Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson Read Free Book Online Page A

strange islands and adventures. I brooded by the hour together over the map, all the details of which I well remembered. Sitting by the fire in the housekeeper’s room, I approached that island in my fancy from every possible direction; I explored every acre of its surface; I climbed a thousand times to that tall hill they call the Spy-glass, and from the top enjoyed the most wonderful and changing prospects. Sometimes the isle was thick with savages, with whom we fought, sometimes full of dangerous animals that hunted us, but in all my fancies nothing occurred to me so strange and tragic as our actual adventures.
    So the weeks passed on, till one fine day there came a letter addressed to Dr. Livesey, with this addition, “To be opened, in the case of his absence, by Tom Redruth or young Hawkins.” Obeying this order, we found, or rather I found—for the gamekeeper was a poor hand at reading anything but print—the following important news:
     
Old Anchor Inn, Bristol, March 1, 17—

Dear Livesey—As I do not know whether you are at the hall or still in London, I send this in double to both places.

The ship is bought and fitted.   She lies at anchor, ready for sea.   You never imagined a sweeter schooner—a child might sail her—two hundred tons; name, Hispaniola .

I got her through my old friend, Blandly, who has proved himself throughout the most surprising trump. The admirable fellow literally slaved in my interest, and so, I may say, did everyone in Bristol, as soon as they got wind of the port we sailed for—treasure, I mean.
     
    “Redruth,” said I, interrupting the letter, “Dr. Livesey will not like that. The squire has been talking, after all.”
    “Well, who’s a better right?” growled the gamekeeper. “A pretty rum go if squire ain’t to talk for Dr. Livesey, I should think.”
    At that I gave up all attempts at commentary and read straight on:
     
Blandly himself found the Hispaniola , and by the most admirable management got her for the merest trifle.   There is a class of men in Bristol monstrously prejudiced against Blandly.   They go the length of declaring that this honest creature would do anything for money, that the Hispaniola belonged to him, and that he sold it me absurdly high—the most transparent calumnies.   None of them dare, however, to deny the merits of the ship.

So far there was not a hitch.   The workpeople, to be sure—riggers and what not—were most annoyingly slow; but time cured that.   It was the crew that troubled me.

I wished a round score of men—in case of natives, buccaneers, or the odious French—and I had the worry of the deuce itself to find so much as half a dozen, till the most remarkable stroke of fortune brought me the very man that I required.

I was standing on the dock, when, by the merest accident, I fell in talk with him.   I found he was an old sailor, kept a public-house, knew all the seafaring men in Bristol, had lost his health ashore, and wanted a good berth as cook to get to sea again.   He had hobbled down there that morning, he said, to get a smell of the salt.

I was monstrously touched—so would you have been—and, out of pure pity, I engaged him on the spot to be ship’s cook.   Long John Silver, he is called, and has lost a leg; but that I regarded as a recommendation, since he lost it in his country’s service, under the immortal Hawke.   He has no pension, Livesey.   Imagine the abominable age we live in!

Well, sir, I thought I had only found a cook, but it was a crew I had discovered.   Between Silver and myself we got together in a few days a company of the toughest old salts imaginable—not pretty to look at, but fellows, by their faces, of the most indomitable spirit.   I declare we could fight a frigate.

Long John even got rid of two out of the six or seven I had already engaged.   He showed me in a moment that they were just the sort of fresh-water swabs we had to fear in an adventure of importance.

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