Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson - HTML preview

PART SIX
Captain Silver

28
In the Enemy’s Camp
THE red glare of the torch, lighting up the interior of

the block house, showed me the worst of my apprehensions realized. The pirates were in possession of the house and stores: there was the cask of cognac, there were the pork and bread, as before, and what tenfold increased my horror, not a sign of any prisoner. I could only judge that all had perished, and my heart smote me sorely that I had not been there to perish with them.

There were six of the buccaneers, all told; not another man was left alive. Five of them were on their feet, flushed and swollen, suddenly called out of the first sleep of drunkenness. The sixth had only risen upon his elbow; he was deadly pale, and the blood-stained bandage round his head told that he had recently been wounded, and still more recently dressed. I remembered the man who had been shot and had run back among the woods in the great attack, and doubted not that this was he.

The parrot sat, preening her plumage, on Long John’s shoulder. He himself, I thought, looked somewhat paler and more stern than I was used to. He still wore the fine broadcloth suit in which he had fulfilled his mission, but it was bitterly the worse for wear, daubed with clay and torn with the sharp briers of the wood.

‘So,’ said he, ‘here’s Jim Hawkins, shiver my timbers! Dropped in, like, eh? Well, come, I take that friendly.’
And thereupon he sat down across the brandy cask and began to fill a pipe.
‘Give me a loan of the link, Dick,’ said he; and then, when he had a good light, ‘That’ll do, lad,’ he added; ‘stick the glim in the wood heap; and you, gentlemen, bring yourselves to! You needn’t stand up for Mr. Hawkins; HE’LL excuse you, you may lay to that. And so, Jim’—stopping the tobacco—‘here you were, and quite a pleasant surprise for poor old John. I see you were smart when first I set my eyes on you, but this here gets away from me clean, it do.’
To all this, as may be well supposed, I made no answer. They had set me with my back against the wall, and I stood there, looking Silver in the face, pluckily enough, I hope, to all outward appearance, but with black despair in my heart.
Silver took a whiff or two of his pipe with great composure and then ran on again.
‘Now, you see, Jim, so be as you ARE here,’ says he, ‘I’ll give you a piece of my mind. I’ve always liked you, I have, for a lad of spirit, and the picter of my own self when I was young and handsome. I always wanted you to jine and take your share, and die a gentleman, and now, my cock, you’ve got to. Cap’n Smollett’s a fine seaman, as I’ll own up to any day, but stiff on discipline. ‘Dooty is dooty,’ says he, and right he is. Just you keep clear of the cap’n. The doctor himself is gone dead again you— ’ungrateful scamp’ was what he said; and the short and the long of the whole story is about here: you can’t go back to your own lot, for they won’t have you; and without you start a third ship’s company all by yourself, which might be lonely, you’ll have to jine with Cap’n Silver.’
So far so good. My friends, then, were still alive, and though I partly believed the truth of Silver’s statement, that the cabin party were incensed at me for my desertion, I was more relieved than distressed by what I heard.
‘I don’t say nothing as to your being in our hands,’ continued Silver, ‘though there you are, and you may lay to it. I’m all for argyment; I never seen good come out o’ threatening. If you like the service, well, you’ll jine; and if you don’t, Jim, why, you’re free to answer no—free and welcome, shipmate; and if fairer can be said by mortal seaman, shiver my sides!’
‘Am I to answer, then?’ I asked with a very tremulous voice. Through all this sneering talk, I was made to feel the threat of death that overhung me, and my cheeks burned and my heart beat painfully in my breast.
‘Lad,’ said Silver, ‘no one’s a-pressing of you. Take your bearings. None of us won’t hurry you, mate; time goes so pleasant in your company, you see.’
‘Well,’ says I, growing a bit bolder, ‘if I’m to choose, I declare I have a right to know what’s what, and why you’re here, and where my friends are.’
‘Wot’s wot?’ repeated one of the buccaneers in a deep growl. ‘Ah, he’d be a lucky one as knowed that!’
‘You’ll perhaps batten down your hatches till you’re spoke to, my friend,’ cried Silver truculently to this speaker. And then, in his first gracious tones, he replied to me, ‘Yesterday morning, Mr. Hawkins,’ said he, ‘in the dog-watch, down came Doctor Livesey with a flag of truce. Says he, ‘Cap’n Silver, you’re sold out. Ship’s gone.’ Well, maybe we’d been taking a glass, and a song to help it round. I won’t say no. Leastways, none of us had looked out. We looked out, and by thunder, the old ship was gone! I never seen a pack o’ fools look fishier; and you may lay to that, if I tells you that looked the fishiest. ‘Well,’ says the doctor, ‘let’s bargain.’ We bargained, him and I, and here we are: stores, brandy, block house, the firewood you was thoughtful enough to cut, and in a manner of speaking, the whole blessed boat, from cross-trees to kelson. As for them, they’ve tramped; I don’t know where’s they are.’
He drew again quietly at his pipe.
‘And lest you should take it into that head of yours,’ he went on, ‘that you was included in the treaty, here’s the last word that was said: ‘How many are you,’ says I, ‘to leave?’ ‘Four,’ says he; ‘four, and one of us wounded. As for that boy, I don’t know where he is, confound him,’ says he, ‘nor I don’t much care. We’re about sick of him.’ These was his words.
‘Is that all?’ I asked.
‘Well, it’s all that you’re to hear, my son,’ returned Silver.
‘And now I am to choose?’
‘And now you are to choose, and you may lay to that,’ said Silver.
‘Well,’ said I, ‘I am not such a fool but I know pretty well what I have to look for. Let the worst come to the worst, it’s little I care. I’ve seen too many die since I fell in with you. But there’s a thing or two I have to tell you,’ I said, and by this time I was quite excited; ‘and the first is this: here you are, in a bad way—ship lost, treasure lost, men lost, your whole business gone to wreck; and if you want to know who did it—it was I! I was in the apple barrel the night we sighted land, and I heard you, John, and you, Dick Johnson, and Hands, who is now at the bottom of the sea, and told every word you said before the hour was out. And as for the schooner, it was I who cut her cable, and it was I that killed the men you had aboard of her, and it was I who brought her where you’ll never see her more, not one of you. The laugh’s on my side; I’ve had the top of this business from the first; I no more fear you than I fear a fly. Kill me, if you please, or spare me. But one thing I’ll say, and no more; if you spare me, bygones are bygones, and when you fellows are in court for piracy, I’ll save you all I can. It is for you to choose. Kill another and do yourselves no good, or spare me and keep a witness to save you from the gallows.’
I stopped, for, I tell you, I was out of breath, and to my wonder, not a man of them moved, but all sat staring at me like as many sheep. And while they were still staring, I broke out again, ‘And now, Mr. Silver,’ I said, ‘I believe you’re the best man here, and if things go to the worst, I’ll take it kind of you to let the doctor know the way I took it.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ said Silver with an accent so curious that I could not, for the life of me, decide whether he were laughing at my request or had been favourably affected by my courage.
‘I’ll put one to that,’ cried the old mahogany-faced seaman—Morgan by name—whom I had seen in Long John’s public-house upon the quays of Bristol. ‘It was him that knowed Black Dog.’
‘Well, and see here,’ added the sea-cook. ‘I’ll put another again to that, by thunder! For it was this same boy that faked the chart from Billy Bones. First and last, we’ve split upon Jim Hawkins!’
‘Then here goes!’ said Morgan with an oath.
And he sprang up, drawing his knife as if he had been twenty.
‘Avast, there!’ cried Silver. ‘Who are you, Tom Morgan? Maybe you thought you was cap’n here, perhaps. By the powers, but I’ll teach you better! Cross me, and you’ll go where many a good man’s gone before you, first and last, these thirty year back—some to the yard-arm, shiver my timbers, and some by the board, and all to feed the fishes. There’s never a man looked me between the eyes and seen a good day a’terwards, Tom Morgan, you may lay to that.’
Morgan paused, but a hoarse murmur rose from the others.
‘Tom’s right,’ said one.
‘I stood hazing long enough from one,’ added another. ‘I’ll be hanged if I’ll be hazed by you, John Silver.’
‘Did any of you gentlemen want to have it out with ME?’ roared Silver, bending far forward from his position on the keg, with his pipe still glowing in his right hand. ‘Put a name on what you’re at; you ain’t dumb, I reckon. Him that wants shall get it. Have I lived this many years, and a son of a rum puncheon cock his hat athwart my hawse at the latter end of it? You know the way; you’re all gentlemen o’ fortune, by your account. Well, I’m ready. Take a cutlass, him that dares, and I’ll see the colour of his inside, crutch and all, before that pipe’s empty.’
Not a man stirred; not a man answered.
‘That’s your sort, is it?’ he added, returning his pipe to his mouth. ‘Well, you’re a gay lot to look at, anyway. Not much worth to fight, you ain’t. P’r’aps you can understand King George’s English. I’m cap’n here by ‘lection. I’m cap’n here because I’m the best man by a long sea-mile. You won’t fight, as gentlemen o’ fortune should; then, by thunder, you’ll obey, and you may lay to it! I like that boy, now; I never seen a better boy than that. He’s more a man than any pair of rats of you in this here house, and what I say is this: let me see him that’ll lay a hand on him—that’s what I say, and you may lay to it.’
There was a long pause after this. I stood straight up against the wall, my heart still going like a sledgehammer, but with a ray of hope now shining in my bosom. Silver leant back against the wall, his arms crossed, his pipe in the corner of his mouth, as calm as though he had been in church; yet his eye kept wandering furtively, and he kept the tail of it on his unruly followers. They, on their part, drew gradually together towards the far end of the block house, and the low hiss of their whispering sounded in my ear continuously, like a stream. One after another, they would look up, and the red light of the torch would fall for a second on their nervous faces;

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but it was not towards me, it was towards Silver that they turned their eyes.

‘You seem to have a lot to say,’ remarked Silver, spitting far into the air. ‘Pipe up and let me hear it, or lay to.’

‘Ax your pardon, sir,’ returned one of the men; ‘you’re pretty free with some of the rules; maybe you’ll kindly keep an eye upon the rest. This crew’s dissatisfied; this crew don’t vally bullying a marlin-spike; this crew has its rights like other crews, I’ll make so free as that; and by your own rules, I take it we can talk together. I ax your pardon, sir, acknowledging you for to be captaing at this present; but I claim my right, and steps outside for a council.’

And with an elaborate sea-salute, this fellow, a long, ill-looking, yellow-eyed man of five and thirty, stepped coolly towards the door and disappeared out of the house. One after another the rest followed his example, each making a salute as he passed, each adding some apology. ‘According to rules,’ said one. ‘Forecastle council,’ said Morgan. And so with one remark or another all marched out and left Silver and me alone with the torch.

The sea-cook instantly removed his pipe.
‘Now, look you here, Jim Hawkins,’ he said in a steady whisper that was no more than audible, ‘you’re within half a plank of death, and what’s a long sight worse, of torture. They’re going to throw me off. But, you mark, I stand by you through thick and thin. I didn’t mean to; no, not till you spoke up. I was about desperate to lose that much blunt, and be hanged into the bargain. But I see you was the right sort. I says to myself, you stand by Hawkins, John, and Hawkins’ll stand by you. You’re his last card, and by the living thunder, John, he’s yours! Back to back, says I. You save your witness, and he’ll save your neck!’

I began dimly to understand.
‘You mean all’s lost?’ I asked.
‘Aye, by gum, I do!’ he answered. ‘Ship gone, neck

gone —that’s the size of it. Once I looked into that bay, Jim Hawkins, and seen no schooner—well, I’m tough, but I gave out. As for that lot and their council, mark me, they’re outright fools and cowards. I’ll save your life—if so be as I can—from them. But, see here, Jim—tit for tat—you save Long John from swinging.’

I was bewildered; it seemed a thing so hopeless he was asking—he, the old buccaneer, the ringleader throughout.
‘What I can do, that I’ll do,’ I said.
‘It’s a bargain!’ cried Long John. ‘You speak up plucky, and by thunder, I’ve a chance!’
He hobbled to the torch, where it stood propped among the firewood, and took a fresh light to his pipe.
‘Understand me, Jim,’ he said, returning. ‘I’ve a head on my shoulders, I have. I’m on squire’s side now. I know you’ve got that ship safe somewheres. How you done it, I don’t know, but safe it is. I guess Hands and O’Brien turned soft. I never much believed in neither of THEM. Now you mark me. I ask no questions, nor I won’t let others. I know when a game’s up, I do; and I know a lad that’s staunch. Ah, you that’s young— you and me might have done a power of good together!’
He drew some cognac from the cask into a tin cannikin.
‘Will you taste, messmate?’ he asked; and when I had refused: ‘Well, I’ll take a drain myself, Jim,’ said he. ‘I need a caulker, for there’s trouble on hand. And talking o’ trouble, why did that doctor give me the chart, Jim?’
My face expressed a wonder so unaffected that he saw the needlessness of further questions.
‘Ah, well, he did, though,’ said he. ‘And there’s something under that, no doubt—something, surely, under that, Jim—bad or good.’
And he took another swallow of the brandy, shaking his great fair head like a man who looks forward to the worst.

29
The Black Spot Again

THE council of buccaneers had lasted some time, when one of them re-entered the house, and with a repetition of the same salute, which had in my eyes an ironical air, begged for a moment’s loan of the torch. Silver briefly agreed, and this emissary retired again, leaving us together in the dark.

‘There’s a breeze coming, Jim,’ said Silver, who had by this time adopted quite a friendly and familiar tone.
I turned to the loophole nearest me and looked out. The embers of the great fire had so far burned themselves out and now glowed so low and duskily that I understood why these conspirators desired a torch. About half-way down the slope to the stockade, they were collected in a group; one held the light, another was on his knees in their midst, and I saw the blade of an open knife shine in his hand with varying colours in the moon and torchlight. The rest were all somewhat stooping, as though watching the manoeuvres of this last. I could just make out that he had a book as well as a knife in his hand, and was still wondering how anything so incongruous had come in their possession when the kneeling figure rose once more to his feet and the whole party began to move together towards the house.
‘Here they come,’ said I; and I returned to my former position, for it seemed beneath my dignity that they should find me watching them.
‘Well, let ‘em come, lad—let ‘em come,’ said Silver cheerily. ‘I’ve still a shot in my locker.’
The door opened, and the five men, standing huddled together just inside, pushed one of their number forward. In any other circumstances it would have been comical to see his slow advance, hesitating as he set down each foot, but holding his closed right hand in front of him.
‘Step up, lad,’ cried Silver. ‘I won’t eat you. Hand it over, lubber. I know the rules, I do; I won’t hurt a depytation.’
Thus encouraged, the buccaneer stepped forth more briskly, and having passed something to Silver, from hand to hand, slipped yet more smartly back again to his companions.
The sea-cook looked at what had been given him.
‘The black spot! I thought so,’ he observed. ‘Where might you have got the paper? Why, hillo! Look here, now; this ain’t lucky! You’ve gone and cut this out of a Bible. What fool’s cut a Bible?’
‘Ah, there!’ said Morgan. ‘There! Wot did I say? No good’ll come o’ that, I said.’
‘Well, you’ve about fixed it now, among you,’ continued Silver. ‘You’ll all swing now, I reckon. What soft- headed lubber had a Bible?’
‘It was Dick,’ said one.
‘Dick, was it? Then Dick can get to prayers,’ said Silver. ‘He’s seen his slice of luck, has Dick, and you may lay to that.’
But here the long man with the yellow eyes struck in.
‘Belay that talk, John Silver,’ he said. ‘This crew has tipped you the black spot in full council, as in dooty bound; just you turn it over, as in dooty bound, and see what’s wrote there. Then you can talk.’
‘Thanky, George,’ replied the sea-cook. ‘You always was brisk for business, and has the rules by heart, George, as I’m pleased to see. Well, what is it, anyway? Ah! ‘Deposed’—that’s it, is it? Very pretty wrote, to be sure; like print, I swear. Your hand o’ write, George? Why, you was gettin’ quite a leadin’ man in this here crew. You’ll be cap’n next, I shouldn’t wonder. Just oblige me with that torch again, will you? This pipe don’t draw.’
‘Come, now,’ said George, ‘you don’t fool this crew no more. You’re a funny man, by your account; but you’re over now, and you’ll maybe step down off that barrel and help vote.’
‘I thought you said you knowed the rules,’ returned Silver contemptuously. ‘Leastways, if you don’t, I do; and I wait here—and I’m still your cap’n, mind—till you outs with your grievances and I reply; in the meantime, your black spot ain’t worth a biscuit. After that, we’ll see.’
‘Oh,’ replied George, ‘you don’t be under no kind of apprehension; WE’RE all square, we are. First, you’ve made a hash of this cruise—you’ll be a bold man to say no to that. Second, you let the enemy out o’ this here trap for nothing. Why did they want out? I dunno, but it’s pretty plain they wanted it. Third, you wouldn’t let us go at them upon the march. Oh, we see through you, John Silver; you want to play booty, that’s what’s wrong with you. And then, fourth, there’s this here boy.’
‘Is that all?’ asked Silver quietly.
‘Enough, too,’ retorted George. ‘We’ll all swing and sun-dry for your bungling.’
‘Well now, look here, I’ll answer these four p’ints; one after another I’ll answer ‘em. I made a hash o’ this cruise, did I? Well now, you all know what I wanted, and you all know if that had been done that we’d ‘a been aboard the HISPANIOLA this night as ever was, every man of us alive, and fit, and full of good plum-duff, and the treasure in the hold of her, by thunder! Well, who crossed me? Who forced my hand, as was the lawful cap’n? Who tipped me the black spot the day we landed and began this dance? Ah, it’s a fine dance—I’m with you there—and looks mighty like a hornpipe in a rope’s end at Execution Dock by London town, it does. But who done it? Why, it was Anderson, and Hands, and you, George Merry! And you’re the last above board of that same meddling crew; and you have the Davy Jones’s insolence to up and stand for cap’n over me—you, that sank the lot of us! By the powers! But this tops the stiffest yarn to nothing.’
Silver paused, and I could see by the faces of George and his late comrades that these words had not been said in vain.
‘That’s for number one,’ cried the accused, wiping the sweat from his brow, for he had been talking with a vehemence that shook the house. ‘Why, I give you my word, I’m sick to speak to you. You’ve neither sense nor memory, and I leave it to fancy where your mothers was that let you come to sea. Sea! Gentlemen o’ fortune! I reckon tailors is your trade.’
‘Go on, John,’ said Morgan. ‘Speak up to the others.’
‘Ah, the others!’ returned John. ‘They’re a nice lot, ain’t they? You say this cruise is bungled. Ah! By gum, if you could understand how bad it’s bungled, you would see! We’re that near the gibbet that my neck’s stiff with thinking on it. You’ve seen ‘em, maybe, hanged in chains, birds about ‘em, seamen p’inting ‘em out as they go down with the tide. ‘Who’s that?’ says one. ‘That! Why, that’s John Silver. I knowed him well,’ says another. And you can hear the chains a- jangle as you go about and reach for the other buoy. Now, that’s about where we are, every mother’s son of us, thanks to him, and Hands, and Anderson, and other ruination fools of you. And if you want to know about number four, and that boy, why, shiver my timbers, isn’t he a hostage? Are we a-going to waste a hostage? No, not us; he might be our last chance, and I shouldn’t wonder. Kill that boy? Not me, mates! And number three? Ah, well, there’s a deal to say to number three. Maybe you don’t count it nothing to have a real college doctor to see you every day—you, John, with your head broke—or you, George Merry, that had the ague shakes upon you not six hours agone, and has your eyes the colour of lemon peel to this same moment on the clock? And maybe, perhaps, you didn’t know there was a consort coming either? But there is, and not so long till then; and we’ll see who’ll be glad to have a hostage when it comes to that. And as for number two, and why I made a bargain—well, you came crawling on your knees to me to make it—on your knees you came, you was that downhearted—and you’d have starved too if I hadn’t— but that’s a trifle! You look there—that’s why!’
And he cast down upon the floor a paper that I instantly recognized—none other than the chart on yellow paper, with the three red crosses, that I had found in the oilcloth at the bottom of the captain’s chest. Why the doctor had given it to him was more than I could fancy.
But if it were inexplicable to me, the appearance of the chart was incredible to the surviving mutineers. They leaped upon it like cats upon a mouse. It went from hand to hand, one tearing it from another; and by the oaths and the cries and the childish laughter with which they accompanied their examination, you would have thought, not only they were fingering the very gold, but were at sea with it, besides, in safety.
‘Yes,’ said one, ‘that’s Flint, sure enough. J. F., and a score below, with a clove hitch to it; so he done ever.’
‘Mighty pretty,’ said George. ‘But how are we to get away with it, and us no ship.’
Silver suddenly sprang up, and supporting himself with a hand against the wall: ‘Now I give you warning, George,’ he cried. ‘One more word of your sauce, and I’ll call you down and fight you. How? Why, how do I know? You had ought to tell me that—you and the rest, that lost me my schooner, with your interference, burn you! But not you, you can’t; you hain’t got the invention of a cockroach. But civil you can speak, and shall, George Merry, you may lay to that.’
‘That’s fair enow,’ said the old man Morgan.
‘Fair! I reckon so,’ said the sea-cook. ‘You lost the ship; I found the treasure. Who’s the better man at that? And now I resign, by thunder! Elect whom you please to be your cap’n now; I’m done with it.’
‘Silver!’ they cried. ‘Barbecue forever! Barbecue for cap’n!’
‘So that’s the toon, is it?’ cried the cook. ‘George, I reckon you’ll have to wait another turn, friend; and lucky for you as I’m not a revengeful man. But that was never my way. And now, shipmates, this black spot? ‘Tain’t much good now, is it? Dick’s crossed his luck and spoiled his Bible, and that’s about all.’

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‘It’ll do to kiss the book on still, won’t it?’ growled Dick, who was evidently uneasy at the curse he had brought upon himself.

‘A Bible with a bit cut out!’ returned Silver derisively. ‘Not it. It don’t bind no more’n a ballad-book.’
‘Don’t it, though?’ cried Dick with a sort of joy. ‘Well, I reckon that’s worth having too.’
‘Here, Jim—here’s a cur’osity for you,’ said Silver, and he tossed me the paper.
It was around about the size of a crown piece. One side was blank, for it had been the last leaf; the other contained a verse or two of Revelation—these words among the rest, which struck sharply home upon my mind: ‘Without are dogs and murderers.’ The printed side had been blackened with wood ash, which already began to come off and soil my fingers; on the blank side had been written with the same material the one word ‘Depposed.’ I have that curiosity beside me at this moment, but not a trace of writing now remains beyond a single scratch, such as a man might make with his thumb-nail.
That was the end of the night’s business. Soon after, with a drink all round, we lay down to sleep, and the outside of Silver’s vengeance was to put George Merry up for sentinel and threaten him with death if he should prove unfaithful.
It was long ere I could close an eye, and heaven knows I had matter enough for thought in the man whom I had slain that afternoon, in my own most perilous position, and above all, in the remarkable game that I saw Silver now engaged upon—keeping the mutineers together with one hand and grasping with the other after every means, possible and impossible, to make his peace and save his miserable life. He himself slept peacefully and snored aloud, yet my heart was sore for him, wicked as he was, to think on the dark perils that environed and the shameful gibbet that awaited him.

30
On Parole

I WAS wakened—indeed, we were all wakened, for I could see even the sentinel shake himself together from where he had fallen against the door-post—by a clear, hearty voice hailing us from the margin of the wood:

‘Block house, ahoy!’ it cried. ‘Here’s the doctor.’

And the doctor it was. Although I was glad to hear the sound, yet my gladness was not without admixture. I remembered with confusion my insubordinate and stealthy conduct, and when I saw where it had brought me—among what companions and surrounded by what dangers—I felt ashamed to look him in the face.

He must have risen in the dark, for the day had hardly come; and when I ran to a loophole and looked out, I saw him standing, like Silver once before, up to the mid-leg in creeping vapour.

‘You, doctor! Top o’ the morning to you, sir!’ cried Silver, broad awake and beaming with good nature in a moment. ‘Bright and early, to be sure; and it’s the early bird, as the saying goes, that gets the rations. George, shake up your timbers, son, and help Dr. Livesey over the ship’s side. All a-doin’ well, your patients was—all well and merry.’

So he pattered on, standing on the hilltop with his crutch under his elbow and one hand upon the side of the log-house —quite the old John in voice, manner, and expression.

‘We’ve quite a surprise for you too, sir,’ he continued. ‘We’ve a little stranger here—he! he! A noo boarder and lodger, sir, and looking fit and taut as a fiddle; slep’ like a supercargo, he did, right alongside of John—stem to stem we was, all night.’

Dr. Livesey was by this time across the stockade and pretty near the cook, and I could hear the alteration in his voice as he said, ‘Not Jim?’

‘The very same Jim as ever was,’ says Silver.

The doctor stopped outright, although he did not speak, and it was some seconds before he seemed able to move on.

‘Well, well,’ he said at last, ‘duty first and pleasure afterwards, as you might have said yourself, Silver. Let us overhaul these patients of yours.’

A moment afterwards he had entered the block house and with one grim nod to me proceeded with his work among the sick. He seemed under no apprehension, though he must have known that his life, among these treacherous demons, depended on a hair; and he rattled on