I had only just reached the front of the ship when a sail cracked like a gun and the whole ship shook. I almost fell into the sea. Quickly I crawled back along the pole and fell head first onto the deck.
At first I could see nobody. The deck was dirty with footprints, and an empty bottle rolled from side to side. Then the ship turned, the big sail swung across, and I saw the two men who had stayed on board. The man in the red cap lay on his back, as stiff as a piece of wood, with his arms stretched out and his teeth showing. Israel Hands sat against the side of the ship with his chin on his chest, his face as white as a candle. There was dark blood on the deck around both of them, and I felt sure that they had fought in their drunken anger and killed each other.
Then, in a calm moment, Hands turned a little and gave a low cry of pain. For a second I felt sorry for him. But when I remembered what I had heard from the apple barrel, all my pity went.
“Welcome on board, Mr. Hands,” I said.
He slowly turned his eyes to me. He was too weak even to look surprised. He said only one word: “Brandy.”
I went down to the cabin. The pirates had broken everything open in their search for the map, and empty bottles lay in every corner. I found some brandy for Hands and some food for myself, went back on deck, drank a lot of water, and only then gave him the brandy.
He drank and drank. “Aye,” he said at last, “I needed that!”
I sat down in a corner of the deck and began to eat. “Are you badly hurt?” I asked.
“If that doctor were here, I’d be well in no time,” he said. “But I have no luck. As for him, he’s dead.” He pointed at the man in the red cap. “And where did you come from?”
“I’ve come on board to take this ship, Mr. Hands,” I said, “and you will please think of me as your captain from now on.”
He looked at me sourly but said nothing.
“And I can’t have that flag,” I went on. “Better no flag than this one.”
I ran to the flag rope, pulled down their black flag and threw it into the sea.
“God save the king!” I cried, and waved my cap. “And that’s the end of Captain Silver!”
He watched me with sly eyes, his chin still on his chest.
“I think, Captain Hawkins,” he said at last, “you’d like to get to land now. Let’s talk. O’Brien here and I put up the sails to take her back. Now he’s dead, and who’s going to sail this ship? Not you, unless I help you. So you give me food and drink and an old cloth to tie up my wound, and I’ll tell you how to sail her. That’s fair, I think.”
“I’ll tell you one thing,” I said. “I’m not going back to the old harbor. I’m going to take her into North Inlet and run her up on the sand there, quietly.”
“Of course you are,” he cried. “I tried my luck and lost, and now you’re the winner. North Inlet? I have no choice!”
So we made our deal at once, and in three minutes the Hispaniola was sailing easily along the coast. I went down to my sea chest and found a soft silk handkerchief of my mother’s. With my help, Hands tied it round the deep, bleeding cut in his leg. He ate a little and drank some more brandy, and soon he sat up straighter and spoke louder, like a different man.
The wind was good, and we flew along like a bird. Soon we had sailed around the rocky north end of the island.
I was very proud of my new command. I had felt bad about leaving my friends, but now, I thought, I had made up for it. I was perfectly happy, except for the eyes of Hands. They followed me everywhere on the deck, and there was a strange smile on his face. It was the smile of a weak old man in pain, but there was something else in it too, something mocking and false, as he watched, and watched, and watched me at my work.