the eight men who had fallen in the action only three still
breathed--that one of the pirates who had been shot at the loophole,
Hunter, and Captain Smollett--and of these the first two were as good as
dead; the mutineer, indeed, died under the doctor's knife, and Hunter,
do what we could, never recovered consciousness in this world. He
lingered all day, breathing loudly like the old buccaneer at home in his
apoplectic fit; but the bones of his chest had been crushed by the blow
and his skull fractured in falling, and some time in the following
night, without sign or sound, he went to his Maker.

As for the captain, his wounds were grievous indeed, but not dangerous.
No organ was fatally injured. Anderson's ball--for it was Job that shot
him first--had broken his shoulder-blade and touched the lung, not
badly; the second had only torn and displaced some muscles in the calf.
He was sure to recover, the doctor said, but in the meantime, and for
weeks to come, he must not walk nor move his arm, nor so much as speak
when he could help it.

My own accidental cut across the knuckles was a flea-bite. Doctor
Livesey patched it up with plaster, and pulled my ears for me into the
bargain.

After dinner the squire and the doctor sat by the captain's side awhile
in consultation; and when they had talked to their heart's content, it
being then a little past noon, the doctor took up his hat and pistols,
girt on a cutlass, put the chart in his pocket, and with a musket over
his shoulder, crossed the palisade on the north side and set off briskly
through the trees.

Gray and I were sitting together at the far end of the blockhouse, to be
out of earshot of our officers, consulting, and Gray took his pipe out
of his mouth and fairly forgot to put it back again, so thunderstruck he
was at this occurrence.

"Why, in the name of Davy Jones," said he, "is Doctor Livesey mad?"

"Why, no," says I. "He's about the last of this crew for that, I take
it."

"Well, shipmate," said Gray, "mad he may not be, but if _he's_ not, mark
my words, _I_ am."

"I take it," replied I, "the doctor has his idea, and if I am right,
he's going now to see Ben Gunn."

I was right, as appeared later; but in the meantime, the house being
stifling hot, and the little patch of sand inside the palisade ablaze
with midday sun, I began to get another thought into my head which was
not by any means so right. What I began to do was to envy the doctor,
walking in