Two shore boats went ashore from the Hispaniola while the captain, the squire, and I talked matters over in the cabin.
"If there were a breath of wind, we could overpower the mutineers still on the ship, cut loose the anchor, and sail away," the captain said.
Then Hunter came in and shut the door behind him.
"Jim Hawkins was on one of those boats; he's gone ashore with the rest," he said.
"Even wind won't help us now. We can't leave," the captain said. "I fear for his safety."
"We may never see the lad again," the squire said.
We all went up on deck, and there was a nasty stench of illness in the air that made me sick.
The six remaining scoundrels were sitting and grumbling under a sail in the forecastle.
Ashore, we could see the two boats tied up, with one man sitting in each, near the mouth of the river.
"I can't just sit here," I said. "I'm going ashore in the rowboat."
"I'm going with you," Hunter said.
The map had indicated a stockade, and Hunter and I steered the rowboat in its direction.
The two men guarding the shore boats seemed anxious at our appearance; I could see the pair discussing what they ought to do.
But they had their orders, I suppose, and decided to stay where they were.
There was a slight bend in the shoreline, and I steered out of their line of sight.
When we landed, I jumped out and ran, with a pistol in each hand.
I had hardly gone a hundred yards when I reached the stockade.
Inside a six-foot-high fence was a sturdy log house with a spring of clear water that rose up underneath it.
The house could hold thirty people in a pinch, and there were some holes in the walls for men with muskets to defend the stockade.
Around the building was a wide space that inclined upward, so whoever controlled the log house had every advantage over any attackers.
"This spring is particularly advantageous," I thought.
"We have arms and ammunition on the Hispaniola, things to eat, and excellent wines—but no water."
Just then I heard the cry of a man at the point of death ringing over the island, followed by the distinct clap of a pistol.
"Jim Hawkins is dead," I thought.
Immediately, I returned to the shore and jumped in the rowboat, and Hunter made the water fly until the boat was soon alongside the Hispaniola.
When I was back aboard the ship, I found everyone shaken.
The squire had his head in his hands, and one of the six crewmen seemed tortured by guilt as well.
"That one," Captain Smollett said, nodding toward him, "nearly fainted when he heard the gunshot.
One little push and that man will join our side."
I told the captain about my plan to take refuge inside the stockade, and we settled on the details:
Redruth would stay in the galley with loaded muskets for protection.
Hunter brought the boat just off the stern,
and Joyce and I started loading powder tins, muskets, bags of biscuits, pork, some wine, and my invaluable medicine chest.
In the meantime, the squire and the captain stayed on deck.
"Mr. Hands," the captain called out, "two of us have our pistols out and ready. If anyone signals Silver, you're all dead."
"We'll see about that," said one of the men, and they ran below deck to the galley, where Redruth was waiting for them.
The crewmen scattered throughout the ship, and every time one popped his head out of an opening, the captain would point his pistol and say, "Down, dog!"
By this time, we had the rowboat loaded as much as we dared, and Joyce, Hunter, and I quietly made for shore as fast as the oars could take us.
This second trip alarmed the lookouts on the beach, and one of them disappeared into the woods.
We soon touched land and transferred everything into the stockade, and Hunter and Joyce stayed to guard the house while I rowed back to the Hispaniola.
The squire, who was waiting, caught the boat and secured it, and we started loading it with more provisions.
After the squire, Redruth, the captain, and I each took a musket and a cutlass,
we dumped the rest of the arms and powder near the cabin overboard into the sea.
By this time, we heard sailors faintly calling to each other from the direction of the two boats.
"Joyce and Hunter should be safe," I said, "but we must hurry!"
Redruth dropped into the boat, which we then brought around for the captain.
"Now, men," Smollett said to the rest of the crew, "do you hear me?"
There was no answer from the forecastle.
"It's up to you, Abe Gray—it's to you I am speaking."
Still no reply.
"Gray," Captain Smollett resumed, a little louder, "I'm leaving this ship, and I order you to follow your captain.
You are a good man at heart. In fact, not one of you is as bad as he makes out.
I give you thirty seconds to join me." He paused and waited for a reply.
"Come, my fine fellow," the captain continued. "Don't wait.
I'm risking my life and the lives of these good gentlemen every second."
There was a sudden racket, a sound of blows, and out burst Abe Gray with blood on his cheek.
"I'm with you, sir!" he yelled, running to the captain.
He and the captain got aboard with us, and we shoved off.
We were off the ship, but not yet safe inside our stockade.