19
Narrative Resumed by Jim Hawkins: The Garrison
in the Stockade
AS soon as Ben Gunn saw the colours he came to a halt,
stopped me by the arm, and sat down.
“Now,” said he, “there’s your friends, sure enough.”
“Far more likely it’s the mutineers,” I answered.
“That!” he cried. “Why, in a place like this, where
nobody puts in but gen’lemen of fortune, Silver would
fly the Jolly Roger, you don’t make no doubt of that.
No, that’s your friends. There’s been blows too, and I
reckon your friends has had the best of it; and here
they are ashore in the old stockade, as was made years
and years ago by Flint. Ah, he was the man to have a
headpiece, was Flint! Barring rum, his match were
never seen. He were afraid of none, not he; on’y
Silver—Silver was that genteel.”
“Well,” said I
