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but they had to fire so high that the shot fell dead and buried itself
in the soft sand. We had no ricochet to fear, and though one
popped in through the roof of the log-house and out again through
the floor, we soon got used to that sort of horse-play and minded it
no more than cricket.

“There is one good thing 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 them were busy carrying off
our stores and wading out with them to one of the gigs that lay
close by, pulling an oar or so to 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

Alexander Smollett, master; David Livesey, ship’s doctor;
Abraham Gray, carpenter’s mate; John Trelawney, owner; John
Hunter and Richard Joyce, 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-

And at the same time, I was wondering over poor Jim Hawkins’

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