Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson (best ebook reader txt) 📗
- Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
- Performer: 0451527046
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moment, when the ship was still, Israel Hands turned
partly round and with a low moan writhed himself back
to the position in which I had seen him first. The
moan, which told of pain and deadly weakness, and the
way in which his jaw hung open went right to my heart.
But when I remembered the talk I had overheard from the
apple barrel, all pity left me.
I walked aft until I reached the main-mast.
“Come aboard, Mr. Hands,” I said ironically.
He rolled his eyes round heavily, but he was too far
gone to express surprise. All he could do was to utter
one word, “Brandy.”
It occurred to me there was no time to lose, and dodging
the boom as it once more lurched across the deck, I
slipped aft and down the companion stairs into the cabin.
It was such a scene of confusion as you can hardly
fancy. All the lockfast places had been broken open in
quest of the chart. The floor was thick with mud where
ruffians had sat down to drink or consult after wading
in the marshes round their camp. The bulkheads, all
painted in clear white and beaded round with gilt, bore
a pattern of dirty hands. Dozens of empty bottles
clinked together in corners to the rolling of the ship.
One of the doctor’s medical books lay open on the
table, half of the leaves gutted out, I suppose, for
pipelights. In the midst of all this the lamp still
cast a smoky glow, obscure and brown as umber.
I went into the cellar; all the barrels were gone, and
of the bottles a most surprising number had been drunk
out and thrown away. Certainly, since the mutiny
began, not a man of them could ever have been sober.
Foraging about, I found a bottle with some brandy left,
for Hands; and for myself I routed out some biscuit,
some pickled fruits, a great bunch of raisins, and a
piece of cheese. With these I came on deck, put down
my own stock behind the rudder head and well out of the
coxswain’s reach, went forward to the water-breaker,
and had a good deep drink of water, and then, and not
till then, gave Hands the brandy.
He must have drunk a gill before he took the bottle
from his mouth.
“Aye,” said he, “by thunder, but I wanted some o’ that!”
I had sat down already in my own corner and begun to eat.
“Much hurt?” I asked him.
He grunted, or rather, I might say, he barked.
“If that doctor was aboard,” he said, “I’d be right
enough in a couple of turns, but I don’t have no manner
of luck, you see, and that’s what’s the matter with me.
As for that swab, he’s good and dead, he is,” he added,
indicating the man with the red cap. “He warn’t no
seaman anyhow. And where mought you have come from?”
“Well,” said I, “I’ve come aboard to take possession of
this ship, Mr. Hands; and you’ll please regard me as
your captain until further notice.”
He looked at me sourly enough but said nothing. Some
of the colour had come back into his cheeks, though he
still looked very sick and still continued to slip out
and settle down as the ship banged about.
“By the by,” I continued, “I can’t have these colours,
Mr. Hands; and by your leave, I’ll strike ‘em. Better
none than these.”
And again dodging the boom, I ran to the colour lines, handed
down their cursed black flag, and chucked it overboard.
“God save the king!” said I, waving my cap. “And
there’s an end to Captain Silver!”
He watched me keenly and slyly, his chin all the while
on his breast.
“I reckon,” he said at last, “I reckon, Cap’n Hawkins,
you’ll kind of want to get ashore now. S’pose we talks.”
“Why, yes,” says I, “with all my heart, Mr. Hands. Say
on.” And I went back to my meal with a good appetite.
“This man,” he began, nodding feebly at the corpse “—
O’Brien were his name, a rank Irelander—this man and
me got the canvas on her, meaning for to sail her back.
Well, HE’S dead now, he is—as dead as bilge; and
who’s to sail this ship, I don’t see. Without I gives
you a hint, you ain’t that man, as far’s I can tell.
Now, look here, you gives me food and drink and a old
scarf or ankecher to tie my wound up, you do, and I’ll
tell you how to sail her, and that’s about square all
round, I take it.”
“I’ll tell you one thing,” says I: “I’m not going back
to Captain Kidd’s anchorage. I mean to get into North
Inlet and beach her quietly there.”
“To be sure you did,” he cried. “Why, I ain’t sich an
infernal lubber after all. I can see, can’t I? I’ve
tried my fling, I have, and I’ve lost, and it’s you has
the wind of me. North Inlet? Why, I haven’t no
ch’ice, not I! I’d help you sail her up to Execution
Dock, by thunder! So I would.”
Well, as it seemed to me, there was some sense in this.
We struck our bargain on the spot. In three minutes I
had the HISPANIOLA sailing easily before the wind
along the coast of Treasure Island, with good hopes of
turning the northern point ere noon and beating down
again as far as North Inlet before high water, when we
might beach her safely and wait till the subsiding tide
permitted us to land.
Then I lashed the tiller and went below to my own
chest, where I got a soft silk handkerchief of my
mother’s. With this, and with my aid, Hands bound up
the great bleeding stab he had received in the thigh,
and after he had eaten a little and had a swallow or
two more of the brandy, he began to pick up visibly,
sat straighter up, spoke louder and clearer, and looked
in every way another man.
The breeze served us admirably. We skimmed before it
like a bird, the coast of the island flashing by and
the view changing every minute. Soon we were past the
high lands and bowling beside low, sandy country,
sparsely dotted with dwarf pines, and soon we were
beyond that again and had turned the corner of the
rocky hill that ends the island on the north.
I was greatly elated with my new command, and pleased
with the bright, sunshiny weather and these different
prospects of the coast. I had now plenty of water and
good things to eat, and my conscience, which had
smitten me hard for my desertion, was quieted by the
great conquest I had made. I should, I think, have had
nothing left me to desire but for the eyes of the
coxswain as they followed me derisively about the deck
and the odd smile that appeared continually on his
face. It was a smile that had in it something both of
pain and weakness—a haggard old man’s smile; but there
was, besides that, a grain of derision, a shadow of
treachery, in his expression as he craftily watched,
and watched, and watched me at my work.
26
Israel Hands
THE wind, serving us to a desire, now hauled into the west.
We could run so much the easier from the north-east corner
of the island to the mouth of the North Inlet. Only, as
we had no power to anchor and dared not beach her till the
tide had flowed a good deal farther, time hung on our hands.
The coxswain told me how to lay the ship to; after a good
many trials I succeeded, and we both sat in silence over
another meal.
“Cap’n,” said he at length with that same uncomfortable
smile, “here’s my old shipmate, O’Brien; s’pose you was
to heave him overboard. I ain’t partic’lar as a rule,
and I don’t take no blame for settling his hash, but I
don’t reckon him ornamental now, do you?”
“I’m not strong enough, and I don’t like the job; and
there he lies, for me,” said I.
“This here’s an unlucky ship, this HISPANIOLA,
Jim,” he went on, blinking. “There’s a power of men
been killed in this HISPANIOLA—a sight o’ poor
seamen dead and gone since you and me took ship to
Bristol. I never seen sich dirty luck, not I. There
was this here O’Brien now—he’s dead, ain’t he? Well
now, I’m no scholar, and you’re a lad as can read and
figure, and to put it straight, do you take it as a
dead man is dead for good, or do he come alive again?”
“You can kill the body, Mr. Hands, but not the spirit;
you must know that already,” I replied. “O’Brien there
is in another world, and may be watching us.”
“Ah!” says he. “Well, that’s unfort’nate—appears as
if killing parties was a waste of time. Howsomever,
sperrits don’t reckon for much, by what I’ve seen.
I’ll chance it with the sperrits, Jim. And now, you’ve
spoke up free, and I’ll take it kind if you’d step down
into that there cabin and get me a—well, a—shiver my
timbers! I can’t hit the name on ‘t; well, you get me
a bottle of wine, Jim—this here brandy’s too strong
for my head.”
Now, the coxswain’s hesitation seemed to be unnatural,
and as for the notion of his preferring wine to brandy,
I entirely disbelieved it. The whole story was a
pretext. He wanted me to leave the deck—so much was
plain; but with what purpose I could in no way imagine.
His eyes never met mine; they kept wandering to and
fro, up and down, now with a look to the sky, now with
a flitting glance upon the dead O’Brien. All the time
he kept smiling and putting his tongue out in the most
guilty, embarrassed manner, so that a child could have
told that he was bent on some deception. I was prompt
with my answer, however, for I saw where my advantage
lay and that with a fellow so densely stupid I could
easily conceal my suspicions to the end.
“Some wine?” I said. “Far better. Will you have
white or red?”
“Well, I reckon it’s about the blessed same to me,
shipmate,” he replied; “so it’s strong, and plenty of
it, what’s the odds?”
“All right,” I answered. “I’ll bring you port, Mr.
Hands. But I’ll have to dig for it.”
With that I scuttled down the companion with all the
noise I could, slipped off my shoes, ran quietly along
the sparred gallery, mounted the forecastle ladder, and
popped my head out of the fore companion. I knew he
would not expect to see me there, yet I took every
precaution possible, and certainly the worst of my
suspicions proved too true.
He had risen from his position to his hands and knees,
and though his leg obviously hurt him pretty sharply
when he moved—for I could hear him stifle a groan—yet
it was at a good, rattling rate that he trailed himself
across the deck. In half a minute he had reached the
port scuppers and picked, out of a coil of rope, a long
knife, or rather a short dirk, discoloured to the hilt
with blood. He looked upon it for a moment, thrusting
forth his under jaw, tried the point upon his hand, and
then, hastily concealing it in the bosom of his jacket,
trundled back again into his old place against the bulwark.
This was
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