owner s servants, landsmen--being all that is left
faithful of the ship s company--with stores for ten
days at short rations, came ashore this day and flew
British colours on the log-house in Treasure Island.
Thomas Redruth, owner s servant, landsman, shot by the
mutineers; James Hawkins, cabin-boy--
And at the same time, I was wondering over poor Jim Hawkins fate.
A hail on the land side.
Somebody hailing us, said Hunter, who was on guard.
Doctor! Squire! Captain! Hullo, Hunter, is that you? came the cries.
And I ran to the door in time to see Jim Hawkins, safe and sound, come
climbing over the stockade.
XIX
Narrative Resumed by Jim Hawkins: The Garrison in the Stockade
As soon as Ben Gunn saw the colours he came to a halt, stopped me by the
arm, and sat down.
Now, said he, there s your friends, sure enough.
Far more likely it s the mutineers, I answered.
That! he cried. Why, in a place like this, where nobody puts in but
gen lemen of fortune, Silver would fly the Jolly Roger, you don t make
no doubt of that. No, that s your friends. There s been blows too, and I
reckon your friends has had the best of it; and here they are ashore in
the old stockade, as was made years and years ago by Flint. Ah, he was
the man to have a headpiece, was Flint! Barring rum, his match were
never seen. He were afraid of none, not he; on y Silver--Silver was that
genteel.
98