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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

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

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