Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson (the best electronic book reader .txt) 📕
- Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
- Performer: 0451527046
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way of doing; and what with wasted food and sleeping
sentries, though they were bold enough for a brush and
be done with it, I could see their entire unfitness for
anything like a prolonged campaign.
Even Silver, eating away, with Captain Flint upon his
shoulder, had not a word of blame for their recklessness.
And this the more surprised me, for I thought he had
never shown himself so cunning as he did then.
“Aye, mates,” said he, “it’s lucky you have Barbecue to
think for you with this here head. I got what I wanted,
I did. Sure enough, they have the ship. Where they have
it, I don’t know yet; but once we hit the treasure, we’ll
have to jump about and find out. And then, mates, us that
has the boats, I reckon, has the upper hand.”
Thus he kept running on, with his mouth full of the hot
bacon; thus he restored their hope and confidence, and,
I more than suspect, repaired his own at the same time.
“As for hostage,” he continued, “that’s his last talk,
I guess, with them he loves so dear. I’ve got my piece
o’ news, and thanky to him for that; but it’s over and
done. I’ll take him in a line when we go treasure-hunting, for we’ll keep him like so much gold, in case
of accidents, you mark, and in the meantime. Once we
got the ship and treasure both and off to sea like
jolly companions, why then we’ll talk Mr. Hawkins over,
we will, and we’ll give him his share, to be sure, for
all his kindness.”
It was no wonder the men were in a good humour now.
For my part, I was horribly cast down. Should the
scheme he had now sketched prove feasible, Silver,
already doubly a traitor, would not hesitate to adopt
it. He had still a foot in either camp, and there was
no doubt he would prefer wealth and freedom with the
pirates to a bare escape from hanging, which was the
best he had to hope on our side.
Nay, and even if things so fell out that he was forced
to keep his faith with Dr. Livesey, even then what
danger lay before us! What a moment that would be when
the suspicions of his followers turned to certainty and
he and I should have to fight for dear life—he a cripple
and I a boy—against five strong and active seamen!
Add to this double apprehension the mystery that still
hung over the behaviour of my friends, their
unexplained desertion of the stockade, their
inexplicable cession of the chart, or harder still to
understand, the doctor’s last warning to Silver, “Look
out for squalls when you find it,” and you will readily
believe how little taste I found in my breakfast and
with how uneasy a heart I set forth behind my captors
on the quest for treasure.
We made a curious figure, had anyone been there to see
us—all in soiled sailor clothes and all but me armed
to the teeth. Silver had two guns slung about him—one
before and one behind—besides the great cutlass at his
waist and a pistol in each pocket of his square-tailed
coat. To complete his strange appearance, Captain
Flint sat perched upon his shoulder and gabbling odds
and ends of purposeless sea-talk. I had a line about
my waist and followed obediently after the sea-cook,
who held the loose end of the rope, now in his free
hand, now between his powerful teeth. For all the
world, I was led like a dancing bear.
The other men were variously burthened, some carrying
picks and shovels—for that had been the very first
necessary they brought ashore from the HISPANIOLA—
others laden with pork, bread, and brandy for the
midday meal. All the stores, I observed, came from our
stock, and I could see the truth of Silver’s words the
night before. Had he not struck a bargain with the doctor,
he and his mutineers, deserted by the ship, must have been
driven to subsist on clear water and the proceeds of their
hunting. Water would have been little to their taste; a
sailor is not usually a good shot; and besides all that,
when they were so short of eatables, it was not likely
they would be very flush of powder.
Well, thus equipped, we all set out—even the fellow
with the broken head, who should certainly have kept in
shadow—and straggled, one after another, to the beach,
where the two gigs awaited us. Even these bore trace
of the drunken folly of the pirates, one in a broken
thwart, and both in their muddy and unbailed condition.
Both were to be carried along with us for the sake of
safety; and so, with our numbers divided between them,
we set forth upon the bosom of the anchorage.
As we pulled over, there was some discussion on the
chart. The red cross was, of course, far too large to
be a guide; and the terms of the note on the back, as
you will hear, admitted of some ambiguity. They ran,
the reader may remember, thus:
Tall tree, Spy-glass shoulder, bearing a point to
the N. of N.N.E.
Skeleton Island E.S.E. and by E.
Ten feet.
A tall tree was thus the principal mark. Now, right
before us the anchorage was bounded by a plateau from
two to three hundred feet high, adjoining on the north
the sloping southern shoulder of the Spy-glass and
rising again towards the south into the rough, cliffy
eminence called the Mizzen-mast Hill. The top of the
plateau was dotted thickly with pine-trees of varying
height. Every here and there, one of a different
species rose forty or fifty feet clear above its
neighbours, and which of these was the particular “tall
tree” of Captain Flint could only be decided on the
spot, and by the readings of the compass.
Yet, although that was the case, every man on board the
boats had picked a favourite of his own ere we were
half-way over, Long John alone shrugging his shoulders
and bidding them wait till they were there.
We pulled easily, by Silver’s directions, not to weary
the hands prematurely, and after quite a long passage,
landed at the mouth of the second river—that which
runs down a woody cleft of the Spy-glass. Thence,
bending to our left, we began to ascend the slope
towards the plateau.
At the first outset, heavy, miry ground and a matted,
marish vegetation greatly delayed our progress; but by
little and little the hill began to steepen and become
stony under foot, and the wood to change its character
and to grow in a more open order. It was, indeed, a
most pleasant portion of the island that we were now
approaching. A heavy-scented broom and many flowering
shrubs had almost taken the place of grass. Thickets
of green nutmeg-trees were dotted here and there with
the red columns and the broad shadow of the pines; and
the first mingled their spice with the aroma of the
others. The air, besides, was fresh and stirring, and
this, under the sheer sunbeams, was a wonderful
refreshment to our senses.
The party spread itself abroad, in a fan shape,
shouting and leaping to and fro. About the centre, and
a good way behind the rest, Silver and I followed—I
tethered by my rope, he ploughing, with deep pants,
among the sliding gravel. From time to time, indeed, I
had to lend him a hand, or he must have missed his
footing and fallen backward down the hill.
We had thus proceeded for about half a mile and were
approaching the brow of the plateau when the man upon
the farthest left began to cry aloud, as if in terror.
Shout after shout came from him, and the others began
to run in his direction.
“He can’t ‘a found the treasure,” said old Morgan, hurrying
past us from the right, “for that’s clean a-top.”
Indeed, as we found when we also reached the spot, it
was something very different. At the foot of a pretty
big pine and involved in a green creeper, which had even
partly lifted some of the smaller bones, a human skeleton
lay, with a few shreds of clothing, on the ground. I
believe a chill struck for a moment to every heart.
“He was a seaman,” said George Merry, who, bolder than
the rest, had gone up close and was examining the rags
of clothing. “Leastways, this is good sea-cloth.”
“Aye, aye,” said Silver; “like enough; you wouldn’t
look to find a bishop here, I reckon. But what sort of
a way is that for bones to lie? ‘Tain’t in natur’.”
Indeed, on a second glance, it seemed impossible to
fancy that the body was in a natural position. But for
some disarray (the work, perhaps, of the birds that had
fed upon him or of the slow-growing creeper that had
gradually enveloped his remains) the man lay perfectly
straight—his feet pointing in one direction, his
hands, raised above his head like a diver’s, pointing
directly in the opposite.
“I’ve taken a notion into my old numbskull,” observed
Silver. “Here’s the compass; there’s the tip-top p’int
o’ Skeleton Island, stickin’ out like a tooth. Just
take a bearing, will you, along the line of them bones.”
It was done. The body pointed straight in the
direction of the island, and the compass read duly
E.S.E. and by E.
“I thought so,” cried the cook; “this here is a
p’inter. Right up there is our line for the Pole Star
and the jolly dollars. But, by thunder! If it don’t
make me cold inside to think of Flint. This is one of
HIS jokes, and no mistake. Him and these six was
alone here; he killed ‘em, every man; and this one he
hauled here and laid down by compass, shiver my
timbers! They’re long bones, and the hair’s been
yellow. Aye, that would be Allardyce. You mind
Allardyce, Tom Morgan?”
“Aye, aye,” returned Morgan; “I mind him; he owed me
money, he did, and took my knife ashore with him.”
“Speaking of knives,” said another, “why don’t we find his’n
lying round? Flint warn’t the man to pick a seaman’s pocket;
and the birds, I guess, would leave it be.”
“By the powers, and that’s true!” cried Silver.
“There ain’t a thing left here,” said Merry, still
feeling round among the bones; “not a copper doit nor a
baccy box. It don’t look nat’ral to me.”
“No, by gum, it don’t,” agreed Silver; “not nat’ral,
nor not nice, says you. Great guns! Messmates, but if
Flint was living, this would be a hot spot for you and
me. Six they were, and six are we; and bones is what
they are now.”
“I saw him dead with these here deadlights,” said
Morgan. “Billy took me in. There he laid, with penny-pieces on his eyes.”
“Dead—aye, sure enough he’s dead and gone below,” said
the fellow with the bandage; “but if ever sperrit
walked, it would be Flint’s. Dear heart, but he died
bad, did Flint!”
“Aye, that he did,” observed another; “now he raged,
and now he hollered for the rum, and now he sang.
‘Fifteen Men’ were his only song, mates; and I tell you
true, I never rightly liked to hear it since. It was
main hot, and the windy was open, and I hear that old
song comin’ out as clear as clear—and the death-haul
on the man already.”
“Come, come,” said Silver; “stow this talk. He’s dead,
and he don’t walk, that I know; leastways, he won’t
walk by day, and you may lay to that. Care
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