I was drenched and terrified, and fell instantly back into my old position,whereupon the coracle seemed to find her head again and led me as softly as before among the billows.It was plain she was not to be interfered with, and at that rate,since I could in no way influence her course, what hope had I left of reaching land?
I began to be horribly frightened, but I kept my head, for all that. First, moving with all care,I gradually baled out the coracle with my sea-cap; then,getting my eye once more above the gunwale,I set myself to study how it was she managed to slip so quietly through the rollers.
I found each wave, instead of the big, smooth glossy mountain it looks from shore or from a vessel’s deck,was for all the world like any range of hills on dry land,full of peaks and smooth places and valleys. The coracle, left to herself,turning from side to side, threaded, so to speak,her way through these lower parts and avoided the steep slopes and higher, toppling summits of the wave.
“Well, now,” thought I to myself, “it is plain I must lie where I am and not disturb the balance;but it is plain also that I can put the paddle over the side and from time to time,in smooth places, give her a shove or two towards land.” No sooner thought upon than done.There I lay on my elbows in the most trying attitude,and every now and again gave a weak stroke or two to turn her head to shore.
It was very tiring and slow work, yet I did visibly gain ground;and as we drew near the Cape of the Woods, though I saw I must infallibly miss that point,I had still made some hundred yards of easting. I was, indeed, close in.I could see the cool green tree-tops swaying together in the breeze,and I felt sure I should make the next promontory without fail.
It was high time, for I now began to be tortured with thirst. The glow of the sun from above,its thousandfold reflection from the waves, the sea-water that fell and dried upon me,caking my very lips with salt, combined to make my throat burn and my brain ache.The sight of the trees so near at hand had almost made me sick with longing,but the current had soon carried me past the point, and as the next reach of sea opened out,I beheld a sight that changed the nature of my thoughts.
Right in front of me, not half a mile away, I beheld the HISPANIOLA under sail. I made sure,of course, that I should be taken; but I was so distressed for want of water that I scarce knew whether to be glad or sorry at the thought,and long before I had come to a conclusion,surprise had taken entire possession of my mind and I could do nothing but stare and wonder.
The HISPANIOLA was under her main-sail and two jibs,and the beautiful white canvas shone in the sun like snow or silver. When I first sighted her,all her sails were drawing; she was lying a course about north-west,and I presumed the men on board were going round the island on their way back to the anchorage.Presently she began to fetch more and more to the westward,so that I thought they had sighted me and were going about in chase. At last, however,she fell right into the wind’s eye, was taken dead aback, and stood there awhile helpless, with her sails shivering.
“Clumsy fellows,” said I; “they must still be drunk as owls.” And I thought how Captain Smollett would have set them skipping.
Meanwhile the schooner gradually fell off and filled again upon another tack,sailed swiftly for a minute or so, and brought up once more dead in the wind’s eye.Again and again was this repeated. To and fro, up and down, north, south, east, and west,the HISPANIOLA sailed by swoops and dashes, and at each repetition ended as she had begun,with idly flapping canvas. It became plain to me that nobody was steering. And if so, where were the men?Either they were dead drunk or had deserted her, I thought,and perhaps if I could get on board I might return the vessel to her captain.
The current was bearing coracle and schooner southward at an equal rate.As for the latter’s sailing, it was so wild and intermittent,and she hung each time so long in irons, that she certainly gained nothing,if she did not even lose. If only I dared to sit up and paddle,I made sure that I could overhaul her. The scheme had an air of adventure that inspired me,and the thought of the water breaker beside the fore companion doubled my growing courage.
Up I got, was welcomed almost instantly by another cloud of spray,but this time stuck to my purpose and set myself, with all my strength and caution,to paddle after the unsteered HISPANIOLA.Once I shipped a sea so heavy that I had to stop and bail, with my heart fluttering like a bird,but gradually I got into the way of the thing and guided my coracle among the waves,with only now and then a blow upon her bows and a dash of foam in my face.
I was now gaining rapidly on the schooner;I could see the brass glisten on the tiller as it banged about,and still no soul appeared upon her decks. I could not choose but suppose she was deserted. If not,the men were lying drunk below, where I might batten them down, perhaps, and do what I chose with the ship.
For some time she had been doing the worse thing possible for me--standing still.She headed nearly due south, yawing, of course, all the time. Each time she fell off,her sails partly filled, and these brought her in a moment right to the wind again.I have said this was the worst thing possible for me, for helpless as she looked in this situation,with the canvas cracking like cannon and the blocks trundling and banging on the deck,she still continued to run away from me, not only with the speed of the current,but by the whole amount of her leeway, which was naturally great.
But now, at last, I had my chance. The breeze fell for some seconds, very low,and the current gradually turning her, the HISPANIOLA revolved slowly round her centre and at last presented me her stern,with the cabin window still gaping open and the lamp over the table still burning on into the day.The main-sail hung drooped like a banner. She was stock-still but for the current.
For the last little while I had even lost, but now redoubling my efforts,I began once more to overhaul the chase.
I was not a hundred yards from her when the wind came again in a clap;she filled on the port tack and was off again, stooping and skimming like a swallow.
My first impulse was one of despair, but my second was towards joy. Round she came,till she was broadside on to me--round still till she had covered a half and then two thirds and then three quarters of the distance that separated us.I could see the waves boiling white under her forefoot.Immensely tall she looked to me from my low station in the coracle.
And then, of a sudden, I began to comprehend.I had scarce time to think--scarce time to act and save myself.I was on the summit of one swell when the schooner came stooping over the next.The bowsprit was over my head. I sprang to my feet and leaped, stamping the coracle under water.With one hand I caught the jib-boom, while my foot was lodged between the stay and the brace;and as I still clung there panting, a dull blow told me that the schooner had charged down upon and struck the coracle and that I was left without retreat on the HISPANIOLA.
XXV I Strike the Jolly Roger
I had scarce gained a position on the bowsprit when the flying jib flapped and filled upon the other tack,with a report like a gun. The schooner trembled to her keel under the reverse, but next moment,the other sails still drawing, the jib flapped back again and hung idle.
This had nearly tossed me off into the sea; and now I lost no time, crawled back along the bowsprit, and tumbled head foremost on the deck.
I was on the lee side of the forecastle, and the mainsail, which was still drawing,concealed from me a certain portion of the after-deck. Not a soul was to be seen. The planks,which had not been swabbed since the mutiny, bore the print of many feet, and an empty bottle,broken by the neck, tumbled to and fro like a live thing in the scuppers.
Suddenly the HISPANIOLA came right into the wind. The jibs behind me cracked aloud,the rudder slammed to, the whole ship gave a sickening heave and shudder,and at the same moment the main-boom swung inboard, the sheet groaning in the blocks, and showed me the lee after-deck.
There were the two watchmen, sure enough: red-cap on his back, as stiff as a handspike,with his arms stretched out like those of a crucifix and his teeth showing through his open lips;Israel Hands propped against the bulwarks, his chin on his chest,his hands lying open before him on the deck, his face as white, under its tan, as a tallow candle.
For a while the ship kept bucking and sidling like a vicious horse, the sails filling,now on one tack, now on another, and the boom swinging to and fro till the mast groaned aloud under the strain.Now and again too there would come a cloud of light sprays over the bulwark and a heavy blow of the ship’s bows against the swell;so much heavier weather was made of it by this great rigged ship than by my home-made,lop-sided coracle, now gone to the bottom of the sea.
At every jump of the schooner, red-cap slipped to and fro,but--what was ghastly to behold--neither his attitude nor his fixed teeth-disclosing grin was anyway disturbed by this rough usage.At every jump too, Hands appeared still more to sink into himself and settle down upon the deck,his feet sliding ever the farther out, and the whole body canting towards the stern,so that his face became, little by little, hid from me;and at last I could see nothing beyond his ear and the frayed ringlet of one whisker.
At the same time, I observed, around both of them,splashes of dark blood upon the planks and began to feel sure that they had killed each other in their drunken wrath.
While I was thus looking and wondering, in a calm moment, when the ship was still,Israel Hands turned partly round and with a low moan writhed himself back to the position in which I had seen him first.The moan, which told of pain and deadly weakness,and the way in which his jaw hung open went right to my heart.But when I remembered the talk I had overheard from the apple barrel, all pity left me.
I walked aft until I reached the main-mast.
“Come aboard, Mr. Hands,” I said ironically.
He rolled his eyes round heavily, but he was too far gone to express surprise.All he could do was to utter one word, “Brandy.”
It occurred to me there was no time to lose,and dodging the boom as it once more lurched across the deck,I slipped aft and down the companion stairs into the cabin.
It was such a scene of confusion as you can hardly fancy.All the lockfast places had been broken open in quest of the chart.The floor was thick with mud where ruffians had sat down to drink or consult after wading in the marshes round their camp.The bulkheads, all painted in clear white and beaded round with gilt,bore a pattern of dirty hands. Dozens of empty bottles clinked together in corners to the rolling of the ship.One of the doctor’s medical books lay open on the table, half of the leaves gutted out, I suppose,for pipelights. In the midst of all this the lamp still cast a smoky glow, obscure and brown as umber.
I went into the cellar; all the barrels were gone,and of the bottles a most surprising number had been drunk out and thrown away. Certainly,since the mutiny began, not a man of them could ever have been sober.
Foraging about, I found a bottle with some brandy left, for Hands;and for myself I routed out some biscuit, some pickled fruits, a great bunch of raisins,and a piece of cheese. With these I came on deck,put down my own stock behind the rudder head and well out of the coxswain’s reach,went forward to the water-breaker, and had a good deep drink of water, and then, and not till then, gave Hands the brandy.
He must have drunk a gill before he took the bottle from his mouth.
“Aye,” said he, “by thunder, but I wanted some o’ that!”
I had sat down already in my own corner and begun to eat.
“Much hurt?” I asked him.
He grunted, or rather, I might say, he barked.
“If that doctor was aboard,” he said, “I’d be right enough in a couple of turns,but I don’t have no manner of luck, you see, and that’s what’s the matter with me.As for that swab, he’s good and dead, he is,” he added, indicating the man with the red cap.“He warn’t no seaman anyhow. And where mought you have come from?”
“Well,” said I, “I’ve come aboard to take possession of this ship, Mr. Hands;and you’ll please regard me as your captain until further notice.”
He looked at me sourly enough but said nothing. Some of the colour had come back into his cheeks,though he still looked very sick and still continued to slip out and settle down as the ship banged about.
“By the by,” I continued, “I can’t have these colours, Mr. Hands; and by your leave,I’ll strike ’em. Better none than these.”
And again dodging the boom, I ran to the colour lines, handed down their cursed black flag, and chucked it overboard.
“God save the king!” said I, waving my cap. “And there’s an end to Captain Silver!”
He watched me keenly and slyly, his chin all the while on his breast.
“I reckon,” he said at last, “I reckon, Cap’n Hawkins, you’ll kind of want to get ashore now. S’pose we talks.”
“Why, yes,” says I, “with all my heart, Mr. Hands. Say on.” And I went back to my meal with a good appetite.
“This man,” he began, nodding feebly at the corpse “--O’Brien were his name,a rank Irelander--this man and me got the canvas on her, meaning for to sail her back. Well,HE’S dead now, he is--as dead as bilge; and who’s to sail this ship, I don’t see.Without I gives you a hint, you ain’t that man, as far’s I can tell. Now, look here,you gives me food and drink and a old scarf or ankecher to tie my wound up, you do,and I’ll tell you how to sail her, and that’s about square all round, I take it.”
“I’ll tell you one thing,” says I: “I’m not going back to Captain Kidd’s anchorage.I mean to get into North Inlet and beach her quietly there.”
“To be sure you did,” he cried. “Why, I ain’t sich an infernal lubber after all. I can see, can’t I?I’ve tried my fling, I have, and I’ve lost, and it’s you has the wind of me. North Inlet?Why, I haven’t no ch’ice, not I!I’d help you sail her up to Execution Dock, by thunder!So I would.”
Well, as it seemed to me, there was some sense in this. We struck our bargain on the spot.In three minutes I had the HISPANIOLA sailing easily before the wind along the coast of Treasure Island,with good hopes of turning the northern point ere noon and beating down again as far as North Inlet before high water,when we might beach her safely and wait till the subsiding tide permitted us to land.
Then I lashed the tiller and went below to my own chest,where I got a soft silk handkerchief of my mother’s. With this, and with my aid,Hands bound up the great bleeding stab he had received in the thigh,and after he had eaten a little and had a swallow or two more of the brandy,he began to pick up visibly, sat straighter up, spoke louder and clearer, and looked in every way another man.
The breeze served us admirably. We skimmed before it like a bird,the coast of the island flashing by and the view changing every minute.Soon we were past the high lands and bowling beside low, sandy country,sparsely dotted with dwarf pines, and soon we were beyond that again and had turned the corner of the rocky hill that ends the island on the north.
I was greatly elated with my new command, and pleased with the bright,sunshiny weather and these different prospects of the coast.I had now plenty of water and good things to eat, and my conscience,which had smitten me hard for my desertion, was quieted by the great conquest I had made. I should,I think, have had nothing left me to desire but for the eyes of the coxswain as they followed me derisively about the deck and the odd smile that appeared continually on his face. It was a smile that had in it something both of pain and weakness--a haggard old man’s smile; but there was, besides that, a grain of derision, a shadow of treachery, in his expression as he craftily watched, and watched, and watched me at my work.
XXVI Israel Hands
The wind, serving us to a desire, now hauled into the west.We could run so much the easier from the north-east corner of the island to the mouth of the North Inlet.Only, as we had no power to anchor and dared not beach her till the tide had flowed a good deal farther,time hung on our hands. The coxswain told me how to lay the ship to;after a good many trials I succeeded, and we both sat in silence over another meal.
“Cap’n,” said he at length with that same uncomfortable smile, “here’s my old shipmate, O’Brien;s’pose you was to heave him overboard. I ain’t partic’lar as a rule,and I don’t take no blame for settling his hash, but I don’t reckon him ornamental now, do you?”
“I’m not strong enough, and I don’t like the job; and there he lies, for me,” said I.
“This here’s an unlucky ship, this HISPANIOLA, Jim,” he went on, blinking.“There’s a power of men been killed in this HISPANIOLA--a sight o’ poor seamen dead and gone since you and me took ship to Bristol.I never seen sich dirty luck, not I. There was this here O’Brien now--he’s dead, ain’t he?Well now, I’m no scholar, and you’re a lad as can read and figure, and to put it straight,do you take it as a dead man is dead for good, or do he come alive again?”
“You can kill the body, Mr. Hands, but not the spirit; you must know that already,” I replied.“O’Brien there is in another world, and may be watching us.”
“Ah!” says he. “Well, that’s unfort’nate--appears as if killing parties was a waste of time. Howsomever,sperrits don’t reckon for much, by what I’ve seen. I’ll chance it with the sperrits, Jim. And now,you’ve spoke up free, and I’ll take it kind if you’d step down into that there cabin and get me a--well, a--shiver my timbers!I can’t hit the name on ’t; well, you get me a bottle of wine,Jim--this here brandy’s too strong for my head.”
Now, the coxswain’s hesitation seemed to be unnatural,and as for the notion of his preferring wine to brandy, I entirely disbelieved it.The whole story was a pretext. He wanted me to leave the deck--so much was plain;but with what purpose I could in no way imagine. His eyes never met mine;they kept wandering to and fro, up and down, now with a look to the sky,now with a flitting glance upon the dead O’Brien.All the time he kept smiling and putting his tongue out in the most guilty, embarrassed manner,so that a child could have told that he was bent on some deception. I was prompt with my answer,however, for I saw where my advantage lay and that with a fellow so densely stupid I could easily conceal my suspicions to the end.
“Some wine?” I said. “Far better. Will you have white or red?”
“Well, I reckon it’s about the blessed same to me, shipmate,” he replied; “so it’s strong, and plenty of it, what’s the odds?”
“All right,” I answered. “I’ll bring you port, Mr. Hands. But I’ll have to dig for it.”
With that I scuttled down the companion with all the noise I could, slipped off my shoes,ran quietly along the sparred gallery, mounted the forecastle ladder,and popped my head out of the fore companion. I knew he would not expect to see me there,yet I took every precaution possible, and certainly the worst of my suspicions proved too true.
He had risen from his position to his hands and knees,and though his leg obviously hurt him pretty sharply when he moved--for I could hear him stifle a groan--yet it was at a good,rattling rate that he trailed himself across the deck.In half a minute he had reached the port scuppers and picked, out of a coil of rope, a long knife,or rather a short dirk, discoloured to the hilt with blood. He looked upon it for a moment,thrusting forth his under jaw, tried the point upon his hand, and then,hastily concealing it in the bosom of his jacket,trundled back again into his old place against the bulwark.
This was all that I required to know. Israel could move about, he was now armed,and if he had been at so much trouble to get rid of me,it was plain that I was meant to be the victim.What he would do afterwards--whether he would try to crawl right across the island from North Inlet to the camp among the swamps or whether he would fire Long Tom, trusting that his own comrades might come first to help him--was, of course, more than I could say.
Yet I felt sure that I could trust him in one point, since in that our interests jumped together,and that was in the disposition of the schooner. We both desired to have her stranded safe enough,in a sheltered place, and so that, when the time came,she could be got off again with as little labour and danger as might be;and until that was done I considered that my life would certainly be spared.
While I was thus turning the business over in my mind, I had not been idle with my body.I had stolen back to the cabin, slipped once more into my shoes,and laid my hand at random on a bottle of wine, and now, with this for an excuse, I made my reappearance on the deck.
Hands lay as I had left him, all fallen together in a bundle and with his eyelids lowered as though he were too weak to bear the light.He looked up, however, at my coming, knocked the neck off the bottle like a man who had done the same thing often,and took a good swig, with his favourite toast of “Here’s luck!” Then he lay quiet for a little, and then, pulling out a stick of tobacco, begged me to cut him a quid.
“Cut me a junk o’ that,” says he, “for I haven’t no knife and hardly strength enough,so be as I had. Ah, Jim, Jim, I reckon I’ve missed stays!Cut me a quid, as’ll likely be the last, lad, for I’m for my long home, and no mistake.”
“Well,” said I, “I’ll cut you some tobacco, but if I was you and thought myself so badly,I would go to my prayers like a Christian man.”
“Why?” said he. “Now, you tell me why.”
“Why?” I cried. “You were asking me just now about the dead. You’ve broken your trust;you’ve lived in sin and lies and blood; there’s a man you killed lying at your feet this moment, and you ask me why!For God’s mercy, Mr. Hands, that’s why.”
I spoke with a little heat, thinking of the bloody dirk he had hidden in his pocket and designed,in his ill thoughts, to end me with. He, for his part,took a great draught of the wine and spoke with the most unusual solemnity.
“For thirty years,” he said, “I’ve sailed the seas and seen good and bad, better and worse,fair weather and foul, provisions running out, knives going, and what not. Well, now I tell you,I never seen good come o’ goodness yet. Him as strikes first is my fancy; dead men don’t bite;them’s my views--amen, so be it. And now, you look here,” he added, suddenly changing his tone,“we’ve had about enough of this foolery. The tide’s made good enough by now.You just take my orders, Cap’n Hawkins, and we’ll sail slap in and be done with it.”
All told, we had scarce two miles to run; but the navigation was delicate,the entrance to this northern anchorage was not only narrow and shoal, but lay east and west,so that the schooner must be nicely handled to be got in. I think I was a good, prompt subaltern,and I am very sure that Hands was an excellent pilot, for we went about and about and dodged in,shaving the banks, with a certainty and a neatness that were a pleasure to behold.
Scarcely had we passed the heads before the land closed around us.The shores of North Inlet were as thickly wooded as those of the southern anchorage,but the space was longer and narrower and more like, what in truth it was, the estuary of a river.Right before us, at the southern end, we saw the wreck of a ship in the last stages of dilapidation.It had been a great vessel of three masts but had lain so long exposed to the injuries of the weather that it was hung about with great webs of dripping seaweed, and on the deck of it shore bushes had taken root and now flourished thick with flowers. It was a sad sight, but it showed us that the anchorage was calm.
“Now,” said Hands, “look there; there’s a pet bit for to beach a ship in. Fine flat sand,never a cat’s paw, trees all around of it, and flowers a-blowing like a garding on that old ship.”
“And once beached,” I inquired, “how shall we get her off again?”
“Why, so,” he replied: “you take a line ashore there on the other side at low water,take a turn about one of them big pines; bring it back, take a turn around the capstan,and lie to for the tide. Come high water, all hands take a pull upon the line,and off she comes as sweet as natur’. And now, boy, you stand by. We’re near the bit now,and she’s too much way on her. Starboard a little--so--steady--starboard--larboard a little--steady--steady!”
So he issued his commands, which I breathlessly obeyed, till, all of a sudden, he cried, “Now, my hearty, luff!” And I put the helm hard up, and the HISPANIOLA swung round rapidly and ran stem on for the low, wooded shore.
The excitement of these last manoeuvres had somewhat interfered with the watch I had kept hitherto,sharply enough, upon the coxswain. Even then I was still so much interested,waiting for the ship to touch, that I had quite forgot the peril that hung over my head and stood craning over the starboard bulwarks and watching the ripples spreading wide before the bows. I might have fallen without a struggle for my life had not a sudden disquietude seized upon me and made me turn my head. Perhaps I had heard a creak or seen his shadow moving with the tail of my eye; perhaps it was an instinct like a cat’s; but, sure enough, when I looked round, there was Hands, already half-way towards me, with the dirk in his right hand.
We must both have cried out aloud when our eyes met, but while mine was the shrill cry of terror,his was a roar of fury like a charging bully’s. At the same instant,he threw himself forward and I leapt sideways towards the bows. As I did so,I let go of the tiller, which sprang sharp to leeward, and I think this saved my life,for it struck Hands across the chest and stopped him, for the moment, dead.
Before he could recover, I was safe out of the corner where he had me trapped,with all the deck to dodge about. Just forward of the main-mast I stopped,drew a pistol from my pocket, took a cool aim,though he had already turned and was once more coming directly after me, and drew the trigger.The hammer fell, but there followed neither flash nor sound;the priming was useless with sea-water. I cursed myself for my neglect. Why had not I, long before, reprimed and reloaded my only weapons?Then I should not have been as now, a mere fleeing sheep before this butcher.
Wounded as he was, it was wonderful how fast he could move,his grizzled hair tumbling over his face,and his face itself as red as a red ensign with his haste and fury.I had no time to try my other pistol, nor indeed much inclination,for I was sure it would be useless. One thing I saw plainly: I must not simply retreat before him,or he would speedily hold me boxed into the bows,as a moment since he had so nearly boxed me in the stern. Once so caught,and nine or ten inches of the blood-stained dirk would be my last experience on this side of eternity.I placed my palms against the main-mast, which was of a goodish bigness, and waited, every nerve upon the stretch.
Seeing that I meant to dodge, he also paused;and a moment or two passed in feints on his part and corresponding movements upon mine.It was such a game as I had often played at home about the rocks of Black Hill Cove,but never before, you may be sure, with such a wildly beating heart as now. Still, as I say,it was a boy’s game, and I thought I could hold my own at it against an elderly seaman with a wounded thigh.Indeed my courage had begun to rise so high that I allowed myself a few darting thoughts on what would be the end of the affair,and while I saw certainly that I could spin it out for long, I saw no hope of any ultimate escape.
Well, while things stood thus, suddenly the HISPANIOLA struck, staggered,ground for an instant in the sand, and then, swift as a blow,canted over to the port side till the deck stood at an angle of forty-five degrees and about a puncheon of water splashed into the scupper holes and lay,in a pool, between the deck and bulwark.
We were both of us capsized in a second, and both of us rolled, almost together, into the scuppers,the dead red-cap, with his arms still spread out, tumbling stiffly after us. So near were we,indeed, that my head came against the coxswain’s foot with a crack that made my teeth rattle.Blow and all, I was the first afoot again, for Hands had got involved with the dead body.The sudden canting of the ship had made the deck no place for running on;I had to find some new way of escape, and that upon the instant, for my foe was almost touching me.Quick as thought, I sprang into the mizzen shrouds, rattled up hand over hand,and did not draw a breath till I was seated on the cross-trees.
I had been saved by being prompt; the dirk had struck not half a foot below me as I pursued my upward flight;and there stood Israel Hands with his mouth open and his face upturned to mine,a perfect statue of surprise and disappointment.
Now that I had a moment to myself, I lost no time in changing the priming of my pistol, and then,having one ready for service, and to make assurance doubly sure,I proceeded to draw the load of the other and recharge it afresh from the beginning.