As soon as Ben Gunn saw the flag above the cabin in the stockade, he grabbed me by the arm. "Ah, your friends are there," he said.
"It's probably the mutineers," I answered.
"No, Long John would fly the Jolly Roger, the skull and crossbones flag. That's your friends.
There's been a fight, and I'll bet your friends are now ashore in the old stockade that Flint built years ago."
"Well, then," I said, "I should hurry and join them."
"If anyone needs me, they can find me where we met today.
But whoever comes to find me must carry something white and they must come alone.
If they ask why, tell them, 'Ben Gunn has reasons of his own.'"
"I understand," I said. "Is that all?"
He nodded. "They can find me from about noon to about six o'clock."
"Good."
"And, Jim, if you see Long John, don't tell him you saw me! Please don't!"
"I wouldn't―," I started to say, but suddenly, we were interrupted by a loud, sharp noise.
A cannonball came tearing through the trees.
The next moment, Ben Gunn and I ran off in different directions.
For the next hour, balls kept crashing through the woods.
I moved from place to place, always pursued—or so it seemed—by those terrifying missiles.
Feeling brave, I finally crept down among the shoreside trees to see what was going on.
The Hispaniola was still where she'd been anchored, but sure enough, the Jolly Roger—the flag of piracy—was flying from her mast.
I lay for a while, watching as two pirates on the shore near the stockade demolished our poor, sunken rowboat.
Then I crawled closer to the mouth of the river, where a great fire glowed among the trees.
One of the shore boats kept going to and from the ship, as the pirates shouted drunkenly to each other.
"Don't forget the sea biscuits!" hollered one man on the beach.
"Quiet, swab!" yelled another, rowing toward the ship. "I want more rum!"
I got up and, keeping out of sight, headed toward the stockade.
Soon I saw an isolated rock rising high up from among the low bushes. Strangely, it was white.
"Could that be Ben Gunn's white rock?" I asked myself.
"That might be the place where he keeps his boat."
I continued walking through the woods and was soon at the stockade;
I scrambled over the fence with high hopes that my friends would be there.
"Jim!" the doctor shouted when he saw me, and welcomed me warmly.
As I told my story, I looked around and noticed that the log house was made of pine tree trunks and had a floor about a foot above the sand.
There was a porch, and under it, a little spring was bubbling up into a big iron pot with the bottom knocked out.
Inside, a stone slab formed a corner hearth, and a big, rusty iron grate contained a smoky fire.
Gray, the new man, had his face bandaged because of a cut he'd gotten from the mutineers.
And poor Tom Redruth was laid out along the wall under the Union Jack.
To keep us busy and our spirits up, Captain Smollett gave everyone something to do.
"Men," the captain said, "we're all tired, but we can't just sit around.
Gray and Hunter will collect firewood. The squire and Joyce will dig Redruth's grave.
The doctor will be our cook, and Jim, you'll be the lookout at the door."
A bit later, the doctor came to the door for air and tilted his head toward me.
"Tell me again about Ben Gunn," he said.
"Well," I replied, "I'm not sure he's sane."
"If you have any doubt, he probably is," said the doctor.
"You can't expect a man who's been on a deserted island for three years to appear as sane as you or I. You said he had a craving for cheese?"
"Yes, sir, cheese," I answered.
"Well, Jim," he said with a laugh, "inside my medicine bag, I carry a piece of Parmesan cheese—a cheese made in Italy, very nutritious.
That's going to be for our friend Ben Gunn!"
Before supper, we buried old Tom in the sand and said a prayer.
Then we collected firewood, but not enough to satisfy the captain.
"We'll get back to this tomorrow when we're more rested," he said.
"But now, let's eat and then make some plans."
We ate a bit of pork and each had a good, stiff glass of brandy, and then the doctor, the squire, and the captain huddled together in a corner.
"We'll starve to death long before help comes," declared Smollett.
"Our best hope is to kill all the pirates."
"We've already reduced their number from nineteen to fifteen," noted the squire.
"And others are wounded," the captain added.
"Well, we have two strong allies—rum and the climate," the doctor said.
"Listen to them! We're half a mile away and can still hear them singing late into the night.
Making camp in the marsh, without medicine, half will be sick in a week." He frowned.
"So, hopefully," he continued, "they'll be glad to return to the ship and get back to sea again."
"That's the first ship I ever lost," Captain Smollett said sadly.
We all went to bed then, and after a great deal of tossing, I slept soundly.
In the morning, I was awakened by the sound of excited voices.
"There's a flag of truce!" someone exclaimed.
Then another, with a cry of surprise, said, "It's Silver himself!"
I jumped up, rubbed my eyes, and ran to a musket hole in the wall.