22
How My Sea Adventure Began
There was no return of the mutineers—not
so much as another shot out of the woods. They
had “got their rations for that day,” as
the captain put it, and we had the place to ourselves
and a quiet time to overhaul the wounded and get dinner.
Squire and I cooked outside in spite of the danger,
and even outside we could hardly tell what we were
at, for horror of the loud groans that reached us
from the doctor’s patients.
Out of the eight men who had fallen in the action,
only three still breathed—that one of the
pirates who had been shot at the loophole, Hunter,
and Captain Smollett; and of these, the first two were
as good as dead; the mutineer indeed died under the
doctor’s knife, and Hunter, do what we could,
never recovered consciousness in this world. He
lingered all day, breathing loudly like the old buccaneer
at home in his apoplectic fit, but the bones of his
chest had been crushed by the blow and his skull fractured
in falling, and some time in the following night,
without sign or sound, he went to his Maker.
As for the captain, his wounds were grievous indeed,
but not dangerous. No organ was fatally injured.
Anderson’s ball—for it was Job that
shot him first—had broken his shoulder-blade
and touched the lung, not badly; the second had only
torn and displaced some muscles in the calf.
He was sure to recover, the doctor said, but in the
meantime, and for weeks to come, he must not walk
nor move his arm, nor so much as speak when he could
help it.
My own accidental cut across the knuckles was a flea-bite.
Doctor Livesey patched it up with plaster and pulled
my ears for me into the bargain.
After dinner the squire and the doctor sat by the
captain’s side awhile in consultation; and when
they had talked to their hearts’ content, it
being then a little past noon, the doctor took up his
hat and pistols, girt on a cutlass, put the chart
in his pocket, and with a musket over his shoulder
crossed the palisade on the north side and set off
briskly through the trees.
Gray and I were sitting together at the far end of
the block house, to be out of earshot of our officers
consulting; and Gray took his pipe out of his mouth
and fairly forgot to put it back again, so thunder-struck
he was at this occurrence.
“Why, in the name of Davy Jones,” said
he, “is Dr. Livesey mad?”
“Why no,” says I. “He’s
about the last of this crew for that, I take it.”
“Well, shipmate,” said Gray, “mad
he may not be; but if he’s not, you mark
my words, I am.”
“I take it,” replied I, “the doctor
has his idea; and if I am right, he’s going
now to see Ben Gunn.”
