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Ben Gunn's boat—I soon discovered—was a very safe boat for a person my size.

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It was quite buoyant, but crooked and difficult to manage.

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Even Ben Gunn himself had admitted the boat was hard to handle until you got used to it.

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The boat turned every direction but the one I wanted to go, and most of the time I went sideways.

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But fortunately, as I paddled, the tide swept me along, and soon the <font color="#ffff00"><i>Hispaniola</i></font> loomed right in front of me, pitch black in the darkness.

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Slowly, I saw her spars—the poles supporting the rigging—and the hull take shape.

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The closer I got to the ship, the faster the current grew.

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Soon I was alongside the ship and next to the thick, twined rope of the anchor line. I grabbed hold.

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"A few cuts with my pocketknife and the <font color="#ffff00"><i>Hispaniola</i></font> will float out with the tide," I said to myself.

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Then I noticed how tightly stretched the anchor line was.

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"The tension is so tight, it's like a bowstring," I thought.

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"If I cut this line when the ship is pulling so hard against the anchor, my boat and I could be knocked clean out of the water. It's too dangerous."

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But then a light wind started blowing from the southwest.

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The wind caught the <font color="#ffff00"><i>Hispaniola</i></font>, and the ship shifted position just a bit.

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I felt the anchor line go limp in my grasp and decided to go ahead and cut the rope.

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I took out my pocketknife, opened it with my teeth, and cut one thick strand after another.

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Soon the vessel was held in place by only two strands, which had tightened up once more.

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"When the rope becomes loose again," I said to myself, "I'll cut these last strands."

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While I waited for a good gust of wind, someone opened a window in the stern.

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Something was thrown out and it splashed in the water—an empty bottle probably.

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"You stupid swab!" one man shouted. "I deserve a bigger share of the money!"

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I recognized the voice of Israel Hands and deduced that he was the other pirate left on the ship with Red Cap,

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the name I started calling the man in the red nightcap. They were drunk and arguing.

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"You're a dog!" Red Cap shouted back. "You won't get any more!"

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The men argued and cursed at each other.

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"They'll be trying to kill each other soon," I thought.

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But they quieted down again and drank some more.

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Meanwhile on shore, the glow of the great campfire burned warmly through the trees.

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Someone was singing an old sailor's song:

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<font color="#ffff00"><i>"But one of her crew was still alive, Of the ship that sailed with seventy-five."</i></font>

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At last another strong breeze came, and the ship shifted.

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I felt the rope go limp once more, and with a good, tough effort, I cut the last thick strands.

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The ship began to turn, spinning slowly, across the current.

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I paddled furiously to avoid being flooded by the ship's wake, but I couldn't get out of the way of the huge, turning ship.

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As the ship's hull came close to Ben Gunn's boat, I tried to shove myself away.

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But the effort was useless, and just as I gave one last push against the ship, my hands came across a thin cord that was hanging over the side.

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Instantly I grabbed it.

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"I'm saved!" I thought as the boat steadied.

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I stood up in the boat and pulled my body up along the side of the ship.

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Immediately the ship and the boat began gliding swiftly together through the water.

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"Why don't they notice the ship is moving?" I wondered.

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To satisfy my curiosity, I did something crazy—I pulled myself up just enough to peek inside the window of the captain's cabin.

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One glance, and I knew the reason. Israel and Red Cap were locked in deadly combat, each with a hand upon the other's throat.

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I dropped back onto the seat of Ben Gunn's boat as the pirates at the campfire broke into another song, one that I'd heard so often:

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<font color="#ffff00"><i>"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest, Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!</i></font>

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<font color="#ffff00"><i>Drink and the devil had done for the rest, Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"</i></font>

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All of a sudden, Ben Gunn's boat quickly jerked left, zig-zagged, and seemed to change course.

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"What is happening?" I said to myself as the boat's speed strangely increased.

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The <font color="#ffff00"><i>Hispaniola</i></font> seemed to stagger in her course too as she headed southward, her masts tossing back and forth against the blackness of the night.

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I glanced over my shoulder. There, right behind me, was the glow of the campfire—but it was quickly getting smaller!

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"I'm being pulled away from the island!" I thought in a panic.

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Bubbling higher, the water was sweeping the <font color="#ffff00"><i>Hispaniola</i></font> and Ben Gunn's boat through the narrow, rocky strait

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between Skeleton Island and Treasure Island and out into the open sea.

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Suddenly the ship turned violently, and I could hear shouting and then feet pounding on the deck ladders.

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The two drunkards had finally stopped quarrelling and awakened to their danger.

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"Lord, save me!" I prayed as I lay down flat in the bottom of my little boat.

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All I could think of was being crushed on the jagged rocks.

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"I'm going to die!" I cried as I shut my eyes tight.

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I must have lain in Ben Gunn's boat for hours, beaten to and fro by the waves, drenched with the flying ocean spray, and expecting death at every moment.

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Gradually, weariness and numbness overtook me, and I fell asleep in my sea-tossed little boat.

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I dreamed of home and the old Admiral Benbow.