Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson [web based ebook reader TXT] 📗
- Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Book online «Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson [web based ebook reader TXT] 📗». Author Robert Louis Stevenson
TREASURE ISLAND
PART ONE—The Old Buccaneer
1. The Old Sea-dog at the “Admiral Benbow”
2. Black Dog Appears and Disappears
3. The Black Spot
4. The Sea-chest
5. The Last of the Blind Man
6. The Captain’s Papers
PART TWO—The Sea-cook
7. I Go to Bristol
8. At the Sign of the Spy-glass
9. Powder and Arms
10. The Voyage
11. What I Heard in the Apple Barrel
12. Council of War
PART THREE—My Shore Adventure
13. How My Shore Adventure Began
14. The First Blow
15. The Man of the Island
PART FOUR—The Stockade
16. Narrative Continued by the Doctor: How the Ship Was Abandoned
17. Narrative Continued by the Doctor: The Jolly-boat’s Last Trip
18. Narrative Continued by the Doctor: End of the First Day’s Fighting
19. Narrative Resumed by Jim Hawkins: The Garrison in the Stockade
20. Silver’s Embassy
21. The Attack
PART FIVE—My Sea Adventure
22. How My Sea Adventure Began
23. The Ebb-tide Runs
24. The Cruise of the Coracle
25. I Strike the Jolly Roger
26. Israel Hands
27. “Pieces of Eight”
PART SIX—Captain Silver
28. In the Enemy’s Camp
29. The Black Spot Again
30. On Parole
31. The Treasure-hunt—Flint’s Pointer
32. The Treasure-hunt—The Voice Among the Trees
33. The Fall of a Chieftain
34. And Last
To S.L.O., an American gentleman in accordance with whose classic taste the following narrative has been designed, it is now, in return for numerous delightful hours, and with the kindest wishes, dedicated by his affectionate friend, the author.
1
The Old Sea-dog at the “Admiral Benbow”
QUIRE TRELAWNEY, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, I take up my pen in the year of grace 17__ and go back to the time when my father kept the Admiral Benbow inn and the brown old seaman with the sabre cut first took up his lodging under our roof.
I remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn door, his sea-chest following behind him in a hand-barrow—a tall, strong, heavy, nut-brown man, his tarry pigtail falling over the shoulder of his soiled blue coat, his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails, and the sabre cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid white. I remember him looking round the cove and whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so often afterwards:
“Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest— Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”in the high, old tottering voice that seemed to have been tuned and broken at the capstan bars. Then he rapped on the door with a bit of stick like a handspike that he carried, and when my father appeared, called roughly for a glass of rum. This, when it was brought to him, he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste and still looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard.
“This is a handy cove,” says he at length; “and a pleasant sittyated grog-shop. Much company, mate?”
My father told him no, very little company, the more was the pity.
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