Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson (the top 100 crime novels of all time TXT) 📖

all that I required to know. Israel could

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