Narrative Resumed by Jim Hawkins: The Garrison in the Stockade

AssoonasBenGunnsawthecolourshecametoahalt,stoppedmebythearm,andsatdown.

“Now,”saidhe,“there’syourfriends,sureenough.”

“Farmorelikelyit’sthemutineers,”Ianswered.

“That!”hecried.“Why,inaplacelikethis,wherenobodyputsinbutgen’lemenoffortune,SilverwouldflytheJollyRoger,youdon’tmakenodoubtofthat.No,that’syourfriends.There’sbeenblowstoo,andIreckonyourfriendshashadthebestofit;andheretheyareashoreintheoldstockade,aswasmadeyearsandyearsagobyFlint.Ah,hewasthemantohaveaheadpiece,wasFlint!Barringrum,hismatchwereneverseen.Hewereafraidofnone,nothe;on’ySilverSilverwasthatgenteel.”

“Well,”saidI,“thatmaybeso,andsobeit;allthemorereasonthatIshouldhurryonandjoinmyfriends.”

“Nay,mate,”returnedBen,“notyou.You’reagoodboy,orI’mmistook;butyou’reon’yaboy,alltold.Now,BenGunnisfly.Rumwouldn’tbringmethere,whereyou’regoingnotrumwouldn’t,tillIseeyourborngen’lemanandgetsitonhiswordofhonour.Andyouwon’tforgetmywords;‘Aprecioussight(that’swhatyou’llsay),aprecioussightmoreconfidence’andthennipshim.”

Andhepinchedmethethirdtimewiththesameairofcleverness.

“AndwhenBenGunniswanted,youknowwheretofindhim,Jim.Justwheeryoufoundhimtoday.Andhimthatcomesistohaveawhitethinginhishand,andhe’stocomealone.Oh!Andyou’llsaythis:‘BenGunn,’saysyou,‘hasreasonsofhisown.’”

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