Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson (the best electronic book reader .txt) 📕

don’t feel well, sir,” said one.

 

“Don’t he?” replied the doctor. “Well, step up here,

Dick, and let me see your tongue. No, I should be

surprised if he did! The man’s tongue is fit to

frighten the French. Another fever.”

 

“Ah, there,” said Morgan, “that comed of sp’iling Bibles.”

 

“That comes—as you call it—of being arrant asses,”

retorted the doctor, “and not having sense enough to

know honest air from poison, and the dry land from a

vile, pestiferous slough. I think it most probable—

though of course it’s only an opinion—that you’ll all

have the deuce to pay before you get that malaria out

of your systems. Camp in a bog, would you? Silver,

I’m surprised at you. You’re less of a fool than many,

take you all round; but you don’t appear to me to have

the rudiments of a notion of the rules of health.

 

“Well,” he added after he had dosed them round and they

had taken his prescriptions, with really laughable humility,

more like charity schoolchildren than blood-guilty mutineers

and pirates—“well, that’s done for today. And now I should

wish to have a talk with that boy, please.”

 

And he nodded his head in my direction carelessly.

 

George Merry was at the door, spitting and spluttering

over some bad-tasted medicine; but at the first word of

the doctor’s proposal he swung round with a deep flush

and cried “No!” and swore.

 

Silver struck the barrel with his open hand.

 

“Silence!” he roared and looked about him positively

like a lion. “Doctor,” he went on in his usual tones,

“I was a-thinking of that, knowing as how you had a

fancy for the boy. We’re all humbly grateful for your

kindness, and as you see, puts faith in you and takes

the drugs down like that much grog. And I take it I’ve

found a way as’ll suit all. Hawkins, will you give me

your word of honour as a young gentleman—for a young

gentleman you are, although poor born—your word of

honour not to slip your cable?”

 

I readily gave the pledge required.

 

“Then, doctor,” said Silver, “you just step outside o’

that stockade, and once you’re there I’ll bring the boy

down on the inside, and I reckon you can yarn through

the spars. Good day to you, sir, and all our dooties

to the squire and Cap’n Smollett.”

 

The explosion of disapproval, which nothing but

Silver’s black looks had restrained, broke out

immediately the doctor had left the house. Silver was

roundly accused of playing double—of trying to make a

separate peace for himself, of sacrificing the

interests of his accomplices and victims, and, in one

word, of the identical, exact thing that he was doing.

It seemed to me so obvious, in this case, that I could

not imagine how he was to turn their anger. But he was

twice the man the rest were, and his last night’s

victory had given him a huge preponderance on their

minds. He called them all the fools and dolts you can

imagine, said it was necessary I should talk to the

doctor, fluttered the chart in their faces, asked them

if they could afford to break the treaty the very day

they were bound a-treasure-hunting.

 

“No, by thunder!” he cried. “It’s us must break the

treaty when the time comes; and till then I’ll gammon

that doctor, if I have to ile his boots with brandy.”

 

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.”

 

“Doctor,” said I, “I passed my word.”

 

“I know, I know,” he cried. “We can’t help that, Jim,

now. I’ll take it on my shoulders, holus bolus, blame

and shame, my boy; but stay here, I cannot let you.

Jump! One jump, and you’re out, and we’ll run for it

like antelopes.”

 

“No,” I replied; “you know right well you wouldn’t do

the thing yourself—neither you nor squire nor captain;

and no more will I. Silver trusted me; I passed my

word, and back I go. But, doctor, you did not let me

finish. If they come to torture me, I might let slip a

word of where the ship is, for I got the ship, part by

luck and part by risking, and she lies in North Inlet,

on the southern beach, and just below high water. At

half tide she must be high and dry.”

 

“The ship!” exclaimed the doctor.

 

Rapidly I described to him my adventures, and he heard

me out in silence.

 

“There is a kind of fate in this,” he observed when I

had done. “Every step, it’s you that saves our lives;

and do you suppose by any chance that we are going to

let you lose yours? That would be a poor return, my

boy. You found out the plot; you found Ben Gunn—the

best deed that ever you did, or will do, though you

live to ninety. Oh, by Jupiter, and talking of Ben

Gunn! Why, this is the mischief in person. Silver!”

he cried. “Silver! I’ll give you a piece of advice,”

he continued as the cook drew near again; “don’t you be

in any great hurry after that treasure.”

 

“Why, sir, I do my possible, which that ain’t,” said

Silver. “I can only, asking your pardon, save my life

and the boy’s by seeking for that treasure; and you may

lay to that.”

 

“Well, Silver,” replied the doctor, “if that is so, I’ll

go one step further: look out for squalls when you find it.”

 

“Sir,” said Silver, “as between man and man, that’s too

much and too little. What you’re after, why you left

the block house, why you given me that there chart, I

don’t know, now, do I? And yet I done your bidding

with my eyes shut and never a word of hope! But no,

this here’s too much. If you won’t tell me what you

mean plain out, just say so and I’ll leave the helm.”

 

“No,” said the doctor musingly; “I’ve no right to say

more; it’s not my secret, you see, Silver, or, I give

you my word, I’d tell it you. But I’ll go as far with

you as I dare go, and a step beyond, for I’ll have my

wig sorted by the captain or I’m mistaken! And first,

I’ll give you a bit of hope; Silver, if we both get

alive out of this wolf-trap, I’ll do my best to save

you, short of perjury.”

 

Silver’s face was radiant. “You couldn’t say more, I’m

sure, sir, not if you was my mother,” he cried.

 

“Well, that’s my first concession,” added the doctor.

“My second is a piece of advice: keep the boy close

beside you, and when you need help, halloo. I’m off to

seek it for you, and that itself will show you if I

speak at random. Good-bye, Jim.”

 

And Dr. Livesey shook hands with me through the

stockade, nodded to Silver, and set off at a brisk pace

into the wood.

 

31

 

The Treasure-hunt—Flint’s Pointer

 

“JIM,” said Silver when we were alone, “if I saved your

life, you saved mine; and I’ll not forget it. I seen

the doctor waving you to run for it—with the tail of

my eye, I did; and I seen you say no, as plain as hearing.

Jim, that’s one to you. This is the first glint of hope

I had since the attack failed, and I owe it you. And now,

Jim, we’re to go in for this here treasure-hunting, with

sealed orders too, and I don’t like it; and you and me

must stick close, back to back like, and we’ll save our

necks in spite o’ fate and fortune.”

 

Just then a man hailed us from the fire that breakfast

was ready, and we were soon seated here and there about

the sand over biscuit and fried junk. They had lit a

fire fit to roast an ox, and it was now grown so hot

that they could only approach it from the windward, and

even there not without precaution. In the same

wasteful spirit, they had cooked, I suppose, three

times more than we could eat; and one of them, with an

empty laugh, threw what was left into the fire, which

blazed and roared again over this unusual fuel. I

never in my life saw men so careless of the morrow;

hand to mouth is the only word that can