the end of the bombardment, though still I durst
not venture in the direction of the stockade, where the balls fell
oftenest, I had begun, in a manner, to pluck up my heart again; and
after a long detour to the east, crept down among the shore-side trees.

The sun had just set, the sea breeze was rustling and tumbling in the
woods, and ruffling the gray surface of the anchorage; the tide, too,
was far out, and great tracts of sand lay uncovered; the air, after the
heat of the day, chilled me through my jacket.

The _Hispaniola_ still lay where she had anchored; but, sure enough,
there was the Jolly Roger--the black flag of piracy--flying from her
peak. Even as I looked there came another red flash and another report,
that sent the echoes clattering, and one more round shot whistled
through the air. It was the last of the cannonade.

I lay for some time, watching the bustle which succeeded the attack. Men
were demolishing something with axes on the beach near the stockade--the
poor jolly-boat, I afterwards discovered. Away, near the mouth of the
river, a great fire was glowing among the trees, and between that point
and the ship one of the gigs kept coming and going, the men, whom I had
seen so gloomy, shouting at the oars like children. But there was a
sound in their voices which suggested rum.

At length I thought I might return towards the stockade. I was pretty
far down on the low, sandy spit that incloses the anchorage to the east,
and is joined at half-water to Skeleton Island; and now, as I rose to my
feet, I saw, some distance farther down the spit, and rising from among
low bushes, an isolated rock, pretty high, and peculiarly white in
color. It occurred to me that this might be the white rock of which Ben
Gunn had spoken, and that some day or other a boat might be wanted, and
I should know where to look for one.

Then I skirted among the woods until I had regained the rear, or
shoreward side, of the stockade, and was soon warmly welcomed by the
faithful party.

I had soon told my story, and began to look about me. The log-house was
made of unsquared trunks of pine--roof, walls, and floor. The latter
stood in several places as much as a foot or a foot and a half above the
surface of the sand. There was a porch at the door, and under this porch
the little spring welled up into an artificial basin of a rather odd
kind--no other than a great ship's kettle of iron, with the bottom
knocked out, and sunk "to he