"All's quiet now," the doctor said. "I'll see to the wounded."
"Jim and I will make something to eat," the squire volunteered.
We cooked outside in the hot sun, trying not to listen to the loud groans from the doctor's patients.
Of the eight men who had fallen in the action, only three still breathed: Hunter, Captain Smollett, and one of the pirates shot by the doctor.
The pirate died within hours. Hunter never regained consciousness and died the following day. The captain was luckier.
"Job Anderson's bullet broke your shoulder blade and nicked your lung, but not badly," the doctor told him.
"The second bullet tore some calf muscles, but you'll recover.
For the next few weeks, don't walk or move your arm if you can help it."
After eating, the squire and the doctor sat and talked beside the captain for a while.
A little past noon, Dr. Livesey grabbed his hat and pistols, strapped on a cutlass, and put the map in his pocket.
With a musket over his shoulder, he crossed the north side of the fence and set off briskly through the trees.
Gray took his pipe out of his mouth when he saw the doctor go and said, "Is Dr. Livesey mad?"
"No," I replied. "He's the sanest person I know."
"Well," Gray said, "if he's not insane, then I am! I just saw him climb over the stockade."
"He's probably going to see Ben Gunn," I said.
"It's too bad Mr. Gunn wants people to 'come alone.'
The doctor is enjoying the cool woods, while we're roasting inside this stockade!
I hate the stink of blood and all these dead bodies around!"
"Help me wash out the house," Gray said.
We scrubbed the blood off the floor, and I also washed the cookware, but my disgust only grew stronger.
I wanted to leave, but I knew they wouldn't let me go.
So I decided to wait and slip out when nobody was watching.
But I needed a good reason to leave my friends.
"I'll go find Ben Gunn's boat," I told myself.
I filled my pockets with biscuits so I wouldn't be hungry, and I took two pistols, gunpowder, and some bullets.
While the squire and Gray helped the captain with his bandages, I bolted over the fence and into the trees.
Before anyone noticed, I was far away.
"I'll head east, so the pirates won't see me from the anchorage, and then I'll go south," I thought as I snuck through the tall woods.
By late afternoon, I had come to the cool beach and was walking alongside the tumbling surf.
When I was far enough south, I took cover in thick bushes and crept warily up a ridge near a bit of sandy land sticking out from the shore.
I was right between the sea and the anchorage, which was protected from the force of the ocean by Skeleton Island.
The Hispaniola was still and quiet, floating on an unbroken mirror of water, with the Jolly Roger hanging from her mast.
I saw a familiar pirate sitting in a shore boat alongside the ship, talking and laughing with two men leaning over the ship's stern.
"Long John Silver!" I whispered to myself.
They were much too far away for me to overhear or see them clearly, but all at once, I heard the most horrid, unearthly screaming.
"ARGH! ARGH!"
"What's that?" I thought, startled. But then I spotted the bright plumage of a bird perching on Long John's wrist.
"Oh, it's just the parrot!" I sighed.
Long John shoved off in the boat and rowed for shore.
The two other pirates—one was the man with the red cap—stayed on the ship and went below.
The sun set behind Spyglass Hill, fog rose, and the light began to fade.
"I must hurry if I'm going to find Ben Gunn's boat," I told myself. "It's going to get dark soon."
The white rock, visible above the trees, was about two hundred yards away, and I crawled on all fours among the bushes.
By the time I touched the rock's rough sides, the area was hard to see clearly, but right below in a ditch, was Ben Gunn's boat.
It was a very small, crooked structure of tough wood, covered with stretched goat skin.
"I can't imagine a full-sized man in this," I muttered.
There was one low seat, a kind of stretcher in the front, and a double paddle for propulsion.
I had never seen such a boat; it looked as if it had been made by some ancient seaman, but it was light and portable.
After having found Ben Gunn's boat, I should have returned to the stockade, but suddenly I had a great idea.
"I'll cut the Hispaniola adrift!" I said to myself.
The pirates, after the morning's disastrous attack, might pull up the anchor and sail away.
"Long John left his men on the ship without a shore boat," I thought.
"It'll be easy. The fog is covering everything.
Tonight will be perfect for my plan!" I ate my biscuit and waited for dark.
As daylight disappeared and absolute blackness settled over Treasure Island, I picked up Ben Gunn's boat.
Only two points were visible on the landscape: one was the great fire,
where the pirates were drinking in the swamp, and the other was a mere blur of light in the dark fog—the anchored ship's cabin window.
The tide was out, and I sank in swampy sand to my ankles before I got to the water's edge.
Wading in, and with some strength and skill, I set Ben Gunn's boat in the water.