`There is one thing good about all this,' observed the captain; `the wood in front of us is likely clear. The ebb has made a good while; our stores should be uncovered. Volunteers to go and bring in pork.'

Gray and Hunter were the first to come forward. Well armed, they stole out of the stockade; but it proved a useless mission. The mutineers were bolder than we fancied, or they put more trust in Israel's gunnery. For four or five of the were busy carrying off our stores, and wading out with the to one of the gigs that lay close by, pulling an oar on so hold her steady against the current. Silver was in the stern-sheets in command; and every man of them was now provided with a musket from some secret magazine of their own.'

The captain sat down to his log, and here is the beginning of the entry:--

`Alexander Smollett, master; David Livesey, ship's doctor; Abraham Gray, carpenter's mate; John Trelawney, owner; John Hunter and Richard Joyce, owner's servant, 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's 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.