And then he bade them get the fire lit, and stalked out upon his crutch, with his hand on my shoulder, leaving them in a disarray, and silenced by his volubility rather than convinced.

“Slow, lad, slow,” he said.  “They might round upon us in a twinkle of an eye if we was seen to hurry.”

Very deliberately, then, did we advance across the sand to where the doctor awaited us on the other side of the stockade, and as soon as we were within easy speaking distance Silver stopped.

“You’ll make a note of this here also, doctor,” says he, “and the boy’ll tell you how I saved his life, and were deposed for it too, and you may lay to that.  Doctor, when a man’s steering as near the wind as me—­playing chuck-farthing with the last breath in his body, like—­you wouldn’t think it too much, mayhap, to give him one good word?  You’ll please bear in mind it’s not my life only now—­it’s that boy’s into the bargain; and you’ll speak me fair, doctor, and give me a bit o’ hope to go on, for the sake of mercy.”

Silver was a changed man once he was out there and had his back to his friends and the block house; his cheeks seemed to have fallen in, his voice trembled; never was a soul more dead in earnest.

“Why, John, you’re not afraid?” asked Dr. Livesey.

“Doctor, I’m no coward; no, not I—­not so much!” and he snapped his fingers.  “If I was I wouldn’t say it.  But I’ll own up fairly, I’ve the shakes upon me for the gallows.  You’re a good man and a true; I never seen a better man!  And you’ll not forget what I done good, not any more than you’ll forget the bad, I know.  And I step aside—­see here—­and leave you and Jim alone.  And you’ll put that down for me too, for it’s a long stretch, is that!”

So saying, he stepped back a little way, till he was out of earshot, and there sat down upon a tree-stump and began to whistle, spinning round now and again upon his seat so as to command a sight, sometimes of me and the doctor and sometimes of his unruly ruffians as they went to and fro in the sand between the fire—­which they were busy rekindling—­and the house, from which they brought forth pork and bread to make the breakfast.

“So, Jim,” said the doctor sadly, “here you are.  As you have brewed, so shall you drink, my boy.  Heaven knows, I cannot find it in my heart to blame you, but this much I will say, be it kind or unkind:  when Captain Smollett was well, you dared not have gone off; and when he was ill and couldn’t help it, by George, it was downright cowardly!”

I will own that I here began to weep.  “Doctor,” I said, “you might spare me.  I have blamed myself enough; my life’s forfeit anyway, and I should have been dead by now if Silver hadn’t stood for me; and doctor, believe this, I can die—­and I dare say I deserve it—­but what I fear is torture.  If they come to torture me—­”

“Jim,” the doctor interrupted, and his voice was quite changed, “Jim, I can’t have this.  Whip over, and we’ll run for it.”