial basin of a rather odd
37kind--no other than a great ship's kettle of iron, with the bottom knocked out, and sunk "to her bearings," as the
38captain said, among the sand. Little had been left besides the framework of the house, but in one corner there was a
39stone slab laid down by way of hearth and an old rusty iron basket to contain the fire. The slopes of the knoll and all
40the inside of the stockade had been cleared of timber to build the house, and we could see by the stumps what a fine and
41lofty grove had been destroyed. Most of the soil had been washed away or buried in drift after the removal of the trees;
42only where the streamlet ran down from the kettle a thick bed of moss and some ferns and little creeping bushes were
43still green among the sand. Very close around the stockade--too close for defence, they said--the wood still flourished
44high and dense, all of fir on the land side, but towards the sea with a large admixture of live-oaks. The cold evening
45breeze, of which I have spoken, whistled through every chink of the rude building and sprinkled the floor with a
46continual rain of fine sand. There was sand in our eyes, sand in our teeth, sand in our suppers, sand dancing in the
47spring at the bottom of the kettle, for all the world like porridge beginning to boil. Our chimney was a square hole in
48the roof; it was but a little part of the smoke that found its way out, and the rest eddied about the house and kept us
49coughing and piping the eye. Add to this that Gray, the new man, had his face tied up in a bandage for a cut he had got
50in breaking away from the mutineers and that poor old Tom Redruth, still unburied, lay along the wall, stiff and stark,
51under the Union Jack. If we had been allowed to sit idle, we should all have fallen in the blues, but Captain Smollett
52was never the man for that. All hands were called up before him, and he divided us into watches. The doctor and Gray and
53I for one; the squire, Hunter, and Joyce upon the other. Tired though we all were, two were sent out for firewood; two
54more were set to dig a grave for Redruth; the doctor was named cook; I was put sentry at the door; and the captain
55himself went from one to another, keeping up our spirits and lending a hand wherever it was wanted. From time to time
56the doctor came to the door for a little air and to rest his eyes, which were almost smoked out of his head, and
57whenever he did so, he had a word for me. "That man Smollett," he said once, "is a better man than I am. And when I say
58that it means a deal, Jim." Another time he came and was silent for a while. Then he put his head on one side, and
59looked at me. "Is this Ben Gunn a man?" he asked. "I do not know, sir," said I. "I am not very sure whether he's sane."
60"If there's any doubt about the matter, he is," returned the doctor. "A man who has been three years biting his nails on
61a desert island, Jim, can't expect to appear as sane as you or me. It doesn't lie in human nature. Was it cheese you
62said he had a fancy for?" "Yes, sir, cheese," I answered. "Well, Jim," says he, "just see the good that comes of being
63dainty in your food. You've seen my snuff-box, haven't you? And you never saw me take snuff, the reason being that in my
64snuff-box I carry a piece of Parmesan cheese--a cheese made in Italy, very nutritious. Well, that's for Ben Gunn!"
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