Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson (best ebook reader txt) 📗
- Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
- Performer: 0451527046
Book online «Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson (best ebook reader txt) 📗». Author Robert Louis Stevenson
move about, he was now armed, and if he had been at so
much trouble to get rid of me, it was plain that I was
meant to be the victim. What he would do afterwards—
whether he would try to crawl right across the island
from North Inlet to the camp among the swamps or
whether he would fire Long Tom, trusting that his own
comrades might come first to help him—was, of course,
more than I could say.
Yet I felt sure that I could trust him in one point,
since in that our interests jumped together, and that
was in the disposition of the schooner. We both
desired to have her stranded safe enough, in a
sheltered place, and so that, when the time came, she
could be got off again with as little labour and danger
as might be; and until that was done I considered that
my life would certainly be spared.
While I was thus turning the business over in my mind,
I had not been idle with my body. I had stolen back to
the cabin, slipped once more into my shoes, and laid my
hand at random on a bottle of wine, and now, with this
for an excuse, I made my reappearance on the deck.
Hands lay as I had left him, all fallen together in a
bundle and with his eyelids lowered as though he were
too weak to bear the light. He looked up, however, at
my coming, knocked the neck off the bottle like a man
who had done the same thing often, and took a good
swig, with his favourite toast of “Here’s luck!” Then
he lay quiet for a little, and then, pulling out a
stick of tobacco, begged me to cut him a quid.
“Cut me a junk o’ that,” says he, “for I haven’t no
knife and hardly strength enough, so be as I had. Ah,
Jim, Jim, I reckon I’ve missed stays! Cut me a quid,
as’ll likely be the last, lad, for I’m for my long
home, and no mistake.”
“Well,” said I, “I’ll cut you some tobacco, but if I
was you and thought myself so badly, I would go to my
prayers like a Christian man.”
“Why?” said he. “Now, you tell me why.”
“Why?” I cried. “You were asking me just now about the
dead. You’ve broken your trust; you’ve lived in sin
and lies and blood; there’s a man you killed lying at
your feet this moment, and you ask me why! For God’s
mercy, Mr. Hands, that’s why.”
I spoke with a little heat, thinking of the bloody dirk
he had hidden in his pocket and designed, in his ill
thoughts, to end me with. He, for his part, took a
great draught of the wine and spoke with the most
unusual solemnity.
“For thirty years,” he said, “I’ve sailed the seas and
seen good and bad, better and worse, fair weather and
foul, provisions running out, knives going, and what
not. Well, now I tell you, I never seen good come o’
goodness yet. Him as strikes first is my fancy; dead
men don’t bite; them’s my views—amen, so be it. And
now, you look here,” he added, suddenly changing his
tone, “we’ve had about enough of this foolery. The
tide’s made good enough by now. You just take my orders,
Cap’n Hawkins, and we’ll sail slap in and be done with it.”
All told, we had scarce two miles to run; but the
navigation was delicate, the entrance to this northern
anchorage was not only narrow and shoal, but lay east
and west, so that the schooner must be nicely handled
to be got in. I think I was a good, prompt subaltern,
and I am very sure that Hands was an excellent pilot,
for we went about and about and dodged in, shaving the
banks, with a certainty and a neatness that were a
pleasure to behold.
Scarcely had we passed the heads before the land closed
around us. The shores of North Inlet were as thickly
wooded as those of the southern anchorage, but the
space was longer and narrower and more like, what in
truth it was, the estuary of a river. Right before us,
at the southern end, we saw the wreck of a ship in the
last stages of dilapidation. It had been a great
vessel of three masts but had lain so long exposed to
the injuries of the weather that it was hung about with
great webs of dripping seaweed, and on the deck of it
shore bushes had taken root and now flourished thick
with flowers. It was a sad sight, but it showed us
that the anchorage was calm.
“Now,” said Hands, “look there; there’s a pet bit for
to beach a ship in. Fine flat sand, never a cat’s paw,
trees all around of it, and flowers a-blowing like a
garding on that old ship.”
“And once beached,” I inquired, “how shall we get her
off again?”
“Why, so,” he replied: “you take a line ashore there on
the other side at low water, take a turn about one of
them big pines; bring it back, take a turn around the
capstan, and lie to for the tide. Come high water, all
hands take a pull upon the line, and off she comes as
sweet as natur’. And now, boy, you stand by. We’re
near the bit now, and she’s too much way on her.
Starboard a little—so—steady—starboard—larboard a
little—steady—steady!”
So he issued his commands, which I breathlessly obeyed,
till, all of a sudden, he cried, “Now, my hearty,
luff!” And I put the helm hard up, and the
HISPANIOLA swung round rapidly and ran stem on for the
low, wooded shore.
The excitement of these last manoeuvres had somewhat
interfered with the watch I had kept hitherto, sharply
enough, upon the coxswain. Even then I was still so
much interested, waiting for the ship to touch, that I
had quite forgot the peril that hung over my head and
stood craning over the starboard bulwarks and watching
the ripples spreading wide before the bows. I might
have fallen without a struggle for my life had not a
sudden disquietude seized upon me and made me turn my
head. Perhaps I had heard a creak or seen his shadow
moving with the tail of my eye; perhaps it was an
instinct like a cat’s; but, sure enough, when I looked
round, there was Hands, already half-way towards me,
with the dirk in his right hand.
We must both have cried out aloud when our eyes met,
but while mine was the shrill cry of terror, his was a
roar of fury like a charging bully’s. At the same
instant, he threw himself forward and I leapt sideways
towards the bows. As I did so, I let go of the tiller,
which sprang sharp to leeward, and I think this saved
my life, for it struck Hands across the chest and
stopped him, for the moment, dead.
Before he could recover, I was safe out of the corner
where he had me trapped, with all the deck to dodge
about. Just forward of the main-mast I stopped, drew a
pistol from my pocket, took a cool aim, though he had
already turned and was once more coming directly after
me, and drew the trigger. The hammer fell, but there
followed neither flash nor sound; the priming was
useless with sea-water. I cursed myself for my
neglect. Why had not I, long before, reprimed and
reloaded my only weapons? Then I should not have been
as now, a mere fleeing sheep before this butcher.
Wounded as he was, it was wonderful how fast he could
move, his grizzled hair tumbling over his face, and his
face itself as red as a red ensign with his haste and
fury. I had no time to try my other pistol, nor indeed
much inclination, for I was sure it would be useless.
One thing I saw plainly: I must not simply retreat
before him, or he would speedily hold me boxed into the
bows, as a moment since he had so nearly boxed me in
the stern. Once so caught, and nine or ten inches of
the blood-stained dirk would be my last experience on
this side of eternity. I placed my palms against the
main-mast, which was of a goodish bigness, and waited,
every nerve upon the stretch.
Seeing that I meant to dodge, he also paused; and a
moment or two passed in feints on his part and
corresponding movements upon mine. It was such a game
as I had often played at home about the rocks of Black
Hill Cove, but never before, you may be sure, with such
a wildly beating heart as now. Still, as I say, it was
a boy’s game, and I thought I could hold my own at it
against an elderly seaman with a wounded thigh. Indeed
my courage had begun to rise so high that I allowed myself
a few darting thoughts on what would be the end of the
affair, and while I saw certainly that I could spin it
out for long, I saw no hope of any ultimate escape.
Well, while things stood thus, suddenly the HISPANIOLA
struck, staggered, ground for an instant in the sand,
and then, swift as a blow, canted over to the port side
till the deck stood at an angle of forty-five degrees
and about a puncheon of water splashed into the scupper
holes and lay, in a pool, between the deck and bulwark.
We were both of us capsized in a second, and both of us
rolled, almost together, into the scuppers, the dead
red-cap, with his arms still spread out, tumbling
stiffly after us. So near were we, indeed, that my
head came against the coxswain’s foot with a crack that
made my teeth rattle. Blow and all, I was the first
afoot again, for Hands had got involved with the dead
body. The sudden canting of the ship had made the deck
no place for running on; I had to find some new way of
escape, and that upon the instant, for my foe was
almost touching me. Quick as thought, I sprang into
the mizzen shrouds, rattled up hand over hand, and did
not draw a breath till I was seated on the cross-trees.
I had been saved by being prompt; the dirk had struck
not half a foot below me as I pursued my upward flight;
and there stood Israel Hands with his mouth open and
his face upturned to mine, a perfect statue of surprise
and disappointment.
Now that I had a moment to myself, I lost no time in
changing the priming of my pistol, and then, having one
ready for service, and to make assurance doubly sure, I
proceeded to draw the load of the other and recharge it
afresh from the beginning.
My new employment struck Hands all of a heap; he began
to see the dice going against him, and after an obvious
hesitation, he also hauled himself heavily into the
shrouds, and with the dirk in his teeth, began slowly
and painfully to mount. It cost him no end of time and
groans to haul his wounded leg behind him, and I had
quietly finished my arrangements before he was much
more than a third of the way up. Then, with a pistol
in either hand, I addressed him.
“One more step, Mr. Hands,” said I, “and I’ll blow your
brains out! Dead men don’t bite, you know,” I added
with a chuckle.
He stopped instantly. I could see by the working of
his face that
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