AND LAST
The next morning we fell early to work, for the transportation of this
great mass of gold near a mile by land to the beach, and thence three
miles by boat to the _Hispaniola_, was a considerable task for so small
a number of workmen. The three fellows still abroad upon the island did
not greatly trouble us; a single sentry on the shoulder of the hill was
sufficient to insure us against any sudden onslaught, and we thought,
besides, they had had more than enough of fighting.
Therefore the work was pushed on briskly. Gray and Ben Gunn came and
went with the boat, while the rest during their absences piled treasure
on the beach. Two of the bars, slung in a rope's end, made a good load
for a grown man--one that he was glad to walk slowly with. For my part,
as I was not much use at carrying, I was kept busy all day in the cave,
packing the minted money into bread-bags.
It was a strange collection, like Billy Bones's hoard for the diversity
of coinage, but so much larger and so much more varied that I think I
never had more pleasure than in sorting them. English, French, Spanish,
Portuguese, Georges, and Louises, doubloons and double guineas and
moidores and sequins, the pictures of all the kings of Europe for the
last hundred years, strange oriental pieces stamped with what looked
like wisps of string or bits of spider's web, round pieces and square
pieces, and pieces bored through the middle, as if to wear them round
your neck--nearly every variety of money in the world must, I think,
have found a place in that collection; and for number, I am sure they
were like autumn leaves, so that my back ached with stooping and my
fingers with sorting them out.
[Illustration: _Nearly every variety of money in the world must have
found a place in that collection_ (Page 253)]
Day after day this work went on; by every evening a fortune had been
stowed aboard, but there was another fortune waiting for the morrow; and
all this time we heard nothing of the three surviving mutineers.
At last--I think it was on the third night--the doctor and I were
strolling on the shoulder of the hill where it overlooks the lowlands of
the isle, when, from out the thick darkness below, the wind brought us a
noise between shrieking and singing. It was only a snatch that reached
our ears, followed by the former silence.
"Heaven forgive them," said the doctor; "'tis the mutineers!"
"All drunk, sir," struck in the voice of Silver from behind us.
Silver, I should say, was allowed his entire liberty, and, in spite of
daily rebuffs, seemed to regard himself once more as quite a privileged
and friendly dependent. Indeed, it was remarkable how well he bore these
slights, and with what unwearying politeness he kept at trying to
ingratiate himself with all. Yet, I think, none treated him better than
a dog, unless it was Ben Gunn, who was still terribly afraid of his old
quartermaster, or myself, who had really something to thank him for;
although for that matter, I suppose, I had reason to think even worse of
him than anybody else, for I had seen him meditating a fresh treachery
upon the plateau. Accordingly, it was pretty gruffly that the doctor
answered him.
"Drunk or raving," said he.
"Right you were, sir," replied Silver; "and precious little odds which,
to you and me."
"I suppose you would hardly ask me to call you a humane man," returned
the doctor, with a sneer, "and so my feelings may surprise you, Master
Silver. But if I were sure they were raving--as I am morally certain
one, at least, of them is down with fever--I should leave this camp,
and, at whatever risk to my own carcass, take them the assistance of my
skill."
"Ask your pardon, sir, you would be very wrong," quoth Silver. "You
would lose your precious life, and you may lay to that. I'm on your side
now, hand and glove; and I shouldn't wish for to see the party weakened,
let alone yourself, seeing as I know what I owes you. But these men down
there, they couldn't keep their word--no, not supposing they wished
to--and what's more, they couldn't believe as you could."
"No," said the doctor. "You're the man to keep your word, we know that."
Well, that was about the last news we had of the three pirates. Only
once we heard a gunshot a great way off, and supposed them to be
hunting. A council was held and it was decided that we must desert them
on the island--to the huge glee, I must say, of Ben Gunn, and with the
strong approval of Gray. We left a good stock of powder and shot, the
bulk of the salt goat, a few medicines and some other necessaries,
tools, clothing, a spare sail, a fathom or two of rope, and, by the
particular desire of the doctor, a handsome present of tobacco.
That was about our last doing on the island. Before that we had got the
treasure stowed and had shipped enough water and the remainder of the
goat meat, in case of any distress; and at last, one fine morning, we
weighed anchor, which was about all that we could manage, and stood out
of North Inlet, the same colors flying that the captain had flown and
fought under at the palisade.
The three fellows must have been watching us closer than we thought for,
as we soon had proved. For, coming through the narrows we had to lie
very near the southern point, and there we saw all three of them
kneeling together on a spit of sand with their arms raised in
supplication. It went to all our hearts, I think, to leave them in that
wretched state, but we could not risk another mutiny, and to take them
home for the gibbet would have been a cruel sort of kindness. The doctor
hailed them and told them of the stores we had left, and where they were
to find them, but they continued to call us by name and appeal to us for
God's sake to be merciful and not leave them to die in such a place.
At last, seeing the ship still bore on her course, and was now swiftly
drawing out of earshot, one of them--I know not which it was--leaped to
his feet with a hoarse cry, whipped his musket to his shoulder, and sent
a shot whistling over Silver's head and through the mainsail.
After that we kept under cover of the bulwarks, and when next I looked
out they had disappeared from the spit, and the spit itself had almost
melted out of sight in the growing distance. That was, at least, the end
of that; and before noon, to my inexpressible joy, the highest rock of
Treasure Island had sunk into the blue round of sea.
We were so short of men that everyone on board had to bear a hand--only
the captain lying on a mattress in the stern and giving his orders, for
though greatly recovered he was still in want of quiet. We laid her head
for the nearest port in Spanish America, for we could not risk the
voyage home without fresh hands; and as it was, what with baffling winds
and a couple of fresh gales, we were all worn out before we reached it.
It was just at sundown when we cast anchor in a most beautiful
landlocked gulf, and were immediately surrounded by shore boats full of
negroes and Mexican Indians and half-bloods, selling fruits and
vegetables, and offering to dive for bits of money. The sight of so many
good-humored faces (especially the blacks), the taste of the tropical
fruits, and above all, the lights that began to shine in the town, made
a most charming contrast to our dark and bloody sojourn on the island;
and the doctor and the squire, taking me along with them, went ashore to
pass the early part of the night. Here they met the captain of an
English man-of-war, fell in talk with him, went on board his ship, and
in short, had so agreeable a time that day was breaking when we came
alongside the _Hispaniola_.
Ben Gunn was on deck alone, and as soon as we came on board he began,
with wonderful contortions, to make us a confession. Silver was gone.
The maroon had connived at his escape in a shore boat some hours ago,
and he now assured us he had only done so to preserve our lives, which
would certainly have been forfeited if "that man with the one leg had
stayed aboard." But this was not all. The sea-cook had not gone
empty-handed. He had cut through a bulkhead unobserved, and had removed
one of the sacks of coin, worth, perhaps, three or four hundred
guineas, to help him on his further wanderings.
I think we were all pleased to be so cheaply quit of him.
Well, to make a long story short, we got a few hands on board, made a
good cruise home, and the _Hispaniola_ reached Bristol just as Mr.
Blandly was beginning to think of fitting out her consort. Five men only
of those who had sailed returned with her. "Drink and the devil had done
for the rest" with a vengeance, although, to be sure, we were not quite
in so bad a case as that other ship they sang about:
"With one man of the crew alive,
What put to sea with seventy-five."
All of us had an ample share of the treasure, and used it wisely or
foolishly, according to our natures. Captain Smollett is now retired
from the sea. Gray not only saved his money, but, being suddenly smit
with the desire to rise, also studied his profession, and he is now mate
and part owner of a fine full-rigged ship; married besides, and the
father of a family. As for Ben Gunn, he got a thousand pounds, which he
spent or lost in three weeks, or, to be more exact, in nineteen days,
for he was back begging on the twentieth. Then he was given a lodge to
keep, exactly as he had feared upon the island; and he still lives, a
great favorite, though something of a butt with the country boys, and a
notable singer in church on Sundays and saints' days.
Of Silver we have heard no more. That formidable seafaring man with one
leg has at last gone clean out of my life, but I dare say he met his old
negress, and perhaps still lives in comfort with her and Captain Flint.
It is to be hoped so, I suppose, for his chances of comfort in another
world are very small.
The bar silver and the arms still lie, for all that I know, where Flint
buried them; and certainly they shall lie there for me. Oxen and
wain-ropes would not bring me back again to that accursed island, and
the worst dreams that ever I have are when I hear the surf booming about
its coasts, or start upright in bed, with the sharp voice of Captain
Flint still ringing in my ears: "Pieces of eight! pieces of eight!"
[Illustration]
End of Project Gutenberg's Treasure Island, by Robert Louis Stevenson