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

him first—

had broken his shoulder-blade and touched the lung, not

badly; the second had only torn and displaced some

muscles in the calf. He was sure to recover, the

doctor said, but in the meantime, and for weeks to

come, he must not walk nor move his arm, nor so much as

speak when he could help it.

 

My own accidental cut across the knuckles was a flea-bite. Doctor Livesey patched it up with plaster and

pulled my ears for me into the bargain.

 

After dinner the squire and the doctor sat by the

captain’s side awhile in consultation; and when they

had talked to their hearts’ content, it being then a

little past noon, the doctor took up his hat and pistols,

girt on a cutlass, put the chart in his pocket, and with

a musket over his shoulder crossed the palisade on the

north side and set off briskly through the trees.

 

Gray and I were sitting together at the far end of the

block house, to be out of earshot of our officers

consulting; and Gray took his pipe out of his mouth and

fairly forgot to put it back again, so thunder-struck

he was at this occurrence.

 

“Why, in the name of Davy Jones,” said he, “is Dr.

Livesey mad?”

 

“Why no,” says I. “He’s about the last of this crew

for that, I take it.”

 

“Well, shipmate,” said Gray, “mad he may not be; but if

HE’S not, you mark my words, I am.”

 

“I take it,” replied I, “the doctor has his idea; and

if I am right, he’s going now to see Ben Gunn.”

 

I was right, as appeared later; but in the meantime,

the house being stifling hot and the little patch of

sand inside the palisade ablaze with midday sun, I

began to get another thought into my head, which was

not by any means so right. What I began to do was to

envy the doctor walking in the cool shadow of the woods

with the birds about him and the pleasant smell of the

pines, while I sat grilling, with my clothes stuck to

the hot resin, and so much blood about me and so many

poor dead bodies lying all around that I took a disgust

of the place that was almost as strong as fear.

 

All the time I was washing out the block house, and

then washing up the things from dinner, this disgust

and envy kept growing stronger and stronger, till at

last, being near a bread-bag, and no one then observing

me, I took the first step towards my escapade and

filled both pockets of my coat with biscuit.

 

I was a fool, if you like, and certainly I was going to

do a foolish, over-bold act; but I was determined to do

it with all the precautions in my power. These

biscuits, should anything befall me, would keep me, at

least, from starving till far on in the next day.

 

The next thing I laid hold of was a brace of pistols,

and as I already had a powder-horn and bullets, I felt

myself well supplied with arms.

 

As for the scheme I had in my head, it was not a bad

one in itself. I was to go down the sandy spit that

divides the anchorage on the east from the open sea,

find the white rock I had observed last evening, and

ascertain whether it was there or not that Ben Gunn had

hidden his boat, a thing quite worth doing, as I still

believe. But as I was certain I should not be allowed

to leave the enclosure, my only plan was to take French

leave and slip out when nobody was watching, and that

was so bad a way of doing it as made the thing itself

wrong. But I was only a boy, and I had made my mind up.

 

Well, as things at last fell out, I found an admirable

opportunity. The squire and Gray were busy helping the

captain with his bandages, the coast was clear, I made

a bolt for it over the stockade and into the thickest

of the trees, and before my absence was observed I was

out of cry of my companions.

 

This was my second folly, far worse than the first, as

I left but two sound men to guard the house; but like

the first, it was a help towards saving all of us.

 

I took my way straight for the east coast of the

island, for I was determined to go down the sea side of

the spit to avoid all chance of observation from the

anchorage. It was already late in the afternoon,

although still warm and sunny. As I continued to

thread the tall woods, I could hear from far before me

not only the continuous thunder of the surf, but a

certain tossing of foliage and grinding of boughs which

showed me the sea breeze had set in higher than usual.

Soon cool draughts of air began to reach me, and a few

steps farther I came forth into the open borders of the

grove, and saw the sea lying blue and sunny to the

horizon and the surf tumbling and tossing its foam

along the beach.

 

I have never seen the sea quiet round Treasure Island.

The sun might blaze overhead, the air be without a

breath, the surface smooth and blue, but still these

great rollers would be running along all the external

coast, thundering and thundering by day and night; and

I scarce believe there is one spot in the island where

a man would be out of earshot of their noise.

 

I walked along beside the surf with great enjoyment,

till, thinking I was now got far enough to the south, I

took the cover of some thick bushes and crept warily up

to the ridge of the spit.

 

Behind me was the sea, in front the anchorage. The sea

breeze, as though it had the sooner blown itself out by

its unusual violence, was already at an end; it had

been succeeded by light, variable airs from the south and

south-east, carrying great banks of fog; and the anchorage,

under lee of Skeleton Island, lay still and leaden as when

first we entered it. The HISPANIOLA, in that unbroken

mirror, was exactly portrayed from the truck to the

waterline, the Jolly Roger hanging from her peak.

 

Alongside lay one of the gigs, Silver in the stern-sheets—him I could always recognize—while a couple of

men were leaning over the stern bulwarks, one of them

with a red cap—the very rogue that I had seen some

hours before stride-legs upon the palisade. Apparently

they were talking and laughing, though at that

distance—upwards of a mile—I could, of course, hear

no word of what was said. All at once there began the

most horrid, unearthly screaming, which at first

startled me badly, though I had soon remembered the

voice of Captain Flint and even thought I could make

out the bird by her bright plumage as she sat perched

upon her master’s wrist.

 

Soon after, the jolly-boat shoved off and pulled for

shore, and the man with the red cap and his comrade

went below by the cabin companion.

 

Just about the same time, the sun had gone down behind

the Spy-glass, and as the fog was collecting rapidly,

it began to grow dark in earnest. I saw I must lose no

time if I were to find the boat that evening.

 

The white rock, visible enough above the brush, was

still some eighth of a mile further down the spit, and

it took me a goodish while to get up with it, crawling,

often on all fours, among the scrub. Night had almost

come when I laid my hand on its rough sides. Right

below it there was an exceedingly small hollow of green

turf, hidden by banks and a thick underwood about knee-deep, that grew there very plentifully; and in the centre

of the dell, sure enough, a little tent of goatskins,

like what the gipsies carry about with them in England.

 

I dropped into the hollow, lifted the side of the tent,

and there was Ben Gunn’s boat—home-made if ever

anything was home-made; a rude, lop-sided framework of

tough wood, and stretched upon that a covering of goatskin, with the hair inside. The thing was extremely

small, even for me, and I can hardly imagine that it

could have floated with a full-sized man. There was

one thwart set as low as possible, a kind of stretcher

in the bows, and a double paddle for propulsion.

 

I had not then seen a coracle, such as the ancient Britons

made, but I have seen one since, and I can give you no

fairer idea of Ben Gunn’s boat than by saying it was like

the first and the worst coracle ever made by man. But the

great advantage of the coracle it certainly possessed, for

it was exceedingly light and portable.

 

Well, now that I had found the boat, you would have

thought I had had enough of truantry for once, but in

the meantime I had taken another notion and become so

obstinately fond of it that I would have carried it

out, I believe, in the teeth of Captain Smollett

himself. This was to slip out under cover of the

night, cut the HISPANIOLA adrift, and let her go

ashore where she fancied. I had quite made up my mind

that the mutineers, after their repulse of the morning,

had nothing nearer their hearts than to up anchor and

away to sea; this, I thought, it would be a fine thing

to prevent, and now that I had seen how they left their

watchmen unprovided with a boat, I thought it might be

done with little risk.

 

Down I sat to wait for darkness, and made a hearty meal

of biscuit. It was a night out of ten thousand for my

purpose. The fog had now buried all heaven. As the

last rays of daylight dwindled and disappeared, absolute

blackness settled down on Treasure Island. And when,

at last, I shouldered the coracle and groped my way

stumblingly out of the hollow where I had supped, there

were but two points visible on the whole anchorage.

 

One was the great fire on shore, by which the defeated

pirates lay carousing in the swamp. The other, a mere

blur of light upon the darkness, indicated the position

of the anchored ship. She had swung round to the ebb—

her bow was now towards me—the only lights on board

were in the cabin, and what I saw was merely a

reflection on the fog of the strong rays that flowed

from the stern window.

 

The ebb had already run some time, and I had to wade

through a long belt of swampy sand, where I sank

several times above the ankle, before I came to the

edge of the retreating water, and wading a little way

in, with some strength and dexterity, set my coracle,

keel downwards, on the surface.

 

23

 

The Ebb-tide Runs

 

THE coracle—as I had ample reason to know before I was

done with her—was a very safe boat for a person of my

height and weight, both buoyant and clever in a sea-way; but she was the most cross-grained, lop-sided

craft to manage. Do as you pleased, she always made

more leeway than anything else, and turning round and

round was the manoeuvre she was best at. Even Ben Gunn

himself has admitted that she was “queer to handle till

you knew her way.”

 

Certainly I did not know her way. She turned in every

direction but the one I was bound to go; the