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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Vol. 6
THE WORKS OF
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
SWANSTON EDITION
VOLUME VI
_Of this SWANSTON EDITION in
Twenty-five Volumes of the Works of
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON Two Thousand
and Sixty Copies have been printed,
of which only Two Thousand Copies
are for sale._
_This is No. .........._
[Illustration]
THE WORKS OF
ROBERT LOUIS
STEVENSON
VOLUME SIX
LONDON: PUBLISHED BY CHATTO AND
WINDUS: IN ASSOCIATION WITH CASSELL
AND COMPANY LIMITED: WILLIAM
HEINEMANN: AND LONGMANS GREEN AND
COMPANY MDCCCCXI
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
TREASURE ISLAND
PART I.--THE OLD BUCCANEER
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE OLD SEA-DOG AT THE "ADMIRAL BENBOW" 9
II. BLACK DOG APPEARS AND DISAPPEARS 15
III. THE BLACK SPOT 22
IV. THE SEA CHEST 28
V. THE LAST OF THE BLIND MAN 34
VI. THE CAPTAIN'S PAPERS 40
PART II.--THE SEA-COOK
VII. I GO TO BRISTOL 49
VIII. AT THE SIGN OF THE "SPY-GLASS" 54
IX. POWDER AND ARMS 60
X. THE VOYAGE 66
XI. WHAT I HEARD IN THE APPLE-BARREL 72
XII. COUNCIL OF WAR 79
PART III.--MY SHORE ADVENTURE
XIII. HOW I BEGAN MY SHORE ADVENTURE 87
XIV. THE FIRST BLOW 93
XV. THE MAN OF THE ISLAND 99
PART IV.--THE STOCKADE
XVI. NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY THE DOCTOR--HOW THE SHIP WAS
ABANDONED 109
XVII. NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY THE DOCTOR--THE JOLLY-BOAT'S
LAST TRIP 114
XVIII. NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY THE DOCTOR--END OF THE FIRST
DAY'S FIGHTING 119
XIX. NARRATIVE RESUMED BY JIM HAWKINS--THE GARRISON IN THE
STOCKADE 124
XX. SILVER'S EMBASSY 130
XXI. THE ATTACK 136
PART V.--MY SEA ADVENTURE
XXII. HOW I BEGAN MY SEA ADVENTURE 145
XXIII. THE EBB-TIDE RUNS 151
XXIV. THE CRUISE OF THE CORACLE 156
XXV. I STRIKE THE JOLLY ROGER 162
XXVI. ISRAEL HANDS 167
XXVII. "PIECES OF EIGHT" 176
PART VI.--CAPTAIN SILVER
XXVIII. IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP 185
XXIX. THE BLACK SPOT AGAIN 193
XXX. ON PAROLE 200
XXXI. THE TREASURE HUNT--FLINT'S POINTER 207
XXXII. THE TREASURE HUNT--THE VOICE AMONG THE TREES 214
XXXIII. THE FALL OF A CHIEFTAIN 220
XXXIV. AND LAST 226
WILL O' THE MILL
PAGE
THE PLAIN AND THE STARS 235
THE PARSON'S MARJORY 244
DEATH 256
THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD
CHAPTER
I. BY THE DYING MOUNTEBANK 267
II. MORNING TALK 271
III. THE ADOPTION 278
IV. THE EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER 286
V. TREASURE TROVE 296
VI. A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION, IN TWO PARTS 309
VII. THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ 320
VIII. THE WAGES OF PHILOSOPHY 329
TREASURE ISLAND
TO
LLOYD OSBOURNE
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
_TO THE HESITATING PURCHASER_
_If sailor tales to sailor tunes,
Storm and adventure, heat and cold,
If schooners, islands, and maroons
And Buccaneers and buried Gold,
And all the old romance, retold
Exactly in the ancient way,
Can please, as me they pleased of old,
The wiser youngsters of to-day:_
_--So be it, and fall on! If not,
If studious youth no longer crave,
His ancient appetites forgot,
Kingston, or Ballantyne the brave,
Or Cooper of the wood and wave:
So be it, also! And may I
And all my pirates share the grave
Where these and their creations lie!_
PART I
THE OLD BUCCANEER
TREASURE ISLAND
CHAPTER I
THE OLD SEA-DOG AT THE "ADMIRAL BENBOW"
Squire 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
shoulders 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.
"Well, then," said he, "this is the berth for me.--Here you, matey," he
cried to the man who trundled the barrow; "bring up alongside and help up
my chest. I'll stay here a bit," he continued. "I'm a plain man; rum and
bacon and eggs is what I want, and that head up there for to watch ships
off.--What you mought call me? You mought call me captain. Oh, I see what
you're at--there;" and he threw down three or four gold pieces on the
threshold. "You can tell me when I've worked through that," says he,
looking as fierce as a commander.
And, indeed, bad as his clothes were, and coarsely as he spoke, he had
none of the appearance of a man who sailed before the mast; but seemed
like a mate or skipper, accustomed to be obeyed or to strike. The man who
came with the barrow told us the mail had set him down the morning before
at the "Royal George"; that he had inquired what inns there were along
the coast, and hearing ours well spoken of, I suppose, and described as
lonely, had chosen it from the others for his place of residence. And
that was all we could learn of our guest.
He was a very silent man by custom. All day he hung round the cove, or
upon the cliffs, with a brass telescope; all evening he sat in a corner
of the parlour next the fire, and drank rum and water very strong. Mostly
he would not speak when spoken to; only look up sudden and fierce, and
blow through his nose like a fog-horn; and we and the people who came
about our house soon learned to let him be. Every day, when he came back
from his stroll, he would ask if any seafaring men had gone by along the
road. At first we thought it was the want of company of his own kind that
made him ask this question; but at last we began to see he was desirous
to avoid them. When a seaman put up at the "Admiral Benbow" (as now and
then some did, making by the coast road for Bristol), he would look in at
him through the curtained door before he entered the parlour; and he was
always sure to be as silent as a mouse when any such was present. For me,
at least, there was no secret about the matter; for I was, in a way, a
sharer in his alarms. He had taken me aside one day, and promised me a
silver fourpenny on the first of every month if I would only keep my
"weather-eye open for a seafaring man with one leg," and let him know the
moment he appeared. Often enough, when the first of the month came round,
and I applied to him for my wage, he would only blow through his nose at
me, and stare me down; but before the week was out he was sure to think
better of it, bring me my fourpenny-piece, and repeat his orders to look
out for "the seafaring man with one leg."
How that personage haunted my dreams, I need scarcely tell you. On stormy
nights, when the wind shook the four corners of the house, and the surf
roared along the cove and up the cliffs, I would see him in a thousand
forms, and with a thousand diabolical expressions. Now the leg would be
cut off at the knee, now at the hip; now he was a monstrous kind of a
creature who had never had but the one leg, and that in the middle of his
body. To see him leap and run and pursue me over hedge and ditch was the
worst of nightmares. And altogether I paid pretty dear for my monthly
fourpenny-piece, in the shape of these abominable fancies.
But though I was so terrified by the idea of the seafaring man with one
leg, I was far less afraid of the captain himself than anybody else who
knew him. There were nights when he took a deal more rum and water than
his head would carry; and then he would sometimes sit and sing his wicked
old wild sea-songs, minding nobody; but sometimes he would call for
glasses round, and force all the trembling company to listen to his
stories or bear a chorus to his singing. Often I have heard the house
shaking with "Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum"; all the neighbours joining
in for dear life, with the fear of death upon them, and each singing
louder than the other, to avoid remark. For in these fits he was the most
overriding companion ever known; he would slap his hand on the table, for
silence all round; he would fly up in a passion of anger at a question,
or sometimes because none was put, and so he judged the company was not
following his story. Nor would he allow any one to leave the inn till he
had drunk himself sleepy and reeled off to bed.
His stories were what frightened people worst of all. Dreadful stories
they were; about hanging, and walking the plank, and storms at sea, and
the Dry Tortugas, and wild deeds and places on the Spanish Main. By his
own account he must have lived his life among some of the wickedest men
that God ever allowed upon the sea; and the language in which he told
these stories shocked our plain country people almost as much as the
crimes that he described. My father was always saying the inn would be
ruined, for people would soon cease coming there to be tyrannised over
and put down, and sent shivering to their beds; but I really believe his
presence did us good. People were frightened at the time, but on looking
back they rather liked it; it was a fine excitement in a quiet country
life; and there was even a party of the younger men who pretended to
admire him, calling him a "true sea-dog," and a "real old salt," and
suchlike names, and saying there was the sort of man that made England
terrible at sea.
In one way, indeed, he bade fair to ruin us; for he kept on staying week
after week, and at last month after month, so that all the money had been
long exhausted, and still my father never plucked up the heart to insist
on having more. If ever he mentioned it, the captain blew through his
nose so loudly that you might say he roared, and stared my poor father
out of the room. I have seen him wringing his hands after such a rebuff,
and I am sure the annoyance and the terror he lived in must have greatly
hastened his early and unhappy death.
All the time he lived with us the captain made no change whatever in his
dress but to buy some stockings from a hawker. One of the cocks of his
hat having fallen down, he let it hang from that day forth, though it was
a great annoyance when it blew. I remember the appearance of his coat,
which he patched himself up-stairs in his room, and which, before the
end, was nothing but patches. He never wrote or received a letter, and he
never spoke with any but the neighbours, and with these, for the most
part, only when drunk on rum. The great sea-chest none of us had ever
seen open.
He was only once crossed, and that was towards the end, when my poor
father was far gone in a decline that took him off. Dr. Livesey came late
one afternoon to see the patient, took a bit of dinner from my mother,
and went into the parlour to smoke a pipe until his horse should come
down from the hamlet, for we had no stabling at the old "Benbow." I
followed him in, and I remember observing the contrast the neat, bright
doctor, with his powder as white as snow, and his bright black eyes and
pleasant manners, made with the coltish country folk, and above all, with
that filthy, heavy, bleared scarecrow of a pirate of ours, sitting far
gone in rum, with his arms on the table. Suddenly he--the captain, that
is--began to pipe up his eternal song:--
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest--
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest--
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
At first I had supposed "the dead man's chest" to be that identical big
box of his up-stairs in the front room, and the thought had been mingled
in my nightmares with that of the one-legged seafaring man. But by this
time we had all long ceased to pay any particular notice to the song; it
was new, that night, to nobody but Dr. Livesey, and on him I observed it
did not produce an agreeable effect, for he looked up for a moment quite
angrily before he went on with his talk to old Taylor, the gardener, on a
new cure for the rheumatics. In the meantime, the captain gradually
brightened up at his own music, and at last flapped his hand upon the
table before him in a way we all knew to mean--silence. The voices
stopped at once, all but Dr. Livesey's; he went on as before, speaking
clear and kind, and drawing briskly at his pipe between every word or
two. The captain glared at him for a while, flapped his hand again,
glared still harder, and at last broke out with a villainous, low oath:
"Silence, there, between decks!"
"Were you addressing me, sir?" says the doctor; and when the ruffian had
told him, with another oath, that this was so, "I have only one thing to
say to you, sir," replies the doctor, "that if you keep on drinking rum,
the world will soon be quit of a very dirty scoundrel!"
The old fellow's fury was awful. He sprang to his feet, drew and opened a
sailor's clasp-knife, and, balancing it open on the palm of his hand,
threatened to pin the doctor to the wall.
The doctor never so much as moved. He spoke to him, as before, over his
shoulder, and in the same tone of voice; rather high, so that all the
room might hear, but perfectly calm and steady--
"If you do not put that knife this instant in your pocket, I promise,
upon my honour, you shall hang at next assizes."
Then followed a battle of looks between them; but the captain soon
knuckled under, put up his weapon, and resumed his seat, grumbling like a
beaten dog.
"And now, sir," continued the doctor, "since I now know there's such a
fellow in my district, you may count I'll have an eye upon you day and
night. I'm not a doctor only; I'm a magistrate; and if I catch a breath
of complaint against you, if it's only for a piece of incivility like
to-night's, I'll take effectual means to have you hunted down and routed
out of this. Let that suffice."
Soon after Dr. Livesey's horse came to the door, and he rode away; but
the captain held his peace that evening, and for many evenings to come.
CHAPTER II
BLACK DOG APPEARS AND DISAPPEARS
It was not very long after this that there occurred the first of the
mysterious events that rid us at last of the captain, though not, as you
will see, of his affairs. It was a bitter cold winter, with long, hard
frosts and heavy gales; and it was plain from the first that my poor
father was little likely to see the spring. He sank daily, and my mother
and I had all the inn upon our hands, and were kept busy enough, without
paying much regard to our unpleasant guest.
It was one January morning, very early--a pinching, frosty morning--the
cove all grey with hoar-frost, the ripple lapping softly on the stones,
the sun still low and only touching the hill-tops and shining far to
seaward. The captain had risen earlier than usual, and set out down the
beach, his cutlass swinging under the broad skirts of the old blue coat,
his brass telescope under his arm, his hat tilted back upon his head. I
remember his breath hanging like smoke in his wake as he strode off, and
the last sound I heard of him, as he turned the big rock, was a loud
snort of indignation, as though his mind was still running upon Dr.
Livesey.
Well, mother was up-stairs with father; and I was laying the
breakfast-table against the captain's return, when the parlour door
opened, and a man stepped in on whom I had never set my eyes before. He
was a pale, tallowy creature, wanting two fingers of the left hand; and,
though he wore a cutlass, he did not look much like a fighter. I had
always my eye open for seafaring men, with one leg or two, and I remember
this one puzzled me. He was not sailorly, and yet he had a smack of the
sea about him too.
I asked him what was for his service, and he said he would take rum; but
as I was going out of the room to fetch it he sat down upon a table and
motioned me to draw near. I paused where I was with my napkin in my hand.
"Come here, sonny," says he. "Come nearer here."
I took a step nearer.
"Is this here table for my mate Bill?" he asked, with a kind of leer.
I told him I did not know his mate Bill; and this was for a person who
stayed in our house, whom we called the captain.
"Well," said he, "my mate Bill would be called the captain, as like as
not. He has a cut on one cheek, and a mighty pleasant way with him,
particularly in drink, has my mate Bill. We'll put it, for argument like,
that your captain has a cut on one cheek--and we'll put it, if you like,
that that cheek's the right one. Ah, well! I told you. Now, is my mate
Bill in this here house?"
I told him he was out walking.
"Which way, sonny? Which way is he gone?"
And when I had pointed out the rock, and told him how the captain was
likely to return, and how soon, and answered a few other
questions,--"Ah," said he, "this'll be as good as drink to my mate Bill."
The expression of his face as he said these words was not at all
pleasant, and I had my own reasons for thinking that the stranger was
mistaken, even supposing he meant what he said. But it was no affair of
mine, I thought; and, besides, it was difficult to know what to do. The
stranger kept hanging about just inside the inn door, peering round the
corner like a cat waiting for a mouse. Once I stepped out myself into the
road, but he immediately called me back, and, as I did not obey quick
enough for his fancy, a most horrible change came over his tallowy face,
and he ordered me in, with an oath that made me jump. As soon as I was
back again he returned to his former manner, half-fawning, half-sneering,
patted me on the shoulder, told me I was a good boy, and he had taken
quite a fancy to me. "I have a son of my own," said he, "as like you as
two blocks, and he's all the pride of my 'art. But the great thing for
boys is discipline, sonny--discipline. Now, if you had sailed along of
Bill, you wouldn't have stood there to be spoke to twice--not you. That
was never Bill's way, nor the way of sich as sailed with him.--And here,
sure enough, is my mate Bill, with a spy-glass under his arm, bless his
old 'art, to be sure. You and me'll just go back into the parlour, sonny,
and get behind the door, and we'll give Bill a little surprise--bless his
'art, I say again."
So saying, the stranger backed along with me into the parlour, and put me
behind him in the corner, so that we were both hidden by the open door. I
was very uneasy and alarmed, as you may fancy, and it rather added to my
fears to observe that the stranger was certainly frightened himself. He
cleared the hilt of his cutlass and loosened the blade in the sheath; and
all the time we were waiting there he kept swallowing as if he felt what
we used to call a lump in the throat.
At last in strode the captain, slammed the door behind him, without
looking to the right or left, and marched straight across the room to
where his breakfast awaited him.
"Bill," said the stranger, in a voice that I thought he had tried to make
bold and big.
The captain spun round on his heel and fronted us; all the brown had gone
out of his face, and even his nose was blue; he had the look of a man who
sees a ghost, or the Evil One, or something worse, if anything can be;
and, upon my word, I felt sorry to see him, all in a moment, turn so old
and sick.
"Come, Bill, you know me; you know an old shipmate, Bill, surely," said
the stranger.
The captain gave a sort of gasp.
"Black Dog!" said he.
"And who else?" returned the other, getting more at his ease. "Black Dog
as ever was, come for to see his old shipmate Billy, at the 'Admiral
Benbow' inn. Ah, Bill, Bill, we have seen a sight of times, us two, since
I lost them two talons," holding up his mutilated hand.
"Now, look here," said the captain; "you've run me down; here I am; well,
then, speak up: what is it?"
"That's you, Bill," returned Black Dog, "you're in the right of it,
Billy. I'll have a glass of rum from this dear child here, as I've took
such a liking to; and we'll sit down, if you please, and talk square,
like old shipmates."
When I returned with the rum, they were already seated on either side of
the captain's breakfast-table--Black Dog next to the door, and sitting
sideways, so as to have one eye on his old shipmate, and one, as I
thought, on his retreat.
He bade me go, and leave the door wide open. "None of your keyholes for
me, sonny," he said; and I left them together, and retired into the bar.
For a long time, though I certainly did my best to listen, I could hear
nothing but a low gabbling; but at last the voices began to grow higher,
and I could pick up a word or two, mostly oaths, from the captain.
"No, no, no, no; and an end of it!" he cried once. And again, "If it
comes to swinging, swing all, say I."
Then all of a sudden there was a tremendous explosion of oaths and other
noises--the chair and table went over in a lump, a clash of steel
followed, and then a cry of pain, and the next instant I saw Black Dog in
full flight, and the captain hotly pursuing, both with drawn cutlasses,
and the former streaming blood from the left shoulder. Just at the door
the captain aimed at the fugitive one last tremendous cut, which would
certainly have split him to the chine had it not been intercepted by our
big signboard of Admiral Benbow. You may see the notch on the lower side
of the frame to this day.
That blow was the last of the battle. Once out upon the road, Black Dog,
in spite of his wound, showed a wonderful clean pair of heels, and
disappeared over the edge of the hill in half a minute. The captain, for
his part, stood staring at the signboard like a bewildered man. Then he
passed his hand over his eyes several times, and at last turned back into
the house.
"Jim," says he, "rum;" and as he spoke he reeled a little, and caught
himself with one hand against the wall.
"Are you hurt?" cried I.
"Rum," he repeated. "I must get away from here. Rum! rum!"
I ran to fetch it; but I was quite unsteadied by all that had fallen out,
and I broke one glass and fouled the tap, and while I was still getting
in my own way, I heard a loud fall in the parlour, and, running in,
beheld the captain lying full-length upon the floor. At the same instant
my mother, alarmed by the cries and fighting, came running down-stairs to
help me. Between us we raised his head. He was breathing very loud and
hard; but his eyes were closed, and his face a horrible colour.
"Dear, deary me," cried my mother, "what a disgrace upon the house! And
your poor father sick!"
In the meantime, we had no idea what to do to help the captain, nor any
other thought but that he had got his death-hurt in the scuffle with the
stranger. I got the rum, to be sure, and tried to put it down his throat;
but his teeth were tightly shut, and his jaws as strong as iron. It was a
happy relief for us when the door opened and Doctor Livesey came in, on
his visit to my father.
"Oh, doctor," we cried, "what shall we do? Where is he wounded?"
"Wounded? A fiddle-stick's end!" said the doctor. "No more wounded than
you or I. The man has had a stroke, as I warned him.--Now, Mrs. Hawkins,
just you run up-stairs to your husband, and tell him, if possible,
nothing about it. For my part, I must do my best to save this fellow's
trebly worthless life; and Jim here will get me a basin."
When I got back with the basin, the doctor had already ripped up the
captain's sleeve, and exposed his great sinewy arm. It was tattooed in
several places. "Here's luck," "A fair wind," and "Billy Bones his
fancy," were very neatly and clearly executed on the forearm; and up near
the shoulder there was a sketch of a gallows and a man hanging from
it--done, as I thought, with great spirit.
"Prophetic," said the doctor, touching this picture with his finger. "And
now, Master Billy Bones, if that be your name, we'll have a look at the
colour of your blood.--Jim," he said, "are you afraid of blood?"
"No, sir," said I.
"Well, then," said he, "you hold the basin;" and with that he took his
lancet and opened a vein.
A great deal of blood was taken before the captain opened his eyes and
looked mistily about him. First he recognised the doctor with an
unmistakable frown; then his glance fell upon me, and he looked relieved.
But suddenly his colour changed, and he tried to raise himself, crying--
"Where's Black Dog?"
"There is no Black Dog here," said the doctor, "except what you have on
your own back. You have been drinking rum; you have had a stroke,
precisely as I told you; and I have just, very much against my own will,
dragged you head-foremost out of the grave. Now, Mr. Bones----"
"That's not my name," he interrupted.
"Much I care," returned the doctor. "It's the name of a buccaneer of my
acquaintance, and I call you by it for the sake of shortness, and what I
have to say to you is this: one glass of rum won't kill you, but if you
take one you'll take another and another, and I stake my wig if you don't
break off short, you'll die--do you understand that?--die, and go to your
own place, like the man in the Bible. Come, now, make an effort. I'll
help you to your bed for once."
Between us, with much trouble, we managed to hoist him up-stairs, and
laid him on his bed, where his head fell back on the pillow, as if he
were almost fainting.
"Now, mind you," said the doctor, "I clear my conscience--the name of rum
for you is death."
And with that he went off to see my father, taking me with him by the
arm.
"This is nothing," he said, as soon as he had closed the door. "I have
drawn blood enough to keep him quiet a while; he should lie for a week
where he is--that is the best thing for him and you; but another stroke
would settle him."
CHAPTER III
THE BLACK SPOT
About noon I stopped at the captain's door with some cooling drinks and
medicines. He was lying very much as we had left him, only a little
higher, and he seemed both weak and excited.
"Jim," he said, "you're the only one here that's worth anything; and you
know I've been always good to you. Never a month but I've given you a
silver fourpenny for yourself. And now you see, mate, I'm pretty low, and
deserted by all; and, Jim, you'll bring me one noggin of rum, now, won't
you, matey?"
"The doctor----" I began.
But he broke in cursing the doctor, in a feeble voice, but heartily.
"Doctors is all swabs," he said; "and that doctor there, why, what do he
know about seafaring men? I been in places hot as pitch, and mates
dropping round with Yellow Jack, and the blessed land a-heaving like the
sea with earthquakes--what do the doctor know of lands like that?--and I
lived on rum, I tell you. It's been meat and drink, and man and wife, to
me; and if I'm not to have my rum now I'm a poor old hulk on a lee-shore,
my blood'll be on you, Jim, and that doctor swab;" and he ran on again
for a while with curses. "Look, Jim, how my fingers fidges," he
continued, in the pleading tone. "I can't keep 'em still, not I. I
haven't had a drop this blessed day. That doctor's a fool, I tell you. If
I don't have a drain o' rum, Jim, I'll have the horrors; I seen some on
'em already. I seen old Flint in the corner there, behind you; as plain
as print, I seen him; and if I get the horrors, I'm a man that has lived
rough, and I'll raise Cain. Your doctor hisself said one glass wouldn't
hurt me. I'll give you a golden guinea for a noggin, Jim."
He was growing more and more excited, and this alarmed me for my father,
who was very low that day, and needed quiet; besides, I was re-assured by
the doctor's words, now quoted to me, and rather offended by the offer of
a bribe.
"I want none of your money," said I, "but what you owe my father. I'll
get you one glass and no more."
When I brought it to him, he seized it greedily, and drank it out.
"Ay, ay," said he, "that's some better, sure enough. And now, matey, did
that doctor say how long I was to lie here in this old berth?"
"A week at least," said I.
"Thunder!" he cried. "A week! I can't do that: they'd have the black spot
on me by then. The lubbers is going about to get the wind of me this
blessed moment; lubbers as couldn't keep what they got, and want to nail
what is another's. Is that seamanly behaviour, now, I want to know? But
I'm a saving soul. I never wasted good money of mine; nor lost it
neither; and I'll trick 'em again. I'm not afraid on 'em. I'll shake out
another reef, matey, and daddle 'em again."
As he was thus speaking, he had risen from bed with great difficulty,
holding to my shoulder with a grip that almost made me cry out, and
moving his legs like so much dead weight. His words, spirited as they
were in meaning, contrasted sadly with the weakness of the voice in which
they were uttered. He paused when he had got into a sitting position on
the edge.
"That doctor's done me," he murmured. "My ears is singing. Lay me back."
Before I could do much to help him he had fallen back again to his former
place, where he lay for a while silent.
"Jim," he said, at length, "you saw that seafaring man to-day?"
"Black Dog?" I asked.
"Ah! Black Dog," says he. "_He's_ a bad 'un; but there's worse that put
him on. Now, if I can't get away nohow, and they tip me the black spot,
mind you, it's my old sea-chest they're after; you get on a horse--you
can, can't you? Well, then, you get on a horse, and go to--well, yes, I
will!--to that eternal doctor swab, and tell him to pipe all
hands--magistrates and sich--and he'll lay 'em aboard at the 'Admiral
Benbow'--all old Flint's crew, man and boy, all on 'em that's left. I was
first mate, I was--old Flint's first mate, and I'm the only one as knows
the place. He gave it me to Savannah, when he lay a-dying, like as if I
was to now, you see. But you won't peach unless they get the black spot
on me, or unless you see that Black Dog again, or a seafaring man with
one leg, Jim--him above all."
"But what is the black spot, captain?" I asked.
"That's a summons, mate. I'll tell you if they get that. But you keep
your weather-eye open, Jim, and I'll share with you equals, upon my
honour."
He wandered a little longer, his voice growing weaker; but soon after I
had given him his medicine, which he took like a child, with the remark,
"If ever a seaman wanted drugs, it's me," he fell at last into a heavy,
swoon-like sleep, in which I left him. What I should have done had all
gone well I do not know. Probably I should have told the whole story to
the doctor; for I was in mortal fear lest the captain should repent of
his confessions and make an end of me. But as things fell out, my poor
father died quite suddenly that evening, which put all other matters on
one side. Our natural distress, the visits of the neighbours, the
arranging of the funeral, and all the work of the inn to be carried on in
the meanwhile, kept me so busy that I had scarcely time to think of the
captain, far less to be afraid of him.
He got down-stairs next morning, to be sure, and had his meals as usual,
though he ate little, and had more, I am afraid, than his usual supply of
rum, for he helped himself out of the bar, scowling and blowing through
his nose, and no one dared to cross him. On the night before the funeral
he was as drunk as ever; and it was shocking, in that house of mourning,
to hear him singing away at his ugly old sea-song; but, weak as he was,
we were all in fear of death for him, and the doctor was suddenly taken
up with a case many miles away, and was never near the house after my
father's death. I have said the captain was weak; and indeed he seemed
rather to grow weaker than regain his strength. He clambered up- and
down-stairs, and went from the parlour to the bar and back again, and
sometimes put his nose out of doors to smell the sea, holding on to the
walls as he went for support, and breathing hard and fast like a man on a
steep mountain. He never particularly addressed me, and it is my belief
he had as good as forgotten his confidences; but his temper was more
flighty, and, allowing for his bodily weakness, more violent than ever.
He had an alarming way now when he was drunk of drawing his cutlass and
laying it bare before him on the table. But, with all that, he minded
people less, and seemed shut up in his own thoughts and rather wandering.
Once, for instance, to our extreme wonder, he piped up to a different
air, a kind of country love-song, that he must have learned in his youth
before he had begun to follow the sea.
So things passed until, the day after the funeral, and about three
o'clock of a bitter, foggy, frosty afternoon, I was standing at the door
for a moment, full of sad thoughts about my father, when I saw some one
drawing slowly near along the road. He was plainly blind, for he tapped
before him with a stick, and wore a great green shade over his eyes and
nose; and he was hunched, as if with age or weakness, and wore a huge old
tattered sea-cloak with a hood, that made him appear positively deformed.
I never saw in my life a more dreadful-looking figure. He stopped a
little from the inn, and, raising his voice in an odd sing-song,
addressed the air in front of him:--
"Will any kind friend inform a blind man, who has lost the precious sight
of his eyes in the gracious defence of his native country, England, and
God bless King George!--where or in what part of this country he may now
be?"
"You are at the 'Admiral Benbow,' Black Hill Cove, my good man," said I.
"I hear a voice," said he--"a young voice. Will you give me your hand, my
kind young friend, and lead me in?"
I held out my hand, and the horrible, soft-spoken, eyeless creature
gripped it in a moment like a vice. I was so much startled that I
struggled to withdraw; but the blind man pulled me close up to him with a
single action of his arm.
"Now, boy," he said, "take me in to the captain."
"Sir," said I, "upon my word I dare not."
"Oh," he sneered, "that's it! Take me in straight, or I'll break your
arm."
And he gave it, as he spoke, a wrench that made me cry out.
"Sir," said I, "it is for yourself I mean. The captain is not what he
used to be. He sits with a drawn cutlass. Another gentleman----"
"Come, now, march," interrupted he; and I never heard a voice so cruel,
and cold, and ugly as that blind man's. It cowed me more than the pain;
and I began to obey him at once, walking straight in at the door and
towards the parlour, where our sick old buccaneer was sitting, dazed with
rum. The blind man clung close to me, holding me in one iron fist, and
leaning almost more of his weight on me than I could carry. "Lead me
straight up to him, and when I'm in view, cry out, 'Here's a friend for
you, Bill.' If you don't, I'll do this;" and with that he gave me a
twitch that I thought would have made me faint. Between this and that, I
was so utterly terrified of the blind beggar that I forgot my terror of
the captain, and as I opened the parlour door, cried out the words he had
ordered in a trembling voice.
The poor captain raised his eyes, and at one look the rum went out of
him, and left him staring sober. The expression of his face was not so
much of terror as of mortal sickness. He made a movement to rise, but I
do not believe he had enough force left in his body.
"Now, Bill, sit where you are," said the beggar. "If I can't see, I can
hear a finger stirring. Business is business. Hold out your left
hand.--Boy, take his left hand by the wrist, and bring it near to my
right."
We both obeyed him to the letter, and I saw him pass something from the
hollow of the hand that held his stick into the palm of the captain's,
which closed upon it instantly.
"And now that's done," said the blind man; and at the words he suddenly
left hold of me, and, with incredible accuracy and nimbleness, skipped
out of the parlour and into the road, where, as I still stood motionless,
I could hear his stick go tap-tap-tapping into the distance.
It was some time before either I or the captain seemed to gather our
senses; but at length, and about at the same moment, I released his
wrist, which I was still holding, and he drew in his hand and looked
sharply into the palm.
"Ten o'clock!" he cried. "Six hours. We'll do them yet;" and he sprang to
his feet.
Even as he did so, he reeled, put his hand to his throat, stood swaying
for a moment, and then, with a peculiar sound, fell from his whole height
face-foremost to the floor.
I ran to him at once, calling to my mother. But haste was all in vain.
The captain had been struck dead by thundering apoplexy. It is a curious
thing to understand, for I had certainly never liked the man, though of
late I had begun to pity him, but as soon as I saw that he was dead I
burst into a flood of tears. It was the second death I had known, and the
sorrow of the first was still fresh in my heart.
CHAPTER IV
THE SEA CHEST
I lost no time, of course, in telling my mother all that I knew, and
perhaps should have told her long before, and we saw ourselves at once in
a difficult and dangerous position. Some of the man's money--if he had
any--was certainly due to us; but it was not likely that our captain's
shipmates, above all the two specimens seen by me, Black Dog and the
blind beggar, would be inclined to give up their booty in payment of the
dead man's debts. The captain's order to mount at once and ride for
Doctor Livesey would have left my mother alone and unprotected, which was
not to be thought of. Indeed, it seemed impossible for either of us to
remain much longer in the house: the fall of coals in the kitchen-grate,
the very ticking of the clock, filled us with alarms. The neighbourhood,
to our ears, seemed haunted by approaching footsteps; and what between
the dead body of the captain on the parlour floor, and the thought of
that detestable blind beggar hovering near at hand, and ready to return,
there were moments when, as the saying goes, I jumped in my skin for
terror. Something must speedily be resolved upon; and it occurred to us
at last to go forth together and seek help in the neighbouring hamlet. No
sooner said than done. Bare-headed as we were, we ran out at once in the
gathering evening and the frosty fog.
The hamlet lay not many hundred yards away, though out of view, on the
other side of the next cove; and what greatly encouraged me, it was in an
opposite direction from that whence the blind man had made his
appearance, and whither he had presumably returned. We were not many
minutes on the road, though we sometimes stopped to lay hold of each
other and hearken. But there was no unusual sound--nothing but the low
wash of the ripple and the croaking of the crows in the wood.
It was already candle-light when we reached the hamlet, and I shall never
forget how much I was cheered to see the yellow shine in doors and
windows; but that, as it proved, was the best of the help we were likely
to get in that quarter. For--you would have thought men would have been
ashamed of themselves--no soul would consent to return with us to the
"Admiral Benbow." The more we told of our troubles, the more--man, woman,
and child--they clung to the shelter of their houses. The name of Captain
Flint, though it was strange to me, was well enough known to some there,
and carried a great weight of terror. Some of the men who had been to
field-work on the far side of the "Admiral Benbow" remembered, besides,
to have seen several strangers on the road, and, taking them to be
smugglers, to have bolted away; and one at least had seen a little lugger
in what we called Kitt's Hole. For that matter, any one who was a comrade
of the captain's was enough to frighten them to death. And the short and
the long of the matter was, that while we could get several who were
willing enough to ride to Dr. Livesey's, which lay in another direction,
not one would help us to defend the inn.
They say cowardice is infectious; but then argument is, on the other
hand, a great emboldener; and so when each had said his say, my mother
made them a speech. She would not, she declared, lose money that belonged
to her fatherless boy; "if none of the rest of you dare," she said, "Jim
and I dare. Back we will go, the way we came, and small thanks to you
big, hulking, chicken-hearted men. We'll have that chest open, if we die
for it. And I'll thank you for that bag, Mrs. Crossley, to bring back our
lawful money in."
Of course, I said I would go with my mother; and of course they all cried
out at our foolhardiness; but even then not a man would go along with
us. All they would do was to give me a loaded pistol, lest we were
attacked; and to promise to have horses ready saddled, in case we were
pursued on our return; while one lad was to ride forward to the doctor's
in search of armed assistance.
My heart was beating finely when we two set forth in the cold night upon
this dangerous venture. A full moon was beginning to rise, and peered
redly through the upper edges of the fog, and this increased our haste,
for it was plain, before we came forth again, that all would be as bright
as day, and our departure exposed to the eyes of any watchers. We slipped
along the hedges, noiseless and swift, nor did we see or hear anything to
increase our terrors, till, to our huge relief, the door of the "Admiral
Benbow" had closed behind us.
I slipped the bolt at once, and we stood and panted for a moment in the
dark, alone in the house with the dead captain's body. Then my mother got
a candle in the bar, and, holding each other's hands, we advanced into
the parlour. He lay as we had left him, on his back, with his eyes open,
and one arm stretched out.
"Draw down the blind, Jim," whispered my mother; "they might come and
watch outside. And now," said she, when I had done so, "we have to get
the key off _that_; and who's to touch it, I should like to know!" and
she gave a kind of sob as she said the words.
I went down on my knees at once. On the floor close to his hand there was
a little round of paper, blackened on the one side. I could not doubt
that this was the _black spot_; and taking it up, I found written on the
other side, in a very good, clear hand, this short message: "You have
till ten to-night."
"He had till ten, mother," said I; and just as I said it our old clock
began striking. This sudden noise startled us shockingly; but the news
was good, for it was only six.
"Now, Jim," she said, "that key."
I felt in his pockets, one after another. A few small coins, a thimble,
and some thread and big needles, a piece of pigtail tobacco bitten away
at the end, his gully with the crooked handle, a pocket compass, and a
tinder-box, were all that they contained, and I began to despair.
"Perhaps it's round his neck," suggested my mother.
Overcoming a strong repugnance, I tore open his shirt at the neck, and
there, sure enough, hanging to a bit of tarry string, which I cut with
his own gully, we found the key. At this triumph we were filled with
hope, and hurried upstairs, without delay, to the little room where he
had slept so long, and where his box had stood since the day of his
arrival.
It was like any other seaman's chest on the outside, the initial "B."
burned on the top of it with a hot iron, and the corners somewhat smashed
and broken as by long, rough usage.
"Give me the key," said my mother; and though the lock was very stiff,
she had turned it and thrown back the lid in a twinkling.
A strong smell of tobacco and tar rose from the interior, but nothing was
to be seen on the top except a suit of very good clothes, carefully
brushed and folded. They had never been worn, my mother said. Under that,
the miscellany began--a quadrant, a tin cannikin, several sticks of
tobacco, two brace of very handsome pistols, a piece of bar silver, an
old Spanish watch and some other trinkets of little value and mostly of
foreign make, a pair of compasses mounted with brass, and five or six
curious West Indian shells. It has often set me thinking since that he
should have carried about these shells with him in his wandering, guilty,
and hunted life.
In the meantime, we had found nothing of any value but the silver and the
trinkets, and neither of these were in our way. Underneath there was an
old boat-cloak, whitened with sea-salt on many a harbour-bar. My mother
pulled it up with impatience, and there lay before us, the last things in
the chest, a bundle tied up in oilcloth, and looking like papers, and a
canvas bag, that gave forth, at a touch, the jingle of gold.
"I'll show these rogues that I'm an honest woman," said my mother. "I'll
have my dues, and not a farthing over. Hold Mrs. Crossley's bag." And she
began to count over the amount of the captain's score from the sailor's
bag into the one that I was holding.
It was a long, difficult business, for the coins were of all countries
and sizes--doubloons, and louis-d'ors, and guineas, and pieces of eight,
and I know not what besides, all shaken together at random. The guineas,
too, were about the scarcest, and it was with these only that my mother
knew how to make her count.
When we were about half-way through I suddenly put my hand upon her arm;
for I had heard in the silent, frosty air, a sound that brought my heart
into my mouth--the tap-tapping of the blind man's stick upon the frozen
road. It drew nearer and nearer, while we sat holding our breath. Then it
struck sharp on the inn-door, and then we could hear the handle being
turned, and the bolt rattling as the wretched being tried to enter; and
then there was a long time of silence both within and without. At last
the tapping recommenced, and, to our indescribable joy and gratitude,
died slowly away again until it ceased to be heard.
"Mother," said I, "take the whole and let's be going;" for I was sure the
bolted door must have seemed suspicious, and would bring the whole
hornets' nest about our ears; though how thankful I was that I had bolted
it, none could tell who had never met that terrible blind man.
But my mother, frightened as she was, would not consent to take a
fraction more than was due to her, and was obstinately unwilling to be
content with less. It was not yet seven, she said, by a long way; she
knew her rights and she would have them; and she was still arguing with
me, when a little low whistle sounded a good way off upon the hill. That
was enough, and more than enough, for both of us.
"I'll take what I have," she said, jumping to her feet.
"And I'll take this to square the count," said I, picking up the oilskin
packet.
Next moment we were both groping down-stairs, leaving the candle by the
empty chest; and the next we had opened the door and were in full
retreat. We had not started a moment too soon. The fog was rapidly
dispersing; already the moon shone quite clear on the high ground on
either side; and it was only in the exact bottom of the dell and round
the tavern-door that a thin veil still hung unbroken to conceal the first
steps of our escape. Far less than half-way to the hamlet, very little
beyond the bottom of the hill, we must come forth into the moonlight. Nor
was this all, for the sound of several footsteps running came already to
our ears, and as we looked back in their direction, a light tossing to
and fro, and still rapidly advancing, showed that one of the new-comers
carried a lantern.
"My dear," said my mother suddenly, "take the money and run on. I am
going to faint."
This was certainly the end for both of us, I thought. How I cursed the
cowardice of the neighbours; how I blamed my poor mother for her honesty
and her greed, for her past foolhardiness and present weakness! We were
just at the little bridge, by good fortune; and I helped her, tottering
as she was, to the edge of the bank, where, sure enough, she gave a sigh
and fell on my shoulder. I do not know how I found the strength to do it
at all, and I am afraid it was roughly done; but I managed to drag her
down the bank and a little way under the arch. Farther I could not move
her, for the bridge was too low to let me do more than crawl below it. So
there we had to stay--my mother almost entirely exposed, and both of us
within earshot of the inn.
CHAPTER V
THE LAST OF THE BLIND MAN
My curiosity, in a sense, was stronger than my fear; for I could not
remain where I was, but crept back to the bank again, whence, sheltering
my head behind a bush of broom, I might command the road before our door.
I was scarcely in position ere my enemies began to arrive, seven or eight
of them, running hard, their feet beating out of time along the road, and
the man with the lantern some paces in front. Three men ran together,
hand in hand; and I made out, even through the mist, that the middle man
of this trio was the blind beggar. The next moment his voice showed me
that I was right.
"Down with the door!" he cried.
"Ay, ay, sir!" answered two or three; and a rush was made upon the
"Admiral Benbow," the lantern-bearer following; and then I could see them
pause, and hear speeches passed in a lower key, as if they were surprised
to find the door open. But the pause was brief, for the blind man again
issued his commands. His voice sounded louder and higher, as if he were
afire with eagerness and rage.
"In, in, in!" he shouted, and cursed them for their delay.
Four or five of them obeyed at once, two remaining on the road with the
formidable beggar. There was a pause, then a cry of surprise, and then a
voice shouting from the house----
"Bill's dead!"
But the blind man swore at them again for their delay.
"Search him, some of you shirking lubbers, and the rest of you aloft and
get the chest," he cried.
I could hear their feet rattling up our old stairs, so that the house
must have shook with it. Promptly afterwards, fresh sounds of
astonishment arose; the window of the captain's room was thrown open with
a slam and a jingle of broken glass; and a man leaned out into the
moonlight, head and shoulders, and addressed the blind beggar on the road
below him.
"Pew," he cried, "they've been before us. Someone's turned the chest out
alow and aloft."
"Is it there?" roared Pew.
"The money's there."
The blind man cursed the money.
"Flint's fist, I mean," he cried.
"We don't see it here nohow," returned the man.
"Here, you below there, is it on Bill?" cried the blind man again.
At that, another fellow, probably him who had remained below to search
the captain's body, came to the door of the inn. "Bill's been overhauled
a'ready," said he; "nothin' left."
"It's these people of the inn--it's that boy. I wish I had put his eyes
out!" cried the blind man, Pew. "They were here no time ago--they had the
door bolted when I tried it. Scatter, lads, and find 'em."
"Sure enough, they left their glim here," said the fellow from the
window.
"Scatter and find 'em! Rout the house out!" reiterated Pew, striking with
his stick upon the road.
Then there followed a great to-do through all our old inn, heavy feet
pounding to and fro, furniture thrown over, doors kicked in, until the
very rocks re-echoed, and the men came out again, one after another, on
the road, and declared that we were nowhere to be found. And just then
the same whistle that had alarmed my mother and myself over the dead
captain's money was once more clearly audible through the night, but this
time twice repeated. I had thought it to be the blind man's trumpet, so
to speak, summoning his crew to the assault; but I now found that it was
a signal from the hillside towards the hamlet, and, from its effect upon
the buccaneers, a signal to warn them of approaching danger.
"There's Dirk again," said one. "Twice! We'll have to budge, mates."
"Budge, you skulk!" cried Pew. "Dirk was a fool and a coward from the
first--you wouldn't mind him. They must be close by; they can't be far;
you have your hands on it. Scatter and look for them, dogs. Oh, shiver my
soul," he cried, "if I had eyes!"
This appeal seemed to produce some effect, for two of the fellows began
to look here and there among the lumber, but half-heartedly, I thought,
and with half an eye to their own danger all the time, while the rest
stood irresolute on the road.
"You have your hands on thousands, you fools, and you hang a leg! You'd
be as rich as kings if you could find it, and you know it's here, and you
stand there malingering. There wasn't one of you dared face Bill, and I
did it--a blind man! And I'm to lose my chance for you! I'm to be a poor,
crawling beggar, sponging for rum, when I might be rolling in a coach! If
you had the pluck of a weevil in a biscuit you would catch them still."
"Hang it, Pew, we've got the doubloons!" grumbled one.
"They might have hid the blessed thing," said another. "Take the Georges,
Pew, and don't stand here squalling."
Squalling was the word for it, Pew's anger rose so high at these
objections; till at last, his passion completely taking the upper hand,
he struck at them right and left in his blindness, and his stick sounded
heavily on more than one.
These, in their turn, cursed back at the blind miscreant, threatened him
in horrid terms, and tried in vain to catch the stick and wrest it from
his grasp.
This quarrel was the saving of us; for while it was still raging,
another sound came from the top of the hill on the side of the
hamlet--the tramp of horses galloping. Almost at the same time a
pistol-shot, flash and report, came from the hedge-side. And that was
plainly the last signal of danger; for the buccaneers turned at once and
ran, separating in every direction, one seaward along the cove, one slant
across the hill, and so on, so that in half a minute not a sign of them
remained but Pew. Him they had deserted, whether in sheer panic, or out
of revenge for his ill words and blows, I know not; but there he remained
behind, tapping up and down the road in a frenzy, and groping and calling
for his comrades. Finally he took the wrong turn, and ran a few steps
past me, towards the hamlet, crying--
"Johnny, Black Dog, Dirk," and other names, "you won't leave old Pew,
mates--not old Pew!"
Just then the noise of horses topped the rise, and four or five riders
came in sight in the moonlight, and swept at full gallop down the slope.
At this Pew saw his error, turned with a scream, and ran straight for the
ditch, into which he rolled. But he was on his feet again in a second,
and made another dash, now utterly bewildered, right under the nearest of
the coming horses.
The rider tried to save him, but in vain. Down went Pew with a cry that
rang high into the night; and the four hoofs trampled and spurned him and
passed by. He fell on his side, then gently collapsed upon his face, and
moved no more.
I leapt to my feet and hailed the riders. They were pulling up, at any
rate, horrified at the accident; and I soon saw what they were. One,
tailing out behind the rest, was a lad that had gone from the hamlet to
Dr. Livesey's; the rest were revenue officers, whom he had met by the
way, and with whom he had had the intelligence to return at once. Some
news of the lugger in Kitt's Hole had found its way to Supervisor Dance,
and set him forth that night in our direction, and to that circumstance
my mother and I owed our preservation from death.
Pew was dead, stone dead. As for my mother, when we had carried her up to
the hamlet, a little cold water and salts and that soon brought her back
again, and she was none the worse for her terror, though she still
continued to deplore the balance of the money. In the meantime, the
supervisor rode on, as fast as he could, to Kitt's Hole; but his men had
to dismount and grope down the dingle, leading, and sometimes supporting,
their horses, and in continual fear of ambushes; so it was no great
matter for surprise that when they got down to the Hole the lugger was
already under way, though still close in. He hailed her. A voice replied,
telling him to keep out of the moonlight, or he would get some lead in
him, and at the same time a bullet whistled close by his arm. Soon after,
the lugger doubled the point and disappeared. Mr. Dance stood there, as
he said, "like a fish out of water," and all he could do was to despatch
a man to B---- to warn the cutter. "And that," said he, "is just about as
good as nothing. They've got off clean, and there's an end. Only," he
added, "I'm glad I trod on Master Pew's corns;" for by this time he had
heard my story.
I went back with him to the "Admiral Benbow," and you cannot imagine a
house in such a state of smash; the very clock had been thrown down by
these fellows in their furious hunt after my mother and myself, and
though nothing had been actually taken away except the captain's
money-bag and a little silver from the till, I could see at once that we
were ruined. Mr. Dance could make nothing of the scene.
"They got the money, you say? Well, then, Hawkins, what in fortune were
they after; more money, I suppose?"
"No, sir; not money, I think," replied I. "In fact, sir, I believe I have
the thing in my breast-pocket; and, to tell you the truth, I should like
to get it put in safety."
"To be sure, boy; quite right," said he. "I'll take it, if you like."
"I thought, perhaps, Dr. Livesey----" I began.
"Perfectly right," he interrupted, very cheerily, "perfectly right--a
gentleman and a magistrate. And, now I come to think of it, I might as
well ride round there myself and report to him or squire. Master Pew's
dead, when all's done; not that I regret it, but he's dead, you see, and
people will make it out against an officer of His Majesty's revenue, if
make it out they can. Now, I'll tell you, Hawkins: if you like, I'll take
you along."
I thanked him heartily for the offer, and we walked back to the hamlet
where the horses were. By the time I had told mother of my purpose they
were all in the saddle.
"Dogger," said Mr. Dance, "you have a good horse; take up this lad behind
you."
As soon as I was mounted, holding on to Dogger's belt, the supervisor
gave the word, and the party struck out at a bouncing trot on the road to
Dr. Livesey's house.
CHAPTER VI
THE CAPTAIN'S PAPERS
We rode hard all the way, till we drew up before Dr. Livesey's door. The
house was all dark to the front.
Mr. Dance told me to jump down and knock, and Dogger gave me a stirrup to
descend by. The door was opened almost at once by the maid.
"Is Dr. Livesey in?" I asked.
No, she said; he had come home in the afternoon, but had gone up to the
Hall to dine and pass the evening with the squire.
"So there we go, boys," said Mr. Dance.
This time, as the distance was short, I did not mount, but ran with
Dogger's stirrup-leather to the lodge gates, and up the long, leafless,
moonlit avenue to where the white line of the Hall buildings looked on
either hand on great old gardens. Here Mr. Dance dismounted, and, taking
me along with him, was admitted at a word into the house.
The servant led us down a matted passage, and showed us at the end into a
great library, all lined with book-cases and busts upon the top of them,
where the squire and Dr. Livesey sat, pipe in hand, on either side of a
bright fire.
I had never seen the squire so near at hand. He was a tall man, over six
feet high, and broad in proportion, and he had a bluff, rough-and-ready
face, all roughened and reddened and lined in his long travels. His
eyebrows were very black, and moved readily, and this gave him a look of
some temper--not bad, you would say, but quick and high.
"Come in, Mr. Dance," says he, very stately and condescending.
"Good-evening, Dance," says the doctor, with a nod. "And good-evening to
you, friend Jim. What good wind brings you here?"
The supervisor stood up straight and stiff, and told his story like a
lesson; and you should have seen how the two gentlemen leaned forward and
looked at each other, and forgot to smoke in their surprise and interest.
When they heard how my mother went back to the inn, Dr. Livesey fairly
slapped his thigh, and the squire cried, "Bravo!" and broke his long pipe
against the grate. Long before it was done, Mr. Trelawney (that, you will
remember, was the squire's name) had got up from his seat, and was
striding about the room, and the doctor, as if to hear the better, had
taken off his powdered wig, and sat there, looking very strange indeed
with his own close-cropped black poll.
At last Mr. Dance finished the story.
"Mr. Dance," said the squire, "you are a very noble fellow. And as for
riding down that black, atrocious miscreant, I regard it as an act of
virtue, sir, like stamping on a cockroach. This lad Hawkins is a trump, I
perceive.--Hawkins, will you ring that bell? Mr. Dance must have some
ale."
"And so, Jim," said the doctor, "you have the thing that they were after,
have you?"
"Here it is, sir," said I, and gave him the oilskin packet.
The doctor looked it all over, as if his fingers were itching to open it;
but, instead of doing that, he put it quietly in the pocket of his coat.
"Squire," said he, "when Dance has had his ale he must, of course, be off
on His Majesty's service; but I mean to keep Jim Hawkins here to sleep at
my house, and, with your permission, I propose we should have up the cold
pie, and let him sup."
"As you will, Livesey," said the squire; "Hawkins has earned better than
cold pie."
So a big pigeon-pie was brought in and put on a side-table, and I made a
hearty supper, for I was as hungry as a hawk, while Mr. Dance was
further complimented and at last dismissed.
"And now, squire," said the doctor.
"And now, Livesey," said the squire, in the same breath.
"One at a time, one at a time," laughed Dr. Livesey.--"You have heard of
this Flint, I suppose?"
"Heard of him!" cried the squire. "Heard of him, you say! He was the
bloodthirstiest buccaneer that sailed. Blackbeard was a child to Flint.
The Spaniards were so prodigiously afraid of him, that I tell you, sir, I
was sometimes proud he was an Englishman. I've seen his top-sails with
these eyes, off Trinidad, and the cowardly son of a rum-puncheon that I
sailed with put back--put back, sir, into Port-of-Spain."
"Well, I've heard of him myself, in England," said the doctor. "But the
point is, had he money?"
"Money!" cried the squire. "Have you heard the story? What were these
villains after but money? What do they care for but money? For what would
they risk their rascal carcases but money?"
"That we shall soon know," replied the doctor. "But you are so
confoundedly hot-headed and exclamatory that I cannot get a word in. What
I want to know is this: Supposing that I have here in my pocket some clue
to where Flint buried his treasure, will that treasure amount to much?"
"Amount, sir!" cried the squire. "It will amount to this: if we have the
clue you talk about, I fit out a ship in Bristol dock, and take you and
Hawkins here along, and I'll have that treasure if I search a year."
"Very well," said the doctor. "Now, then, if Jim is agreeable, we'll open
the packet;" and he laid it before him on the table.
The bundle was sewn together, and the doctor had to get out his
instrument-case, and cut the stitches with his medical scissors. It
contained two things--a book and a sealed paper.
"First of all we'll try the book," observed the doctor.
The squire and I were both peering over his shoulder as he opened it, for
Dr. Livesey had kindly motioned me to come round from the side-table,
where I had been eating, to enjoy the sport of the search. On the first
page there were only some scraps of writing, such as a man with a pen in
his hand might make for idleness or practice. One was the same as the
tattoo-mark, "Billy Bones his fancy;" then there was "Mr. W. Bones,
mate." "No more rum." "Off Palm Key he got itt;" and some other snatches,
mostly single words and unintelligible. I could not help wondering who it
was that had "got itt," and what "itt" was that he got. A knife in his
back as like as not.
"Not much instruction there," said Dr. Livesey, as he passed on.
The next ten or twelve pages were filled with a curious series of
entries. There was a date at one end of the line and at the other a sum
of money, as in common account-books; but instead of explanatory writing,
only a varying number of crosses between the two. On the 12th of June,
1745, for instance, a sum of seventy pounds had plainly become due to
some one, and there was nothing but six crosses to explain the cause. In
a few cases, to be sure, the name of a place would be added, as "Offe
Caraccas;" or a mere entry of latitude and longitude, as "62° 17' 20",
19° 2' 40"."
The record lasted over nearly twenty years, the amount of the separate
entries growing larger as time went on, and at the end a grand total had
been made out after five or six wrong additions, and these words
appended, "Bones his pile."
"I can't make head or tail of this," said Dr. Livesey. "The thing is as
clear as noonday," cried the squire. "This is the black-hearted hound's
account-book. These crosses stand for the names of ships or towns that
they sank or plundered. The sums are the scoundrel's share, and where he
feared an ambiguity, you see he added something clearer. 'Offe
Caraccas,' now; you see, here was some unhappy vessel boarded off that
coast. God help the poor souls that manned her--coral long ago."
"Right!" said the doctor. "See what it is to be a traveller. Right! And
the amounts increase, you see, as he rose in rank."
There was little else in the volume but a few bearings of places noted in
the blank leaves towards the end, and a table for reducing French,
English, and Spanish moneys to a common value.
"Thrifty man!" cried the doctor. "He wasn't the one to be cheated."
"And now," said the squire, "for the other."
The paper had been sealed in several places with a thimble by way of
seal; the very thimble, perhaps, that I had found in the captain's
pocket. The doctor opened the seals with great care, and there fell out
the map of an island, with latitude and longitude, soundings, names of
hills, and bays and inlets, and every particular that would be needed to
bring a ship to a safe anchorage upon its shores. It was about nine miles
long and five across, shaped, you might say, like a fat dragon standing
up, and had two fine land-locked harbours, and a hill in the centre part
marked "The Spy-glass." There were several additions of a later date;
but, above all, three crosses of red ink--two on the north part of the
island, one in the south-west, and, beside this last, in the same red
ink, and in a small, neat hand, very different from the captain's tottery
characters, these words: "Bulk of treasure here."
Over on the back the same hand had written this further information:--
"Tall tree, Spy-glass shoulder, bearing a point to the N. of N.N.E.
"Skeleton Island E.S.E. and by E.
"Ten feet.
"The bar silver is in the north cache; you can find it by the trend
of the east hummock, ten fathoms south of the black crag with the
face on it.
"The arms are easy found, in the sand hill, N. point of north inlet
cape, bearing E. and a quarter N. J. F."
That was all; but brief as it was, and, to me, incomprehensible, it
filled the squire and Dr. Livesey with delight.
"Livesey," said the squire, "you will give up this wretched practice at
once. To-morrow I start for Bristol. In three weeks' time--three
weeks!--two weeks--ten days--we'll have the best ship, sir, and the
choicest crew in England. Hawkins shall come as cabin-boy. You'll make a
famous cabin-boy, Hawkins. You, Livesey, are ship's doctor; I am admiral.
We'll take Redruth, Joyce, and Hunter. We'll have favourable winds, a
quick passage, and not the least difficulty in finding the spot, and
money to eat--to roll in--to play duck-and-drake with ever after."
"Trelawney," said the doctor, "I'll go with you; and, I'll go bail for
it, so will Jim, and be a credit to the undertaking. There's only one man
I'm afraid of."
"And who's that?" cried the squire. "Name the dog, sir!"
"You," replied the doctor; "for you cannot hold your tongue. We are not
the only men who know of this paper. These fellows who attacked the inn
to-night--bold, desperate blades, for sure--and the rest who stayed
aboard that lugger, and more, I dare say, not far off, are, one and all,
through thick and thin, bound that they'll get that money. We must none
of us go alone till we get to sea. Jim and I shall stick together in the
meanwhile; you'll take Joyce and Hunter when you ride to Bristol, and,
from first to last, not one of us must breathe a word of what we've
found."
"Livesey," returned the squire, "you are always in the right of it. I'll
be as silent as the grave."
PART II
THE SEA-COOK
CHAPTER VII
I GO TO BRISTOL
It was longer than the squire imagined ere we were ready for the sea, and
none of our first plans--not even Dr. Livesey's, of keeping me beside
him--could be carried out as we intended. The doctor had to go to London
for a physician to take charge of his practice; the squire was hard at
work at Bristol; and I lived on at the Hall under the charge of old
Redruth, the gamekeeper, almost a prisoner, but full of sea-dreams and
the most charming anticipations of 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 every one 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 attempt 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.
"I am in the most magnificent health and spirits, eating like a bull,
sleeping like a tree, yet I shall not enjoy a moment till I hear my
old tarpaulins tramping round the capstan. Seaward ho! Hang the
treasure! It's the glory of the sea that has turned my head. So now,
Livesey, come post; do not lose an hour if you respect me.
"Let young Hawkins go at once to see his mother, with Redruth for a
guard; and then both come full speed to Bristol.
"JOHN TRELAWNEY.
"_Postscript._--I did not tell you that Blandly, who, by the way, is
to send a consort after us if we don't turn up by the end of August,
had found an admirable fellow for sailing master--a stiff man, which
I regret, but, in all other respects, a treasure. Long John Silver
unearthed a very competent man for a mate, a man named Arrow. I have
a boatswain who pipes, Livesey; so things shall go man-o'-war fashion
on board the good ship _Hispaniola_.
"I forgot to tell you that Silver is a man of substance; I know of my
own knowledge that he has a banker's account, which has never been
overdrawn. He leaves his wife to manage the inn; and as she is a
woman of colour, a pair of old bachelors like you and I may be
excused for guessing that it is the wife, quite as much as the
health, that sends him back to roving. J. T.
"_P.P.S._--Hawkins may stay one night with his mother.
"J. T."
You can fancy the excitement into which that letter put me. I was half
beside myself with glee; and if ever I despised a man, it was old Tom
Redruth, who could do nothing but grumble and lament. Any of the
under-gamekeepers would gladly have changed places with him; but such was
not the squire's pleasure, and the squire's pleasure was like law among
them all. Nobody but old Redruth would have dared so much as even to
grumble.
The next morning he and I set out on foot for the "Admiral Benbow," and
there I found my mother in good health and spirits. The captain, who had
so long been a cause of so much discomfort, was gone where the wicked
cease from troubling. The squire had had everything repaired, and the
public rooms and the sign repainted, and had added some furniture--above
all, a beautiful arm-chair for mother in the bar. He had found her a boy
as an apprentice also, so that she should not want help while I was
gone.
It was on seeing that boy that I understood, for the first time, my
situation. I had thought, up to that moment, of the adventures before me,
not at all of the home that I was leaving; and now, at sight of this
clumsy stranger, who was to stay here in my place beside my mother, I had
my first attack of tears. I am afraid I led that boy a dog's life; for as
he was new to the work I had a hundred opportunities of setting him right
and putting him down, and I was not slow to profit by them.
The night passed, and the next day, after dinner, Redruth and I were
afoot again, and on the road. I said good-bye to mother and the cove
where I had lived since I was born, and the dear old "Admiral
Benbow"--since he was repainted, no longer quite so dear. One of my last
thoughts was of the captain, who had so often strode along the beach with
his cocked hat, his sabre-cut cheek, and his old brass telescope. Next
moment we had turned the corner, and my home was out of sight.
The mail picked us up about dusk at the "Royal George" on the heath. I
was wedged in between Redruth and a stout old gentleman, and in spite of
the swift motion and the cold night-air, I must have dozed a great deal
from the very first, and then slept like a log up hill and down dale
through stage after stage; for when I was awakened, at last, it was by a
punch in the ribs, and I opened my eyes, to find that we were standing
still before a large building in a city street, and that the day had
already broken a long time.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Bristol," said Tom. "Get down."
Mr. Trelawney had taken up his residence at an inn far down the docks, to
superintend the work upon the schooner. Thither we had now to walk, and
our way, to my great delight, lay along the quays and beside the great
multitude of ships of all sizes and rigs and nations. In one, sailors
were singing at their work; in another, there were men aloft, high over
my head, hanging to threads that seemed no thicker than a spider's.
Though I had lived by the shore all my life, I seemed never to have been
near the sea till then. The smell of tar and salt was something new. I
saw the most wonderful figureheads, that had all been far over the ocean.
I saw, besides, many old sailors, with rings in their ears, and whiskers
curled in ringlets, and tarry pigtails, and their swaggering, clumsy
sea-walk; and if I had seen as many kings or archbishops I could not have
been more delighted.
And I was going to sea myself; to sea in a schooner, with a piping
boatswain, and pig-tailed singing seamen; to sea, bound for an unknown
island, and to seek for buried treasures!
While I was still in this delightful dream, we came suddenly in front of
a large inn, and met Squire Trelawney, all dressed out like a
sea-officer, in stout blue cloth, coming out of the door with a smile on
his face and a capital imitation of a sailor's walk.
"Here you are," he cried, "and the doctor came last night from London.
Bravo! the ship's company complete!"
"Oh, sir," cried I, "when do we sail?"
"Sail!" says he. "We sail to-morrow!"
CHAPTER VIII
AT THE SIGN OF THE "SPY-GLASS"
When I had done breakfasting the squire gave me a note addressed to John
Silver, at the sign of the "Spy-glass," and told me I should easily find
the place by following the line of the docks, and keeping a bright
look-out for a little tavern with a large brass telescope for sign. I set
off, overjoyed at this opportunity to see some more of the ships and
seamen, and picked my way among a great crowd of people and carts and
bales, for the dock was now at its busiest, until I found the tavern in
question.
It was a bright enough little place of entertainment. The sign was newly
painted; the windows had neat red curtains; the floor was cleanly sanded.
There was a street on either side, and an open door on both, which made
the large, low room pretty clear to see in, in spite of clouds of
tobacco-smoke.
The customers were mostly seafaring men; and they talked so loudly that I
hung at the door, almost afraid to enter.
As I was waiting, a man came out of a side room, and, at a glance, I was
sure he must be Long John. His left leg was cut off close by the hip, and
under the left shoulder he carried a crutch, which he managed with
wonderful dexterity, hopping about upon it like a bird. He was very tall
and strong, with a face as big as a ham--plain and pale, but intelligent
and smiling. Indeed, he seemed in the most cheerful spirits, whistling as
he moved about among the tables, with a merry word or a slap on the
shoulder for the more favoured of his guests.
Now, to tell you the truth, from the very first mention of Long John in
Squire Trelawney's letter, I had taken a fear in my mind that he might
prove to be the very one-legged sailor whom I had watched for so long at
the old "Benbow." But one look at the man before me was enough. I had
seen the captain, and Black Dog, and the blind man Pew, and I thought I
knew what a buccaneer was like--a very different creature, according to
me, from this clean and pleasant-tempered landlord.
I plucked up courage at once, crossed the threshold, and walked right up
to the man where he stood, propped on his crutch, talking to a customer.
"Mr. Silver, sir?" I asked, holding out the note.
"Yes, my lad," said he; "such is my name, to be sure. And who may you
be?" And then, as he saw the squire's letter, he seemed to me to give
something almost like a start.
"Oh!" said he, quite loud, and offering his hand, "I see. You are our new
cabin-boy; pleased I am to see you."
And he took my hand in his large firm grasp.
Just then one of the customers at the far side rose suddenly and made for
the door. It was close by him, and he was out in the street in a moment.
But his hurry had attracted my notice, and I recognised him at a glance.
It was the tallow-faced man, wanting two fingers, who had come first to
the "Admiral Benbow."
"Oh," I cried, "stop him! it's Black Dog!"
"I don't care two coppers who he is," cried Silver. "But he hasn't paid
his score.--Harry, run and catch him."
One of the others who was nearest the door leaped up, and started in
pursuit.
"If he were Admiral Hawke he shall pay his score," cried Silver; and
then, relinquishing my hand--"Who did you say he was?" he asked. "Black
what?"
"Dog, sir," said I. "Has Mr. Trelawney not told you of the buccaneers? He
was one of them."
"So?" cried Silver. "In my house!--Ben, run and help Harry. One of those
swabs, was he? Was that you drinking with him, Morgan? Step up here."
The man whom he called Morgan--an old, grey-haired, mahogany-faced
sailor--came forward pretty sheepishly, rolling his quid.
"Now, Morgan," said Long John, very sternly; "you never clapped your eyes
on that Black--Black Dog before, did you, now?"
"Not I, sir," said Morgan, with a salute.
"You didn't know his name, did you?"
"No, sir."
"By the powers, Tom Morgan, it's as good for you!" exclaimed the
landlord. "If you had been mixed up with the like of that, you would
never have put another foot in my house, you may lay to that. And what
was he saying to you?"
"I don't rightly know, sir," answered Morgan.
"Do you call that a head on your shoulders, or a blessed dead-eye?" cried
Long John. "Don't rightly know, don't you! Perhaps you don't happen to
rightly know who you was speaking to, perhaps? Come now, what was he
jawing--v'yages, cap'ns, ships? Pipe up! What was it?"
"We was a-talkin' of keel-hauling," answered Morgan.
"Keel-hauling, was you? and a mighty suitable thing, too, and you may lay
to that. Get back to your place for a lubber, Tom."
And then, as Morgan rolled back to his seat, Silver added to me in a
confidential whisper, that was very flattering, as I thought:--
"He's quite an honest man, Tom Morgan, on'y stupid. And now," he ran on
again, aloud, "let's see--Black Dog? No, I don't know the name, not I.
Yet I kind of think I've--yes, I've seen the swab. He used to come here
with a blind beggar, he used."
"That he did, you may be sure," said I. "I knew that blind man, too. His
name was Pew."
"It was!" cried Silver, now quite excited. "Pew! That were his name for
certain. Ah, he looked a shark, he did! If we run down this Black Dog,
now, there'll be news for Cap'n Trelawney! Ben's a good runner; few
seamen run better than Ben. He should run him down, hand over hand, by
the powers! He talked o' keel-hauling, did he? _I'll_ keel-haul him!"
All the time he was jerking out these phrases he was stumping up and down
the tavern on his crutch, slapping tables with his hand, and giving such
a show of excitement as would have convinced an Old Bailey judge or a Bow
Street runner. My suspicions had been thoroughly reawakened on finding
Black Dog at the "Spy-glass," and I watched the cook narrowly. But he was
too deep, and too ready, and too clever for me, and by the time the two
men had come back out of breath, and confessed that they had lost the
track in a crowd, and been scolded like thieves, I would have gone bail
for the innocence of Long John Silver.
"See here, now, Hawkins," said he, "here's a blessed hard thing on a man
like me, now, ain't it? There's Cap'n Trelawney--what's he to think? Here
I have this confounded son of a Dutchman sitting in my own house,
drinking of my own rum! Here you comes and tells me of it plain; and here
I let him give us all the slip before my blessed dead-lights! Now,
Hawkins, you do me justice with the cap'n. You're a lad, you are, but
you're as smart as paint. I see that when you first came in. Now, here it
is: What could I do, with this old timber I hobble on? When I was an A B
master mariner I'd have come up alongside of him, hand over hand, and
broached him to in a brace of old shakes, I would; but now----"
And then, all of a sudden, he stopped, and his jaw dropped as though he
had remembered something.
"The score!" he burst out. "Three goes o' rum! Why, shiver my timbers,
if I hadn't forgotten my score!"
And, falling on a bench, he laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks.
I could not help joining; and we laughed together, peal after peal, until
the tavern rang again.
"Why, what a precious old sea-calf I am!" he said at last, wiping his
cheeks. "You and me should get on well, Hawkins, for I'll take my davy I
should be rated ship's boy. But come now, stand by to go about. This
won't do. Dooty is dooty, messmates. I'll put on my old cocked hat, and
step along of you to Cap'n Trelawney, and report this here affair. For,
mind you, it's serious, young Hawkins; and neither you nor me's come out
of it with what I should make so bold as to call credit. Nor you neither,
says you; not smart--none of the pair of us smart. But, dash my buttons!
that was a good 'un about my score."
And he began to laugh again, and that so heartily, that though I did not
see the joke as he did, I was again obliged to join him in his mirth.
On our little walk along the quays, he made himself the most interesting
companion, telling me about the different ships that we passed by, their
rig, tonnage, and nationality, explaining the work that was going
forward--how one was discharging, another taking in cargo, and a third
making ready for sea; and every now and then telling me some little
anecdote of ships or seamen, or repeating a nautical phrase till I had
learned it perfectly. I began to see that here was one of the best of
possible shipmates.
When we got to the inn, the squire and Dr. Livesey were seated together,
finishing a quart of ale with a toast in it, before they should go aboard
the schooner on a visit of inspection.
Long John told the story from first to last, with a great deal of spirit
and the most perfect truth. "That was how it were, now, weren't it,
Hawkins?" he would say, now and again, and I could always bear him
entirely out.
The two gentlemen regretted that Black Dog had got away; but we all
agreed there was nothing to be done, and after he had been complimented,
Long John took up his crutch and departed.
"All hands aboard by four this afternoon," shouted the squire after him.
"Ay, ay, sir," cried the cook, in the passage.
"Well, squire," said Dr. Livesey, "I don't put much faith in your
discoveries as a general thing; but I will say this, John Silver suits
me."
"The man's a perfect trump," declared the squire.
"And now," added the doctor, "Jim may come on board with us, may he not?"
"To be sure he may," says squire.--"Take your hat, Hawkins, and we'll see
the ship."
CHAPTER IX
POWDER AND ARMS
The _Hispaniola_ lay some way out, and we went under the figureheads and
round the sterns of many other ships, and their cables sometimes grated
underneath our keel, and sometimes swung above us. At last, however, we
got alongside, and were met and saluted as we stepped aboard by the mate,
Mr. Arrow, a brown old sailor, with earrings in his ears and a squint. He
and the squire were very thick and friendly, but I soon observed that
things were not the same between Mr. Trelawney and the captain.
This last was a sharp-looking man, who seemed angry with everything on
board, and was soon to tell us why, for we had hardly got down into the
cabin when a sailor followed us.
"Captain Smollett, sir, axing to speak with you," said he.
"I am always at the captain's orders. Show him in," said the squire.
The captain, who was close behind his messenger, entered at once, and
shut the door behind him.
"Well, Captain Smollett, what have you to say? All well, I hope; all
shipshape and seaworthy?"
"Well, sir," said the captain, "better speak plain, I believe, even at
the risk of offence. I don't like this cruise; I don't like the men; and
I don't like my officer. That's short and sweet."
"Perhaps, sir, you don't like the ship?" inquired the squire, very angry,
as I could see.
"I can't speak as to that, sir, not having seen her tried," said the
captain. "She seems a clever craft; more I can't say."
"Possibly, sir, you may not like your employer, either?" says the squire.
But here Dr. Livesey cut in.
"Stay a bit," said he, "stay a bit. No use of such questions as that but
to produce ill-feeling. The captain has said too much or he has said too
little, and I'm bound to say that I require an explanation of his words.
You don't, you say, like this cruise. Now, why?"
"I was engaged, sir, on what we call sealed orders, to sail this ship for
that gentleman where he should bid me," said the captain. "So far so
good. But now I find that every man before the mast knows more than I do.
I don't call that fair, now--do you?"
"No," said Dr. Livesey, "I don't."
"Next," said the captain, "I learn we are going after treasure--hear it
from my own hands, mind you. Now, treasure is ticklish work; I don't like
treasure-voyages on any account; and I don't like them, above all, when
they are secret, and when (begging your pardon, Mr. Trelawney) the secret
has been told to the parrot."
"Silver's parrot?" asked the squire.
"It's a way of speaking," said the captain. "Blabbed, I mean. It's my
belief neither of you gentlemen know what you are about; but I'll tell
you my way of it--life or death, and a close run."
"That is all clear, and, I daresay, true enough," replied Dr. Livesey.
"We take the risk; but we are not so ignorant as you believe us.--Next,
you say you don't like the crew. Are they not good seamen?"
"I don't like them, sir," returned Captain Smollett. "And I think I
should have had the choosing of my own hands, if you go to that."
"Perhaps you should," replied the doctor. "My friend should perhaps have
taken you along with him; but the slight, if there be one, was
unintentional.--And you don't like Mr. Arrow?"
"I don't, sir. I believe he's a good seaman; but he's too free with the
crew to be a good officer. A mate should keep himself to
himself--shouldn't drink with the men before the mast!"
"Do you mean he drinks?" cried the squire.
"No, sir," replied the captain; "only that he's too familiar."
"Well, now, and the short and long of it, captain?" asked the doctor.
"Tell us what you want."
"Well, gentlemen, are you determined to go on this cruise?"
"Like iron," answered the squire.
"Very good," said the captain. "Then, as you've heard me very patiently,
saying things that I could not prove, hear me a few words more. They are
putting the powder and the arms in the fore hold. Now, you have a good
place under the cabin; why not put them there?--first point. Then you are
bringing four of your own people with you, and they tell me some of them
are to be berthed forward. Why not give them the berths here beside the
cabin?--second point."
"Any more?" asked Mr. Trelawney.
"One more," said the captain. "There's been too much blabbing already."
"Far too much," agreed the doctor.
"I'll tell you what I've heard myself," continued Captain Smollett: "that
you have a map of an island; that there's crosses on the map to show
where treasure is; and that the island lies----" And then he named the
latitude and longitude exactly.
"I never told that," cried the squire, "to a soul!"
"The hands know it, sir," returned the captain.
"Livesey, that must have been you or Hawkins," cried the squire.
"It doesn't much matter who it was," replied the doctor. And I could see
that neither he nor the captain paid much regard to Mr. Trelawney's
protestations. Neither did I, to be sure, he was so loose a talker; yet
in this case I believe he was really right, and that nobody had told the
situation of the island.
"Well, gentlemen," continued the captain, "I don't know who has this map;
but I make it a point, it shall be kept secret even from me and Mr.
Arrow. Otherwise I would ask you to let me resign."
"I see," said the doctor. "You wish us to keep this matter dark, and to
make a garrison of the stern part of the ship, manned with my friend's
own people, and provided with all the arms and powder on board. In other
words, you fear a mutiny."
"Sir," said Captain Smollett, "with no intention to take offence, I deny
your right to put words into my mouth. No captain, sir, would be
justified in going to sea at all if he had ground enough to say that. As
for Mr. Arrow, I believe him thoroughly honest; some of the men are the
same; all may be for what I know. But I am responsible for the ship's
safety and the life of every man-Jack aboard of her. I see things going,
as I think, not quite right. And I ask you to take certain precautions,
or let me resign my berth. And that's all."
"Captain Smollett," began the doctor, with a smile, "did ever you hear
the fable of the mountain and the mouse? You'll excuse me, I daresay, but
you remind me of that fable. When you came in here I'll stake my wig you
meant more than this."
"Doctor," said the captain, "you are smart. When I came in here I meant
to get discharged. I had no thought that Mr. Trelawney would hear a
word."
"No more I would," cried the squire. "Had Livesey not been here, I should
have seen you to the deuce. As it is, I have heard you. I will do as you
desire; but I think the worse of you."
"That's as you please, sir," said the captain. "You'll find I do my
duty."
And with that he took his leave.
"Trelawney," said the doctor, "contrary to all my notions, I believe you
have managed to get two honest men on board with you--that man and John
Silver."
"Silver, if you like," cried the squire; "but as for that intolerable
humbug, I declare I think his conduct unmanly, unsailorly, and downright
un-English."
"Well," says the doctor, "we shall see."
When we came on deck, the men had begun already to take out the arms and
powder, yo-ho-ing at their work, while the captain and Mr. Arrow stood by
superintending.
The new arrangement was quite to my liking. The whole schooner had been
overhauled; six berths had been made astern, out of what had been the
after-part of the main hold; and this set of cabins was only joined to
the galley and forecastle by a sparred passage on the port side. It had
been originally meant that the captain, Mr. Arrow, Hunter, Joyce, the
doctor, and the squire, were to occupy these six berths. Now, Redruth and
I were to get two of them, and Mr. Arrow and the captain were to sleep on
deck in the companion, which had been enlarged on each side till you
might almost have called it a round-house. Very low it was still, of
course; but there was room to swing two hammocks, and even the mate
seemed pleased with the arrangement. Even he, perhaps, had been doubtful
as to the crew, but that is only guess; for, as you shall hear, we had
not long the benefit of his opinion.
We were all hard at work, changing the powder and the berths, when the
last man or two, and Long John along with them, came off in a shore-boat.
The cook came up the side like a monkey for cleverness, and, as soon as
he saw what was doing, "So ho, mates!" says he, "what's this?"
"We're a-changing of the powder, Jack," answers one.
"Why, by the powers," cried Long John, "if we do, we'll miss the morning
tide!"
"My orders!" said the captain shortly. "You may go below, my man. Hands
will want supper."
"Ay, ay, sir," answered the cook; and, touching his forelock, he
disappeared at once in the direction of the galley.
"That's a good man, captain," said the doctor.
"Very likely, sir," replied Captain Smollett.--"Easy with that,
men--easy," he ran on, to the fellows who were shifting the powder; and
then suddenly observing me examining the swivel we carried amidships, a
long brass nine--"Here, you ship's boy," he cried, "out o' that! Off with
you to the cook and get some work."
And then as I was hurrying off, I heard him say, quite loudly, to the
doctor--
"I'll have no favourites on my ship."
I assure you I was quite of the squire's way of thinking, and hated the
captain deeply.
CHAPTER X
THE VOYAGE
All the night we were in a great bustle getting things stowed in their
place, and boatfuls of the squire's friends, Mr. Blandly and the like,
coming off to wish him a good voyage and a safe return. We never had a
night at the "Admiral Benbow" when I had half the work; and I was
dog-tired when, a little before dawn, the boatswain sounded his pipe, and
the crew began to man the capstan-bars. I might have been twice as weary,
yet I would not have left the deck; all was so new and interesting to
me--the brief commands, the shrill note of the whistle, the men bustling
to their places in the glimmer of the ship's lanterns.
"Now, Barbecue, tip us a stave," cried one voice.
"The old one," cried another.
"Ay, ay, mates," said Long John, who was standing by, with his crutch
under his arm, and at once broke out in the air and words I knew so
well--
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest"--
and then the whole crew bore chorus--
"Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
And at the third "ho!" drove the bars before them with a will.
Even at that exciting moment it carried me back to the old "Admiral
Benbow" in a second; and I seemed to hear the voice of the captain piping
in the chorus. But soon the anchor was short up; soon it was hanging
dripping at the bows; soon the sails began to draw, and the land and
shipping to flit by on either side; and before I could lie down to snatch
an hour of slumber the _Hispaniola_ had begun her voyage to the Isle of
Treasure.
I am not going to relate that voyage in detail. It was fairly prosperous.
The ship proved to be a good ship, the crew were capable seamen, and the
captain thoroughly understood his business. But before we came the length
of Treasure Island two or three things had happened which require to be
known.
Mr. Arrow, first of all, turned out even worse than the captain had
feared. He had no command among the men, and people did what they pleased
with him. But that was by no means the worst of it; for, after a day or
two at sea he began to appear on deck with hazy eye, red cheeks,
stuttering tongue, and other marks of drunkenness. Time after time he was
ordered below in disgrace. Sometimes he fell and cut himself; sometimes
he lay all day long in his little bunk at one side of the companion;
sometimes for a day or two he would be almost sober, and attend to his
work at least passably.
In the meantime we could never make out where he got the drink. That was
the ship's mystery. Watch him as we pleased, we could do nothing to solve
it; and when we asked him to his face, he would only laugh, if he were
drunk, and if he were sober, deny solemnly that he ever tasted anything
but water.
He was not only useless as an officer, and a bad influence amongst the
men, but it was plain that at this rate he must soon kill himself
outright; so nobody was much surprised, nor very sorry, when one dark
night, with a head sea, he disappeared entirely and was seen no more.
"Overboard!" said the captain. "Well, gentlemen, that saves the trouble
of putting him in irons."
But there we were, without a mate; and it was necessary, of course, to
advance one of the men. The boatswain, Job Anderson, was the likeliest
man aboard, and, though he kept his old title, he served in a way as
mate. Mr. Trelawney had followed the sea, and his knowledge made him
very useful, for he often took a watch himself in easy weather. And the
coxswain, Israel Hands, was a careful, wily, old, experienced seaman, who
could be trusted at a pinch with almost anything.
He was a great confidant of Long John Silver, and so the mention of his
name leads me on to speak of our ship's cook, Barbecue, as the men called
him.
Aboard-ship he carried his crutch by a lanyard round his neck, to have
both hands as free as possible. It was something to see him wedge the
foot of the crutch against a bulkhead, and, propped against it, yielding
to every movement of the ship, get on with his cooking like some one safe
ashore. Still more strange was it to see him in the heaviest of weather
cross the deck. He had a line or two rigged up to help him across the
widest spaces--Long John's earrings they were called; and he would hand
himself from one place to another, now using the crutch, now trailing it
alongside by the lanyard, as quickly as another man could walk. Yet some
of the men who had sailed with him before expressed their pity to see him
so reduced.
"He's no common man, Barbecue," said the coxswain to me. "He had good
schooling in his young days, and can speak like a book when so minded;
and brave--a lion's nothing alongside of Long John! I seen him grapple
four, and knock their heads together--him unarmed."
All the crew respected, and even obeyed him. He had a way of talking to
each, and doing everybody some particular service. To me he was
unweariedly kind; and always glad to see me in the galley, which he kept
as clean as a new pin; the dishes hanging up burnished, and his parrot in
a cage in one corner.
"Come away, Hawkins," he would say; "come and have a yarn with John.
Nobody more welcome than yourself, my son. Sit you down and hear the
news. Here's Cap'n Flint--I calls my parrot Cap'n Flint, after the
famous buccaneer--here's Cap'n Flint predicting success to our
v'yage.--Wasn't you, cap'n?"
And the parrot would say, with great rapidity, "Pieces of eight! pieces
of eight! pieces of eight!" till you wondered that it was not out of
breath, or till John threw his handkerchief over the cage.
"Now, that bird," he would say, "is, maybe, two hundred years old,
Hawkins--they lives for ever mostly; and if anybody's seen more
wickedness, it must be the devil himself. She's sailed with England, the
great Cap'n England, the pirate. She's been at Madagascar, and at
Malabar, and Surinam, and Providence, and Portobello. She was at the
fishing up of the wrecked plate ships. It's there she learned 'Pieces of
eight,' and little wonder; three hundred and fifty thousand of 'em,
Hawkins! She was at the boarding of the Viceroy of the Indies out of Goa,
she was; and to look at her you would think she was a babby. But you
smelt powder--didn't you, cap'n?"
"Stand by to go about," the parrot would scream.
"Ah, she's a handsome craft, she is," the cook would say, and give her
sugar from his pocket, and then the bird would peck at the bars and swear
straight on, passing belief for wickedness. "There," John would add, "you
can't touch pitch and not be mucked, lad. Here's this poor old innocent
bird o' mine swearing blue fire, and none the wiser, you may lay to that.
She would swear the same, in a manner of speaking, before chaplain." And
John would touch his forelock with a solemn way he had, that made me
think he was the best of men.
In the meantime the squire and Captain Smollett were still on pretty
distant terms with one another. The squire made no bones about the
matter; he despised the captain. The captain, on his part, never spoke
but when he was spoken to, and then sharp and short and dry, and not a
word wasted. He owned, when driven into a corner, that he seemed to have
been wrong about the crew, that some of them were as brisk as he wanted
to see, and all had behaved fairly well. As for the ship, he had taken a
downright fancy to her. "She'll lie a point nearer the wind than a man
has a right to expect of his own married wife, sir. But," he would add,
"all I say is we're not home again, and I don't like the cruise."
The squire, at this, would turn away and march up and down the deck, chin
in air.
"A trifle more of that man," he would say, "and I should explode."
We had some heavy weather, which only proved the qualities of the
_Hispaniola_. Every man on board seemed well content, and they must have
been hard to please if they had been otherwise; for it is my belief that
there was never a ship's company so spoiled since Noah put to sea. Double
grog was going on the least excuse; there was duff on odd days, as, for
instance, if the squire heard it was any man's birthday, and always a
barrel of apples standing broached in the waist, for any one to help
himself that had a fancy.
"Never knew good come of it yet," the captain said to Dr. Livesey. "Spoil
foc's'le hands, make devils. That's my belief."
But good did come of the apple-barrel, as you shall hear; for if it had
not been for that we should have had no note of warning, and might all
have perished by the hand of treachery.
This was how it came about.
We had ran up the trades to get the wind of the island we were after--I
am not allowed to be more plain,--and now we were running down for it
with a bright look-out day and night. It was about the last day of our
outward voyage, by the largest computation; some time that night, or, at
latest, before noon of the morrow, we should sight the Treasure Island.
We were heading S.S.W., and had a steady breeze abeam and a quiet sea.
The _Hispaniola_ rolled steadily, dipping her bowsprit now and then with
a whiff of spray. All was drawing alow and aloft; every one was in the
bravest spirits, because we were now so near an end of the first part of
our adventure.
Now, just after sundown, when all my work was over, and I was on my way
to my berth, it occurred to me that I should like an apple. I ran on
deck. The watch was all forward looking out for the island. The man at
the helm was watching the luff of the sail, and whistling away gently to
himself; and that was the only sound excepting the swish of the sea
against the bows and around the sides of the ship.
In I got bodily into the apple-barrel, and found there was scarce an
apple left; but, sitting down there in the dark, what with the sound of
the waters and the rocking movement of the ship, I had either fallen
asleep, or was on the point of doing so, when a heavy man sat down with
rather a clash close by. The barrel shook as he leaned his shoulders
against it, and I was just about to jump up when the man began to speak.
It was Silver's voice, and, before I had heard a dozen words, I would not
have shown myself for all the world, but lay there, trembling and
listening, in the extreme of fear and curiosity; for from these dozen
words I understood that the lives of all the honest men aboard depended
upon me alone.
CHAPTER XI
WHAT I HEARD IN THE APPLE-BARREL
"No, not I," said Silver. "Flint was cap'n; I was quartermaster, along of
my timber leg. The same broadside I lost my leg old Pew lost his
dead-lights. It was a master surgeon, him that ampytated me--out of
college and all--Latin by the bucket, and what not; but he was hanged
like a dog, and sun-dried like the rest, at Corso Castle. That was
Roberts' men, that was, and comed of changing names to their
ships--_Royal Fortune_ and so on. Now, what a ship was christened, so let
her stay, I say. So it was with the _Cassandra_, as brought us all safe
home from Malabar, after England took the Viceroy of the Indies; so it
was with the old _Walrus_, Flint's old ship, as I've seen a-muck with the
red blood and fit to sink with gold."
"Ah!" cried another voice, that of the youngest hand on board, and
evidently full of admiration, "he was the flower of the flock, was
Flint!"
"Davis was a man, too, by all accounts," said Silver. "I never sailed
along of him; first with England, then with Flint, that's my story; and
now here on my own account, in a manner of speaking. I laid by nine
hundred safe, from England, and two thousand after Flint. That ain't bad
for a man before the mast--all safe in bank. 'Tain't earning now, it's
saving does it, you may lay to that. Where's all England's men now? I
dunno. Where's Flint's? Why, most on 'em aboard here, and glad to get the
duff--been begging before that, some on 'em. Old Pew, as had lost his
sight, and might have thought shame, spends twelve hundred pound in a
year, like a lord in Parliament. Where is he now? Well, he's dead now
and under hatches; but for two year before that, shiver my timbers! the
man was starving. He begged, and he stole, and he cut throats, and
starved at that, by the powers!"
"Well, it ain't much use, after all," said the young seaman.
"'Tain't much use for fools, you may lay to it--that, nor nothing," cried
Silver. "But now, you look here: you're young, you are, but you're as
smart as paint. I see that when I set my eyes on you, and I'll talk to
you like a man."
You may imagine how I felt when I heard this abominable old rogue
addressing another in the very same words of flattery as he had used to
myself. I think, if I had been able, that I would have killed him through
the barrel. Meantime he ran on, little supposing he was overheard.
"Here it is about gentlemen of fortune. They lives rough, and they risk
swinging, but they eat and drink like fighting cocks, and when a cruise
is done, why, it's hundreds of pounds instead of hundreds of farthings in
their pockets. Now, the most goes for rum and a good fling, and to sea
again in their shirts. But that's not the course I lay. I puts it all
away, some here, some there, and none too much anywheres, by reason of
suspicion. I'm fifty, mark you; once back from this cruise, I set up
gentleman in earnest. Time enough, too, says you. Ah, but I've lived easy
in the meantime; never denied myself o' nothing heart desires, and slep'
soft and ate dainty all my days, but when at sea. And how did I begin?
Before the mast, like you!"
"Well," said the other, "but all the other money's gone now, ain't it?
You daren't show face in Bristol after this."
"Why, where might you suppose it was?" asked Silver derisively.
"At Bristol, in banks and places," answered his companion.
"It were," said the cook; "it were when we weighed anchor. But my old
missis has it all by now. And the 'Spy-glass' is sold, lease and goodwill
and rigging; and the old girl's off to meet me. I would tell you where,
for I trust you; but it 'ud make jealousy among the mates."
"And can you trust your missis?" asked the other.
"Gentlemen of fortune," returned the cook, "usually trusts little among
themselves, and right they are, you may lay to it. But I have a way with
me, I have. When a mate brings a slip on his cable--one as knows me, I
mean--it won't be in the same world with old John. There was some that
was feared of Pew, and some that was feared of Flint; but Flint his own
self was feared of me. Feared he was, and proud. They was the roughest
crew afloat, was Flint's; the devil himself would have been feared to go
to sea with them. Well, now, I tell you, I'm not a boasting man, and you
seen yourself how easy I keep company; but when I was quartermaster,
_lambs_ wasn't the word for Flint's old buccaneers. Ah, you may be sure
of yourself in old John's ship."
"Well, I tell you now," replied the lad, "I didn't half a quarter like
the job till I had this talk with you, John; but there's my hand on it
now."
"And a brave lad you were, and smart too," answered Silver, shaking hands
so heartily that all the barrel shook, "and a finer figurehead for a
gentleman of fortune I never clapped my eyes on."
By this time I had begun to understand the meaning of their terms. By a
"gentleman of fortune" they plainly meant neither more nor less than a
common pirate, and the little scene that I had overheard was the last act
in the corruption of one of the honest hands--perhaps of the last one
left aboard. But on this point I was soon to be relieved, for, Silver
giving a little whistle, a third man strolled up and sat down by the
party.
"Dick's square," said Silver.
"Oh, I know'd Dick was square," returned the voice of the coxswain,
Israel Hands. "He's no fool, is Dick." And he turned his quid and spat.
"But, look here," he went on, "here's what I want to know, Barbecue: how
long are we a-going to stand off and on like a blessed bum-boat? I've had
a'most enough o' Cap'n Smollett; he's hazed me long enough, by thunder! I
want to go into that cabin, I do. I want their pickles and wines, and
that."
"Israel," said Silver, "your head ain't much account, nor ever was. But
you're able to hear, I reckon; leastways, your ears is big enough. Now,
here's what I say: you'll berth forward, and you'll live hard, and you'll
speak soft, and you'll keep sober, till I give the word; and you may lay
to that, my son."
"Well, I don't say no, do I?" growled the coxswain. "What I say is, when?
That's what I say."
"When! by the powers!" cried Silver. "Well now, if you want to know, I'll
tell you when. The last moment I can manage; and that's when. Here's a
first-rate seaman, Cap'n Smollett, sails the blessed ship for us. Here's
this squire and doctor with a map and such--I don't know where it is, do
I? No more do you, says you. Well, then, I mean this squire and doctor
shall find the stuff, and help us to get it aboard, by the powers. Then
we'll see. If I was sure of you all, sons of double Dutchmen, I'd have
Cap'n Smollett navigate us half-way back again before I struck."
"Why, we're all seamen aboard here, I should think," said the lad Dick.
"We're all foc's'le hands, you mean," snapped Silver. "We can steer a
course, but who's to set one? That's what all you gentlemen split on,
first and last. If I had my way, I'd have Cap'n Smollett work us back
into the trades at least; then we'd have no blessed miscalculations and a
spoonful of water a day. But I know the sort you are. I'll finish with
'em at the island, as soon's the blunt's on board, and a pity it is. But
you're never happy till you're drunk. Split my sides, I've a sick heart
to sail with the likes of you!"
"Easy all, Long John," cried Israel. "Who's a-crossin' of you?"
"Why, how many tall ships, think ye, now, have I seen laid aboard? and
how many brisk lads drying in the sun at Execution Dock?" cried Silver,
"and all for this same hurry and hurry and hurry. You hear me? I seen a
thing or two at sea, I have. If you would on'y lay your course, and a
p'int to windward, you would ride in carriages, you would. But not you! I
know you. You'll have your mouthful of rum to-morrow, and go hang."
"Everybody know'd you was a kind of a chapling, John; but there's others
as could hand and steer as well as you," said Israel. "They liked a bit
o' fun, they did. They wasn't so high and dry, nohow, but took their
fling, like jolly companions every one."
"So?" says Silver. "Well, and where are they now? Pew was of that sort,
and he died a beggarman. Flint was, and he died of rum at Savannah. Ah,
they was a sweet crew, they was! on'y, where are they?"
"But," asked Dick, "when we do lay 'em athwart, what are we to do with
'em, anyhow?"
"There's the man for me!" cried the cook, admiringly. "That's what I call
business. Well, what would you think? Put 'em ashore like maroons? That
would have been England's way. Or cut 'em down like that much pork? That
would have been Flint's or Billy Bones's."
"Billy was the man for that," said Israel. "'Dead men don't bite,' says
he. Well, he's dead now hisself; he knows the long and short on it now;
and if ever a rough hand come to port, it was Billy."
"Right you are," said Silver, "rough and ready. But mark you here: I'm an
easy man--I'm quite the gentleman, says you; but this time it's serious.
Dooty is dooty, mates. I give my vote--death. When I'm in Parlyment, and
riding in my coach, I don't want none of these sea-lawyers in the cabin
a-coming home, unlooked for, like the devil at prayers. Wait is what I
say, but when the time comes, why, let her rip!"
"John," cries the coxswain, "you're a man!"
"You'll say so, Israel, when you see," said Silver. "Only one thing I
claim--I claim Trelawney. I'll wring his calf's head off his body with
these hands. Dick!" he added, breaking off, "you just jump up, like a
sweet lad and get me an apple, to wet my pipe like."
You may fancy the terror I was in! I should have leaped out and run for
it, if I had found the strength; but my limbs and heart alike misgave me.
I heard Dick begin to rise, and then some one seemingly stopped him, and
the voice of Hands exclaimed--
"Oh, stow that! Don't you get sucking of that bilge, John. Let's have a
go of the rum."
"Dick," said Silver, "I trust you. I've a gauge on the keg, mind. There's
the key; you fill a pannikin and bring it up."
Terrified as I was, I could not help thinking to myself that this must
have been how Mr. Arrow got the strong waters that destroyed him.
Dick was gone but a little while, and during his absence Israel spoke
straight on in the cook's ear. It was but a word or two that I could
catch, and yet I gathered some important news; for, besides other scraps
that tended to the same purpose, this whole clause was audible: "Not
another man of them'll jine." Hence there were still faithful men on
board.
When Dick returned, one after another of the trio took the pannikin and
drank--one "To luck"; another with a "Here's to old Flint"; and Silver
himself saying, in a kind of song, "Here's to ourselves, and hold your
luff, plenty of prizes and plenty of duff."
Just then a sort of brightness fell upon me in the barrel, and, looking
up, I found the moon had risen, and was silvering the mizzen-top and
shining white on the luff of the fore-sail; and almost at the same time
the voice of the look-out shouted "Land ho!"
CHAPTER XII
COUNCIL OF WAR
There was a great rush of feet across the deck. I could hear people
tumbling up from the cabin and the foc's'le; and, slipping in an instant
outside my barrel, I dived behind the fore-sail, made a double towards
the stern, and came out upon the open deck in time to join Hunter and Dr.
Livesey in the rush for the weather bow.
There all hands were already congregated. A belt of fog had lifted almost
simultaneously with the appearance of the moon. Away to the south-west of
us we saw two low hills, about a couple of miles apart, and rising behind
one of them a third and higher hill, whose peak was still buried in the
fog. All three seemed sharp and conical in figure.
So much I saw, almost in a dream, for I had not yet recovered from my
horrid fear of a minute or two before. And then I heard the voice of
Captain Smollett issuing orders. The _Hispaniola_ was laid a couple of
points nearer the wind, and now sailed a course that would just clear the
island on the east.
"And now, men," said the captain, when all was sheeted home, "has any one
of you ever seen that land ahead?"
"I have, sir," said Silver. "I've watered there with a trader I was cook
in."
"The anchorage is on the south, behind an islet, I fancy?" asked the
captain.
"Yes, sir; Skeleton Island they calls it. It were a main place for
pirates once, and a hand we had on board knowed all their names for it.
That hill to the nor'ard they calls the Fore-mast Hill; there are three
hills in a row running south'ard--fore, main, and mizzen, sir. But the
main--that's the big 'un with the cloud on it--they usually calls the
Spy-glass, by reason of a look-out they kept when they was in the
anchorage cleaning; for it's there they cleaned their ships, sir, asking
your pardon."
"I have a chart here," says Captain Smollett. "See if that's the place."
Long John's eyes burned in his head as he took the chart; but, by the
fresh look of the paper, I knew he was doomed to disappointment. This was
not the map we found in Billy Bones's chest, but an accurate copy,
complete in all things--names and heights and soundings--with the single
exception of the red crosses and the written notes. Sharp as must have
been his annoyance, Silver had the strength of mind to hide it.
"Yes, sir," said he, "this is the spot, to be sure; and very prettily
drawed out. Who might have done that, I wonder? The pirates were too
ignorant, I reckon. Ay, here it is: 'Capt. Kidd's Anchorage'--just the
name my shipmate called it. There's a strong current runs along the
south, and then away nor'ard up the west coast. Right you was, sir," says
he, "to haul your wind and keep the weather of the island. Leastways, if
such was your intention as to enter and careen, and there ain't no better
place for that in these waters."
"Thank you, my man," says Captain Smollett. "I'll ask you, later on, to
give us a help. You may go."
I was surprised at the coolness with which John avowed his knowledge of
the island; and I own I was half-frightened when I saw him drawing nearer
to myself. He did not know, to be sure, that I had overheard his council
from the apple-barrel, and yet I had, by this time, taken such a horror
of his cruelty, duplicity, and power, that I could scarce conceal a
shudder when he laid his hand upon my arm.
"Ah," says he, "this here is a sweet spot, this island--a sweet spot
for a lad to get ashore on. You'll bathe, and you'll climb trees, and
you'll hunt goats, you will; and you'll get aloft on them hills like a
goat yourself. Why, it makes me young again. I was going to forget my
timber leg, I was. It's a pleasant thing to be young, and have ten toes,
and you may lay to that. When you want to go a bit of exploring, you just
ask old John, and he'll put up a snack for you to take along."
And clapping me in the friendliest way upon the shoulder, he hobbled off
forward, and went below.
Captain Smollett, the squire, and Dr. Livesey were talking together on
the quarter-deck, and, anxious as I was to tell them my story, I durst
not interrupt them openly. While I was still casting about in my thoughts
to find some probable excuse, Dr. Livesey called me to his side. He had
left his pipe below, and, being a slave to tobacco, had meant that I
should fetch it; but as soon as I was near enough to speak and not to be
overheard, I broke out immediately: "Doctor, let me speak. Get the
captain and squire down to the cabin, and then make some pretence to send
for me. I have terrible news."
The doctor changed countenance a little, but next moment he was master of
himself.
"Thank you, Jim," said he, quite loudly, "that was all I wanted to know,"
as if he had asked me a question.
And with that he turned on his heel and rejoined the other two. They
spoke together for a little, and though none of them started, or raised
his voice, or so much as whistled, it was plain enough that Dr. Livesey
had communicated my request; for the next thing that I heard was the
captain giving an order to Job Anderson, and all hands were piped on
deck.
"My lads," said Captain Smollett, "I've a word to say to you. This land
that we have sighted is the place we have been sailing to. Mr. Trelawney,
being a very open-handed gentleman, as we all know, has just asked me a
word or two, and as I was able to tell him that every man on board had
done his duty, alow and aloft, as I never ask to see it done better, why,
he and I and the doctor are going below to the cabin to drink _your_
health and luck, and you'll have grog served out for you to drink _our_
health and luck. I'll tell you what I think of this: I think it handsome.
And if you think as I do, you'll give a good sea cheer for the gentleman
that does it."
The cheer followed--that was a matter of course; but it rang out so full
and hearty that I confess I could hardly believe these same men were
plotting for our blood.
"One more cheer for Cap'n Smollett," cried Long John, when the first had
subsided.
And this also was given with a will.
On the top of that the three gentlemen went below, and not long after,
word was sent forward that Jim Hawkins was wanted in the cabin.
I found them all three seated round the table, a bottle of Spanish wine
and some raisins before them, and the doctor smoking away, with his wig
on his lap, and that, I knew, was a sign that he was agitated. The stern
window was open, for it was a warm night, and you could see the moon
shining behind on the ship's wake.
"Now, Hawkins," said the squire, "you have something to say. Speak up."
I did as I was bid, and, as short as I could make it, told the whole
details of Silver's conversation. Nobody interrupted me till I was done,
nor did any one of the three of them make so much as a movement, but they
kept their eyes upon my face from first to last.
"Jim," said Dr. Livesey, "take a seat."
And they made me sit down at table beside them, poured me out a glass of
wine, filled my hands with raisins, and all three, one after the other,
and each with a bow, drank my good health, and their service to me, for
my luck and courage.
"Now, captain," said the squire, "you were right, and I was wrong. I own
myself an ass, and I await your orders."
"No more an ass than I, sir," returned the captain. "I never heard of a
crew that meant to mutiny but what showed signs before, for any man that
had an eye in his head to see the mischief and take steps according. But
this crew," he added, "beats me."
"Captain," said the doctor, "with your permission, that's Silver. A very
remarkable man."
"He'd look remarkably well from a yard-arm, sir," returned the captain.
"But this is talk; this don't lead to anything. I see three or four
points, and with Mr. Trelawney's permission, I'll name them."
"You, sir, are the captain. It is for you to speak," says Mr. Trelawney
grandly.
"First point," began Mr. Smollett: "we must go on, because we can't turn
back. If I gave the word to go about, they would rise at once. Second
point: we have time before us--at least, until this treasure's found.
Third point: there are faithful hands. Now, sir, it's got to come to
blows sooner or later; and what I propose is, to take time by the
forelock, as the saying is, and come to blows some fine day when they
least expect it. We can count, I take it, on your own home servants, Mr.
Trelawney?"
"As upon myself," declared the squire.
"Three," reckoned the captain, "ourselves make seven, counting Hawkins,
here. Now, about the honest hands?"
"Most likely Trelawney's own men," said the doctor; "those he had picked
up for himself, before he lit on Silver."
"Nay," replied the squire, "Hands was one of mine."
"I did think I could have trusted Hands," added the captain.
"And to think that they're all Englishmen!" broke out the squire. "Sir, I
could find it in my heart to blow the ship up."
"Well, gentlemen," said the captain, "the best that I can say is not
much. We must lay-to, if you please, and keep a bright look-out. It's
trying on a man, I know. It would be pleasanter to come to blows. But
there's no help for it till we know our men. Lay-to, and whistle for a
wind, that's my view."
"Jim here," said the doctor, "can help us more than any one. The men are
not shy with him, and Jim is a noticing lad."
"Hawkins, I put prodigious faith in you," added the squire.
I began to feel pretty desperate at this, for I felt altogether helpless;
and yet, by an odd train of circumstances, it was indeed through me that
safety came. In the meantime, talk as we pleased, there were only seven
out of the twenty-six on whom we knew we could rely; and out of these
seven one was a boy, so that the grown men on our side were six to their
nineteen.
PART III
MY SHORE ADVENTURE
CHAPTER XIII
HOW I BEGAN MY SHORE ADVENTURE
The appearance of the island when I came on deck next morning was
altogether changed. Although the breeze had now utterly failed, we had
made a great deal of way during the night, and were now lying becalmed
about half a mile to the south-east of the low eastern coast.
Grey-coloured woods covered a large part of the surface. This even tint
was indeed broken up by streaks of yellow sandbreak in the lower lands,
and by many tall trees of the pine family, out-topping the others--some
singly, some in clumps; but the general colouring was uniform and sad.
The hills ran up clear above the vegetation in spires of naked rock. All
were strangely shaped, and the Spy-glass, which was by three or four
hundred feet the tallest on the island, was likewise the strangest in
configuration, running up sheer from almost every side, and then suddenly
cut off at the top like a pedestal to put a statue on.
The _Hispaniola_ was rolling scuppers under in the ocean swell. The booms
were tearing at the blocks, the rudder was banging to and fro, and the
whole ship creaking, groaning, and jumping like a manufactory. I had to
cling tight to the backstay, and the world turned giddily before my eyes;
for though I was a good enough sailor when there was way on, this
standing still and being rolled about like a bottle was a thing I never
learned to stand without a qualm or so, above all in the morning, on an
empty stomach.
Perhaps it was this--perhaps it was the look of the island, with its
grey, melancholy woods, and wild stone spires, and the surf that we could
both see and hear foaming and thundering on the steep beach--at least,
although the sun shone bright and hot, and the shore-birds were fishing
and crying all around us, and you would have thought any one would have
been glad to get to land after being so long at sea, my heart sank, as
the saying is, into my boots; and from that first look onward I hated the
very thought of Treasure Island.
We had a dreary morning's work before us, for there was no sign of any
wind, and the boats had to be got out and manned, and the ship warped
three or four miles round the corner of the island, and up the narrow
passage to the haven behind Skeleton Island. I volunteered for one of the
boats, where I had, of course, no business. The heat was sweltering, and
the men grumbled fiercely over their work. Anderson was in command of my
boat, and instead of keeping the crew in order, he grumbled as loud as
the worst.
"Well," he said, with an oath, "it's not for ever."
I thought this was a very bad sign; for, up to that day, the men had gone
briskly and willingly about their business; but the very sight of the
island had relaxed the cords of discipline.
All the way in, Long John stood by the steersman and conned the ship. He
knew the passage like the palm of his hand; and though the man in the
chains got everywhere more water than was down in the chart, John never
hesitated once.
"There's a strong scour with the ebb," he said, "and this here passage
has been dug out, in a manner of speaking, with a spade."
We brought up just where the anchor was in the chart, about a third of a
mile from either shore, the mainland on one side, and Skeleton Island on
the other. The bottom was clean sand. The plunge of our anchor sent up
clouds of birds wheeling and crying over the woods; but in less than a
minute they were down again, and all was once more silent.
The place was entirely land-locked, buried in woods, the trees coming
right down to high-water mark, the shores mostly flat, and the hill-tops
standing round at a distance in a sort of amphitheatre, one here, one
there. Two little rivers, or rather, two swamps, emptied out into this
pond, as you might call it; and the foliage round that part of the shore
had a kind of poisonous brightness. From the ship we could see nothing of
the house or stockade, for they were quite buried among trees; and if it
had not been for the chart on the companion, we might have been the first
that had ever anchored there since the island arose out of the seas.
There was not a breath of air moving, nor a sound but that of the surf
booming half a mile away along the beaches and against the rocks outside.
A peculiar stagnant smell hung over the anchorage--a smell of sodden
leaves and rotting tree-trunks. I observed the doctor sniffing and
sniffing, like some one tasting a bad egg.
"I don't know about treasure," he said, "but I'll stake my wig there's
fever here."
If the conduct of the men had been alarming in the boat, it became truly
threatening when they had come aboard. They lay about the deck growling
together in talk. The slightest order was received with a black look, and
grudgingly and carelessly obeyed. Even the honest hands must have caught
the infection, for there was not one man aboard to mend another. Mutiny,
it was plain, hung over us like a thunder-cloud.
And it was not only we of the cabin party who perceived the danger. Long
John was hard at work going from group to group, spending himself in good
advice, and as for example no man could have shown a better. He fairly
outstripped himself in willingness and civility; he was all smiles to
every one. If an order were given, John would be on his crutch in an
instant, with the cheeriest "Ay, ay, sir!" in the world; and when there
was nothing else to do, he kept up one song after another, as if to
conceal the discontent of the rest.
Of all the gloomy features of that gloomy afternoon, this obvious anxiety
on the part of Long John appeared the worst.
We held a council in the cabin.
"Sir," said the captain, "if I risk another order, the whole ship'll come
about our ears by the run. You see, sir, here it is. I get a rough
answer, do I not? Well, if I speak back, pikes will be going in two
shakes; if I don't, Silver will see there's something under that, and the
game's up. Now, we've only one man to rely on."
"And who is that?" asked the squire.
"Silver, sir," returned the captain; "he's as anxious as you and I to
smother things up. This is a tiff; he'd soon talk 'em out of it if he had
the chance, and what I propose to do is to give him the chance. Let's
allow the men an afternoon ashore. If they all go, why, we'll fight the
ship. If they none of them go--well, then, we hold the cabin, and God
defend the right. If some go, you mark my words, sir, Silver'll bring 'em
aboard again as mild as lambs."
It was so decided; loaded pistols were served out to all the sure men;
Hunter, Joyce, and Redruth were taken into our confidence, and received
the news with less surprise and a better spirit than we had looked for,
and then the captain went on deck and addressed the crew.
"My lads," said he, "we've had a hot day, and are all tired and out of
sorts. A turn ashore'll hurt nobody--the boats are still in the water;
you can take the gigs, and as many as please can go ashore for the
afternoon. I'll fire a gun half an hour before sun-down."
I believe the silly fellows must have thought they would break their
shins over treasure as soon as they were landed; for they all came out of
their sulks in a moment, and gave a cheer that started the echo in a
far-away hill, and sent the birds once more flying and squalling round
the anchorage.
The captain was too bright to be in the way. He whipped out of sight in a
moment, leaving Silver to arrange the party; and I fancy it was as well
he did so. Had he been on deck he could no longer so much as have
pretended not to understand the situation. It was as plain as day. Silver
was the captain, and a mighty rebellious crew he had of it. The honest
hands--and I was soon to see it proved that there were such on
board--must have been very stupid fellows. Or, rather, I suppose the
truth was this, that all hands were disaffected by the example of the
ringleaders--only some more, some less; and a few, being good fellows in
the main, could neither be led nor driven any further. It is one thing to
be idle and skulk, and quite another to take a ship and murder a number
of innocent men.
At last, however, the party was made up. Six fellows were to stay on
board, and the remaining thirteen, including Silver, began to embark.
Then it was that there came into my head the first of the mad notions
that contributed so much to save our lives. If six men were left by
Silver, it was plain our party could not take and fight the ship; and
since only six were left, it was equally plain that the cabin party had
no present need of my assistance. It occurred to me at once to go ashore.
In a jiffy I had slipped over the side, and curled up in the foresheets
of the nearest boat, and almost at the same moment she shoved off.
No one took notice of me, only the bow oar saying, "Is that you, Jim?
Keep your head down." But Silver, from the other boat, looked sharply
over and called out to know if that were me; and from that moment I began
to regret what I had done.
The crews raced for the beach; but the boat I was in, having some start,
and being at once the lighter and the better manned, shot far ahead of
her consort, and the bow had struck among the shore-side trees, and I
had caught a branch and swung myself out, and plunged into the nearest
thicket, while Silver and the rest were still a hundred yards behind.
"Jim, Jim!" I heard him shouting.
But you may suppose I paid no heed; jumping, ducking, and breaking
through, I ran straight before my nose, till I could run no longer.
CHAPTER XIV
THE FIRST BLOW
I was so pleased at having given the slip to Long John, that I began to
enjoy myself and look around me with some interest on the strange land
that I was in.
I had crossed a marshy track full of willows, bulrushes, and odd,
outlandish, swampy trees; and I had now come out upon the skirts of an
open piece of undulating, sandy country, about a mile long, dotted with a
few pines, and a great number of contorted trees, not unlike the oak in
growth, but pale in foliage, like willows. On the far side of the open
stood one of the hills, with two quaint, craggy peaks, shining vividly in
the sun.
I now felt for the first time the joy of exploration. The isle was
uninhabited; my shipmates I had left behind, and nothing lived in front
of me but dumb brutes and fowls. I turned hither and thither among the
trees. Here and there were flowering plants, unknown to me; here and
there I saw snakes, and one raised his head from a ledge of rock and
hissed at me with a noise not unlike the spinning of a top. Little did I
suppose that he was a deadly enemy, and that the noise was the famous
rattle.
Then I came to a long thicket of these oak-like trees--live, or
evergreen, oaks, I heard afterwards they should be called--which grew low
along the sand like brambles, the boughs curiously twisted, the foliage
compact, like thatch. The thicket stretched down from the top of one of
the sandy knolls, spreading and growing taller as it went, until it
reached the margin of the broad, reedy fen, through which the nearest of
the little rivers soaked its way into the anchorage. The marsh was
steaming in the strong sun, and the outline of the Spy-glass trembled
through the haze.
All at once there began to go a sort of bustle among the bulrushes; a
wild duck flew up with a quack, another followed, and soon over the whole
surface of the marsh a great cloud of birds hung screaming and circling
in the air. I judged at once that some of my shipmates must be drawing
near along the borders of the fen. Nor was I deceived; for soon I heard
the very distant and low tones of a human voice, which, as I continued to
give ear, grew steadily louder and nearer.
This put me in a great fear, and I crawled under cover of the nearest
live-oak, and squatted there, hearkening, as silent as a mouse.
Another voice answered; and then the first voice, which I now recognised
to be Silver's, once more took up the story, and ran on for a long while
in a stream, only now and again interrupted by the other. By the sound
they must have been talking earnestly, and almost fiercely; but no
distinct word came to my hearing.
At last the speakers seemed to have paused, and perhaps to have sat down;
for not only did they cease to draw any nearer, but the birds themselves
began to grow more quiet, and to settle again to their places in the
swamp.
And now I began to feel that I was neglecting my business; that since I
had been so foolhardy as to come ashore with these desperadoes, the least
I could do was to overhear them at their councils; and that my plain and
obvious duty was to draw as close as I could manage, under the favourable
ambush of the crouching trees.
I could tell the direction of the speakers pretty exactly, not only by
the sound of their voices, but by the behaviour of the few birds that
still hung in alarm above the heads of the intruders.
Crawling on all-fours, I made steadily but slowly towards them; till at
last, raising my head to an aperture among the leaves, I could see clear
down into a little green dell beside the marsh, and closely set about
with trees, where Long John Silver and another of the crew stood face to
face in conversation.
The sun beat full upon them. Silver had thrown his hat beside him on the
ground, and his great, smooth, blonde face, all shining with heat, was
lifted to the other man's in a kind of appeal.
"Mate," he was saying, "it's because I thinks gold dust of you--gold
dust, and you may lay to that! If I hadn't took to you like pitch, do you
think I'd have been here a-warning of you? All's up--you can't make nor
mend; it's to save your neck that I'm a-speaking, and if one of the wild
'uns knew it, where 'ud I be, Tom--now, tell me, where 'ud I be?"
"Silver," said the other man--and I observed he was not only red in the
face, but spoke as hoarse as a crow, and his voice shook, too, like a
taut rope--"Silver," says he, "you're old, and you're honest, or has the
name for it; and you've money, too, which lots of poor sailors hasn't;
and you're brave, or I'm mistook. And will you tell me you'll let
yourself be led away with that kind of a mess of swabs? not you! As sure
as God sees me, I'd sooner lose my hand. If I turn agin my dooty----"
And then all of a sudden he was interrupted by a noise. I had found one
of the honest hands--well, here, at that same moment, came news of
another. Far away out in the marsh there arose, all of a sudden, a sound
like the cry of anger, then another on the back of it; and then one
horrid, long-drawn scream. The rocks of the Spy-glass re-echoed it a
score of times; the whole troop of marsh-birds rose again, darkening
heaven, with a simultaneous whirr; and long after that death-yell was
still ringing in my brain silence had re-established its empire, and only
the rustle of the re-descending birds and the boom of the distant surges
disturbed the languor of the afternoon.
Tom had leaped at the sound, like a horse at the spur; but Silver had not
winked an eye. He stood where he was, resting lightly on his crutch,
watching his companion like a snake about to spring.
"John!" said the sailor, stretching out his hand.
"Hands off!" cried Silver, leaping back a yard, as it seemed to me, with
the speed and security of a trained gymnast.
"Hands off, if you like, John Silver," said the other. "It's a black
conscience that can make you feared of me. But, in heaven's name, tell me
what was that?"
"That?" returned Silver, smiling away, but warier than ever, his eye a
mere pin-point in his big face, but gleaming like a crumb of glass.
"That? Oh, I reckon that'll be Alan."
And at this poor Tom flashed out like a hero.
"Alan!" he cried. "Then rest his soul for a true seaman! And as for you,
John Silver, long you've been a mate of mine, but you're mate of mine no
more. If I die like a dog, I'll die in my dooty. You've killed Alan, have
you? Kill me, too, if you can. But I defies you."
And with that this brave fellow turned his back directly on the cook, and
set off walking for the beach. But he was not destined to go far. With a
cry, John seized the branch of a tree, whipped the crutch out of his
arm-pit, and sent that uncouth missile hurtling through the air. It
struck poor Tom, point foremost, and with stunning violence, right
between the shoulders in the middle of his back. His hands flew up, he
gave a sort of gasp, and fell.
Whether he were injured much or little, none could ever tell. Like
enough, to judge from the sound, his back was broken on the spot. But he
had no time given him to recover. Silver, agile as a monkey, even without
leg or crutch, was on the top of him next moment, and had twice buried
his knife up to the hilt in that defenceless body. From my place of
ambush I could hear him pant aloud as he struck the blows.
I do not know what it rightly is to faint, but I do know that for the
next little while the whole world swam away from before me in a whirling
mist; Silver and the birds, and the tall Spy-glass hill-top, going round
and round and topsy-turvy before my eyes, and all manner of bells ringing
and distant voices shouting in my ear.
When I came again to myself, the monster had pulled himself together, his
crutch under his arm, his hat upon his head. Just before him Tom lay
motionless upon the sward; but the murderer minded him not a whit,
cleansing his blood-stained knife the while upon a wisp of grass.
Everything else was unchanged, the sun still shining mercilessly on the
steaming marsh and the tall pinnacle of the mountain, and I could scarce
persuade myself that murder had been actually done, and a human life
cruelly cut short, a moment since, before my eyes.
But now John put his hand into his pocket, brought out a whistle, and
blew upon it several modulated blasts, that rang far across the heated
air. I could not tell, of course, the meaning of the signal; but it
instantly awoke my fears. More men would be coming. I might be
discovered. They had already slain two of the honest people; after Tom
and Alan, might not I come next?
Instantly I began to extricate myself and crawl back again, with what
speed and silence I could manage, to the more open portion of the wood.
As I did so, I could hear hails coming and going between the old
buccaneer and his comrades, and this sound of danger lent me wings. As
soon as I was clear of the thicket, I ran as I never ran before, scarce
minding the direction of my flight, so long as it led me from the
murderers; and as I ran, fear grew and grew upon me, until it turned into
a kind of frenzy.
Indeed, could any one be more entirely lost than I? When the gun fired,
how should I dare to go down to the boats among those fiends, still
smoking from their crime? Would not the first of them who saw me wring my
neck like a snipe's? Would not my absence itself be an evidence to them
of my alarm, and therefore of my fatal knowledge? It was all over, I
thought. Good-bye to the _Hispaniola_; good-bye to the squire, the
doctor, and the captain! There was nothing left for me but death by
starvation, or death by the hands of the mutineers.
All this while, as I say, I was still running, and, without taking any
notice, I had drawn near to the foot of the little hill with the two
peaks, and had got into a part of the island where the live-oaks grew
more widely apart, and seemed more like forest-trees in their bearing and
dimensions. Mingled with these were a few scattered pines, some fifty,
some nearer seventy, feet high. The air, too, smelt more freshly than
down beside the marsh.
And here a fresh alarm brought me to a standstill with a thumping heart.
CHAPTER XV
THE MAN OF THE ISLAND
From the side of the hill, which was here steep and stony, a spout of
gravel was dislodged, and fell rattling and bounding through the trees.
My eyes turned instinctively in that direction, and I saw a figure leap
with great rapidity behind the trunk of a pine. What it was, whether bear
or man or monkey, I could in no wise tell. It seemed dark and shaggy;
more I knew not. But the terror of this new apparition brought me to a
stand.
I was now, it seemed, cut off upon both sides; behind me the murderers,
before me this lurking nondescript. And immediately I began to prefer the
dangers that I knew to those I knew not. Silver himself appeared less
terrible in contrast with this creature of the woods, and I turned on my
heel, and, looking sharply behind me over my shoulder, began to retrace
my steps in the direction of the boats.
Instantly the figure reappeared, and, making a wide circuit, began to
head me off. I was tired, at any rate; but had I been as fresh as when I
rose, I could see it was in vain for me to contend in speed with such an
adversary. From trunk to trunk the creature flitted like a deer, running
man-like on two legs, but, unlike any man that I had ever seen, stooping
almost double as it ran. Yet a man it was; I could no longer be in doubt
about that.
I began to recall what I had heard of cannibals. I was within an ace of
calling for help. But the mere fact that he was a man, however wild, had
somewhat reassured me, and my fear of Silver began to revive in
proportion. I stood still, therefore, and cast about for some method of
escape; and as I was so thinking, the recollection of my pistol flashed
into my mind. As soon as I remembered I was not defenceless, courage
glowed again in my heart; and I set my face resolutely for this man of
the island, and walked briskly towards him.
He was concealed by this time behind another tree-trunk; but he must have
been watching me closely, for as soon as I began to move in his direction
he reappeared and took a step to meet me. Then he hesitated, drew back,
came forward again, and at last, to my wonder and confusion, threw
himself on his knees and held out his clasped hands in supplication.
At that I once more stopped.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Ben Gunn," he answered, and his voice sounded hoarse and awkward, like a
rusty lock. "I'm poor Ben Gunn, I am; and I haven't spoke with a
Christian these three years."
I could now see that he was a white man like myself, and that his
features were even pleasing. His skin, where-ever it was exposed, was
burnt by the sun; even his lips were black; and his fair eyes looked
quite startling in so dark a face. Of all the beggar-men that I had seen
or fancied, he was the chief for raggedness. He was clothed with tatters
of old ship's canvas and old sea cloth; and this extraordinary patchwork
was all held together by a system of the most various and incongruous
fastenings,--brass buttons, bits of stick, and loops of tarry gaskin.
About his waist he wore an old brass-buckled leather belt, which was the
one thing solid in his whole accoutrement.
"Three years!" I cried. "Were you shipwrecked?"
"Nay, mate," said he--"marooned."
I had heard the word, and I knew it stood for a horrible kind of
punishment common enough among the buccaneers, in which the offender is
put ashore with a little powder and shot, and left behind on some
desolate and distant island.
"Marooned three years agone," he continued, "and lived on goats since
then, and berries, and oysters. Where-ever a man is, says I, a man can do
for himself. But, mate, my heart is sore for Christian diet. You mightn't
happen to have a piece of cheese about you, now? No? Well, many's the
long night I've dreamed of cheese--toasted, mostly--and woke up again,
and here I were."
"If ever I can get aboard again," said I, "you shall have cheese by the
stone."
All this time he had been feeling the stuff of my jacket, smoothing my
hands, looking at my boots, and generally, in the intervals of his
speech, showing a childish pleasure in the presence of a fellow-creature.
But at my last words he perked up into a kind of startled slyness.
"If ever you can get aboard again, says you?" he repeated. "Why, now,
who's to hinder you?"
"Not you, I know," was my reply.
"And right you was," he cried. "Now you--what do you call yourself,
mate?"
"Jim," I told him.
"Jim, Jim," says he, quite pleased, apparently. "Well, now, Jim, I've
lived that rough as you'd be ashamed to hear of. Now, for instance, you
wouldn't think I had had a pious mother--to look at me?" he asked.
"Why, no--not in particular," I answered.
"Ah, well," said he, "but I had--remarkable pious. And I was a civil,
pious boy, and could rattle off my catechism that fast as you couldn't
tell one word from another. And here's what it come to, Jim, and it begun
with chuck-farthen on the blessed grave-stones! That's what it begun
with, but it went further'n that; and so my mother told me, and predicked
the whole, she did, the pious woman! But it were Providence that put me
here. I've thought it all out in this here lonely island, and I'm back on
piety. You don't catch me tasting rum so much; but just a thimbleful for
luck, of course, the first chance I have. I'm bound I'll be good, and I
see the way to. And, Jim"--looking all round him, and lowering his voice
to a whisper--"I'm rich."
I now felt sure that the poor fellow had gone crazy in his solitude, and
I suppose I must have shown the feeling in my face; for he repeated the
statement hotly:--
"Rich! rich! I says. And I'll tell you what: I'll make a man of you, Jim.
Ah, Jim, you'll bless your stars, you will, you was the first that found
me!"
And at this there came suddenly a lowering shadow over his face, and he
tightened his grasp upon my hand, and raised a forefinger threateningly
before my eyes.
"Now, Jim, you tell me true: that ain't Flint's ship?" he asked.
At this I had a happy inspiration. I began to believe that I had found an
ally, and I answered him at once.
"It's not Flint's ship, and Flint is dead; but I'll tell you true, as you
ask me--there are some of Flint's hands aboard; worse luck for the rest
of us."
"Not a man--with one--leg?" he gasped.
"Silver?" I asked.
"Ah, Silver!" says he; "that were his name."
"He's the cook; and the ringleader, too."
He was still holding me by the wrist, and at that he gave it quite a
wring.
"If you was sent by Long John," he said, "I'm as good as pork, and I know
it. But where was you, do you suppose?"
I had made my mind up in a moment, and by way of answer told him the
whole story of our voyage, and the predicament in which we found
ourselves. He heard me with the keenest interest, and when I had done he
patted me on the head.
"You're a good lad, Jim," he said; "and you're all in a clove hitch,
ain't you? Well, you just put your trust in Ben Gunn--Ben Gunn's the man
to do it. Would you think it likely, now, that your squire would prove a
liberal-minded one in case of help--him being in a clove hitch, as you
remark?"
I told him the squire was the most liberal of men.
"Ay, but you see," returned Ben Gunn, "I didn't mean giving me a gate to
keep, and a shuit of livery-clothes, and such; that's not my mark, Jim.
What I mean is, would he be likely to come down to the toon of, say one
thousand pounds out of money that's as good as a man's own already?"
"I am sure he would," said I. "As it was, all hands were to share."
"_And_ a passage home?" he added, with a look of great shrewdness.
"Why," I cried, "the squire's a gentleman. And, besides, if we got rid of
the others, we should want you to help work the vessel home."
"Ah," said he, "so you would." And he seemed very much relieved.
"Now, I'll tell you what," he went on. "So much I'll tell you, and no
more. I were in Flint's ship when he buried the treasure; he and six
along--six strong seamen. They was ashore nigh on a week, and us standing
off and on in the old _Walrus_. One fine day up went the signal, and here
come Flint by himself in a little boat, and his head done up in a blue
scarf. The sun was getting up, and mortal white he looked about the
cutwater. But, there he was, you mind, and the six all dead--dead and
buried. How he done it not a man aboard us could make out. It was battle,
murder, and sudden death, leastways--him against six. Billy Bones was the
mate; Long John, he was quarter-master; and they asked him where the
treasure was. 'Ah,' says he, 'you can go ashore, if you like, and stay,'
he says; 'but as for the ship, she'll beat up for more, by thunder!'
That's what he said.
"Well, I was in another ship three years back, and we sighted this
island. 'Boys,' said I, 'here's Flint's treasure; let's land and find
it.' The cap'n was displeased at that; but my messmates were all of a
mind, and landed. Twelve days they looked for it, and every day they had
the worse word for me, until one fine morning all hands went aboard. 'As
for you, Benjamin Gunn,' says they, 'here's a musket,' they says, 'and a
spade, and pickaxe. You can stay here and find Flint's money for
yourself,' they says.
"Well, Jim, three years have I been here, and not a bite of Christian
diet from that day to this. But now, you look here; look at me. Do I look
like a man before the mast? No, says you. Nor I weren't neither, I says."
And with that he winked and pinched me hard.
"Just you mention them words to your squire, Jim"--he went on: "Nor he
weren't, neither--that's the words. Three years he were the man of this
island, light and dark, fair and rain; and sometimes he would, maybe,
think upon a prayer (says you), and sometimes he would, maybe, think of
his old mother, so be as she's alive (you'll say); but the most part of
Gunn's time (this is what you'll say)--the most part of his time was took
up with another matter. And then you'll give him a nip, like I do."
And he pinched me again in the most confidential manner.
"Then," he continued--"then you'll up, and you'll say this:--Gunn is a
good man (you'll say), and he puts a precious sight more confidence--a
precious sight, mind that--in a gen'leman born than in these gen'lemen of
fortune, having been one hisself."
"Well," I said, "I don't understand one word that you've been saying. But
that's neither here nor there; for how am I to get on board?"
"Ah," said he, "that's the hitch, for sure. Well, there's my boat, that I
made with my two hands. I keep her under the white rock. If the worst
come to the worst, we might try that after dark.--Hi!" he broke out,
"what's that?"
For just then, although the sun had still an hour or two to run, all the
echoes of the island awoke and bellowed to the thunder of a cannon.
"They have begun to fight!" I cried. "Follow me."
And I began to run towards the anchorage, my terrors all forgotten;
while, close at my side, the marooned man in his goatskins trotted easily
and lightly.
"Left, left," says he; "keep to your left hand, mate Jim! Under the trees
with you! Theer's where I killed my first goat. They don't come down here
now; they're all mast-headed on them mountings for the fear of Benjamin
Gunn. Ah! and there's the cetemery"--cemetery, he must have meant. "You
see the mounds? I come here and prayed, nows and thens, when I thought
maybe a Sunday would be about doo. It weren't quite a chapel, but it
seemed more solemn like; and then, says you, Ben Gunn was
short-handed--no chapling, nor so much as a Bible and a flag you says."
So he kept talking as I ran, neither expecting nor receiving any answer.
The cannon-shot was followed, after a considerable interval, by a volley
of small arms.
Another pause, and then, not a quarter of a mile in front of me, I beheld
the Union Jack flutter in the air above a wood.
PART IV
THE STOCKADE
CHAPTER XVI
NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY THE DOCTOR--HOW THE SHIP WAS ABANDONED
It was about half-past one--three bells in the sea phrase--that the two
boats went ashore from the _Hispaniola_. The captain, the squire, and I
were talking matters over in the cabin. Had there been a breath of wind
we should have fallen on the six mutineers who were left aboard with us,
slipped our cable, and away to sea. But the wind was wanting; and, to
complete our helplessness, down came Hunter with the news that Jim
Hawkins had slipped into a boat and was gone ashore with the rest.
It never occurred to us to doubt Jim Hawkins; but we were alarmed for his
safety. With the men in the temper they were in, it seemed an even chance
if we should see the lad again. We ran on deck. The pitch was bubbling in
the seams; the nasty stench of the place turned me sick; if ever a man
smelt fever and dysentery, it was in that abominable anchorage. The six
scoundrels were sitting grumbling under a sail in the forecastle; ashore
we could see the gigs made fast, and a man sitting in each, hard by where
the river runs in. One of them was whistling "Lillibullero."
Waiting was a strain; and it was decided that Hunter and I should go
ashore with the jolly-boat, in quest of information.
The gigs had leaned to their right; but Hunter and I pulled straight in,
in the direction of the stockade upon the chart. The two who were left
guarding their boats seemed in a bustle at our appearance;
"Lillibullero" stopped off, and I could see the pair discussing what
they ought to do. Had they gone and told Silver, all might have turned
out differently; but they had their orders, I suppose, and decided to sit
quietly where they were and hark back again to "Lillibullero."
There was a slight bend in the coast, and I steered so as to put it
between us; even before we landed we had thus lost sight of the gigs. I
jumped out, and came as near running as I durst, with a big silk
handkerchief under my hat for coolness' sake, and a brace of pistols
ready primed for safety.
I had not gone a hundred yards when I came on the stockade.
This was how it was: a spring of clear water rose almost at the top of a
knoll. Well, on the knoll, and enclosing the spring, they had clapped a
stout log-house, fit to hold two-score people on a pinch, and loopholed
for musketry on every side. All round this they had cleared a wide space,
and then the thing was completed by a paling six feet high, without door
or opening, too strong to pull down without time and labour, and too open
to shelter the besiegers. The people in the log-house had them in every
way; they stood quiet in shelter and shot the others like partridges. All
they wanted was a good watch and food; for, short of a complete surprise,
they might have held the place against a regiment.
What particularly took my fancy was the spring. For, though we had a good
enough place of it in the cabin of the _Hispaniola_, with plenty of arms
and ammunition, and things to eat, and excellent wines, there had been
one thing overlooked--we had no water. I was thinking this over, when
there came ringing over the island the cry of a man at the point of
death. I was not new to violent death--I have served his Royal Highness
the Duke of Cumberland, and got a wound myself at Fontenoy--but I know my
pulse went dot and carry one. "Jim Hawkins is gone" was my first
thought.
It is something to have been an old soldier, but more still to have been
a doctor. There is no time to dilly-dally in our work. And so now I made
up my mind instantly, and with no time lost returned to the shore, and
jumped on board the jolly-boat.
By good fortune Hunter pulled a good oar. We made the water fly; and the
boat was soon alongside, and I aboard the schooner.
I found them all shaken, as was natural. The squire was sitting down, as
white as a sheet, thinking of the harm he had led us to, the good soul!
and one of the six forecastle hands was little better.
"There's a man," says Captain Smollett, nodding towards him, "new to this
work. He came nigh-hand fainting, doctor, when he heard the cry. Another
touch of the rudder and that man would join us."
I told my plan to the captain, and between us we settled on the details
of its accomplishment.
We put old Redruth in the gallery between the cabin and the forecastle,
with three or four loaded muskets and a mattress for protection. Hunter
brought the boat round under the stern-port, and Joyce and I set to work
loading her with powder-tins, muskets, bags of biscuits, kegs of pork, a
cask of cognac, and my invaluable medicine-chest.
In the meantime the squire and the captain stayed on deck, and the latter
hailed the coxswain, who was the principal man aboard.
"Mr. Hands," he said, "here are two of us with a brace of pistols each.
If any one of you six make a signal of any description, that man's dead."
They were a good deal taken aback; and, after a little consultation, one
and all tumbled down the fore companion, thinking, no doubt, to take us
on the rear. But when they saw Redruth waiting for them in the sparred
gallery, they went about-ship at once, and a head popped out again on
deck.
"Down, dog!" cries the captain.
And the head popped back again; and we heard no more, for the time, of
these six very faint-hearted seamen.
By this time, tumbling things in as they came, we had the jolly-boat
loaded as much as we dared. Joyce and I got out through the stern-port,
and we made for shore again, as fast as oars could take us.
This second trip fairly aroused the watchers along shore. "Lillibullero"
was dropped again; and just before we lost sight of them behind the
little point, one of them whipped ashore and disappeared. I had half a
mind to change my plan and destroy their boats, but I feared that Silver
and the others might be close at hand, and all might very well be lost by
trying for too much.
We had soon touched land in the same place as before, and set to
provision the block-house. All three made the first journey, heavily
laden, and tossed our stores over the palisade. Then, leaving Joyce to
guard them--one man, to be sure, but with half a dozen muskets--Hunter
and I returned to the jolly-boat, and loaded ourselves once more. So we
proceeded without pausing to take breath, till the whole cargo was
bestowed, when the two servants took up their positions in the
block-house, and I, with all my power, sculled back to the _Hispaniola_.
That we should have risked a second boat-load seems more daring than it
really was. They had the advantage of numbers, of course, but we had the
advantage of arms. Not one of the men ashore had a musket, and before
they could get within range for pistol-shooting, we flattered ourselves
we should be able to give a good account of a half-dozen at least.
The squire was waiting for me at the stern window, all his faintness gone
from him. He caught the painter and made it fast, and we fell to loading
the boat for our very lives. Pork, powder, and biscuit was the cargo,
with only a musket and a cutlass apiece for the squire and me and Redruth
and the captain. The rest of the arms and powder we dropped overboard in
two fathoms and a half of water, so that we could see the bright steel
shining far below us in the sun, on the clean sandy bottom.
By this time the tide was beginning to ebb, and the ship was swinging
round to her anchor. Voices were heard faintly halloaing in the direction
of the two gigs; and though this reassured us for Joyce and Hunter, who
were well to the eastward, it warned our party to be off.
Redruth retreated from his place in the gallery, and dropped into the
boat, which we then brought round to the ship's counter, to be handier
for Captain Smollett.
"Now, men," said he, "do you hear me?"
There was no answer from the forecastle.
"It's to you, Abraham Gray--it's to you I am speaking."
Still no reply.
"Gray," resumed Mr. Smollett, a little louder, "I am leaving this ship,
and I order you to follow your captain. I know you are a good man at
bottom, and I daresay not one of the lot of you's as bad as he makes out.
I have my watch here in my hand; I give you thirty seconds to join me
in."
There was a pause.
"Come, my fine fellow," continued the captain, "don't hang so long in
stays. I'm risking my life, and the lives of these good gentlemen, every
second."
There was a sudden scuffle, a sound of blows, and out burst Abraham Gray
with a knife-cut on the side of the cheek, and came running to the
captain, like a dog to the whistle.
"I'm with you, sir," said he.
And the next moment he and the captain had dropped aboard of us, and we
had shoved off and given way.
We were clear out of the ship; but not yet ashore in our stockade.
CHAPTER XVII
NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY THE DOCTOR--THE JOLLY-BOAT'S LAST TRIP
This fifth trip was quite different from any of the others. In the first
place, the little gallipot of a boat that we were in was gravely
overloaded. Five grown men, and three of them--Trelawney, Redruth, and
the captain--over six feet high, was already more than she was meant to
carry. Add to that the powder, pork, and bread-bags. The gunwale was
lipping astern. Several times we shipped a little water, and my breeches
and the tails of my coat were all soaking wet before we had gone a
hundred yards.
The captain made us trim the boat, and we got her to lie a little more
evenly. All the same, we were afraid to breathe.
In the second place, the ebb was now making--a strong rippling current
running westward through the basin, and then south'ard and seaward down
the straits by which we had entered in the morning. Even the ripples were
a danger to our overloaded craft; but the worst of it was that we were
swept out of our true course, and away from our proper landing-place
behind the point. If we let the current have its way we should come
ashore beside the gigs, where the pirates might appear at any moment.
"I cannot keep her head for the stockade, sir," said I to the captain. I
was steering, while he and Redruth, two fresh men, were at the oars. "The
tide keeps washing her down. Could you pull a little stronger?"
"Not without swamping the boat," said he. "You must bear up, sir, if you
please--bear up till you see you're gaining."
I tried, and found by experiment that the tide kept sweeping us westward
until I had laid her head due east, or just about right angles to the way
we ought to go.
"We'll never get ashore at this rate," said I.
"If it's the only course that we can lie, sir, we must even lie it,"
returned the captain. "We must keep upstream. You see, sir," he went on,
"if once we dropped to leeward of the landing-place, it's hard to say
where we should get ashore, besides the chance of being boarded by the
gigs; whereas, the way we go the current must slacken, and then we can
dodge back along the shore."
"The current's less a'ready, sir," said the man Gray, who was sitting in
the foresheets; "you can ease her off a bit."
"Thank you, my man," said I, quite as if nothing had happened: for we had
all quietly made up our minds to treat him like one of ourselves.
Suddenly the captain spoke up again, and I thought his voice was a little
changed.
"The gun!" said he.
"I have thought of that," said I, for I made sure he was thinking of a
bombardment of the fort. "They could never get the gun ashore, and if
they did, they could never haul it through the woods."
"Look astern, doctor," replied the captain.
We had entirely forgotten the long nine; and there, to our horror, were
the five rogues busy about her, getting off her jacket, as they called
the stout tarpaulin cover under which she sailed. Not only that, but it
flashed into my mind at the same moment that the round-shot and the
powder for the gun had been left behind, and a stroke with an axe would
put it all into the possession of the evil ones aboard.
"Israel was Flint's gunner," said Gray hoarsely.
At any risk, we put the boat's head direct for the landing-place. By this
time we had got so far out of the run of the current that we kept
steerage way even at our necessarily gentle rate of rowing, and I could
keep her steady for the goal. But the worst of it was, that with the
course I now held, we turned our broadside instead of our stern to the
_Hispaniola_, and offered a target like a barn-door.
I could hear, as well as see, that brandy-faced rascal, Israel Hands,
plumping down a round-shot on the deck.
"Who's the best shot?" asked the captain.
"Mr. Trelawney, out and away," said I.
"Mr. Trelawney, will you please pick me off one of these men, sir? Hands,
if possible," said the captain.
Trelawney was as cool as steel. He looked to the priming of his gun.
"Now," cried the captain, "easy with that gun, sir, or you'll swamp the
boat. All hands stand by to trim her when he aims."
The squire raised his gun, the rowing ceased, and we leaned over to the
other side to keep the balance, and all was so nicely contrived that we
did not ship a drop.
They had the gun, by this time, slewed round upon the swivel, and Hands,
who was at the muzzle with the rammer, was, in consequence, the most
exposed. However, we had no luck; for just as Trelawney fired, down he
stooped, the ball whistled over him, and it was one of the other four who
fell.
The cry he gave was echoed, not only by his companions on board, but by a
great number of voices from the shore, and looking in that direction I
saw the other pirates trooping out from among the trees and tumbling into
their places in the boats.
"Here come the gigs, sir," said I.
"Give way then," cried the captain. "We mustn't mind if we swamp her now.
If we can't get ashore, all's up."
"Only one of the gigs is being manned, sir," I added, "the crew of the
other most likely going round by shore to cut us off."
"They'll have a hot run, sir," returned the captain. "Jack ashore, you
know. It's not them I mind; it's the round-shot. Carpet bowls! My lady's
maid couldn't miss. Tell us, squire, when you see the match, and we'll
hold water."
In the meanwhile we had been making headway at a good pace for a boat so
overloaded, and we had shipped but little water in the process. We were
now close in; thirty or forty strokes and we should beach her; for the
ebb had already disclosed a narrow belt of sand below the clustering
trees. The gig was no longer to be feared; the little point had already
concealed it from our eyes. The ebb-tide, which had so cruelly delayed
us, was now making reparation, and delaying our assailants. The one
source of danger was the gun.
"If I durst," said the captain, "I'd stop and pick off another man."
But it was plain that they meant nothing should delay their shot. They
had never so much as looked at their fallen comrade, though he was not
dead, and I could see him trying to crawl away.
"Ready!" cried the squire.
"Hold!" cried the captain, quick as an echo.
And he and Redruth backed with a great heave that sent her stern bodily
under water. The report fell in at the same instant of time. This was the
first that Jim heard, the sound of the squire's shot not having reached
him. Where the ball passed, not one of us precisely knew; but I fancy it
must have been over our heads, and that the wind of it may have
contributed to our disaster.
At any rate, the boat sank by the stern, quite gently, in three feet of
water, leaving the captain and myself, facing each other, on our feet.
The other three took complete headers, and came up again, drenched and
bubbling.
So far there was no great harm. No lives were lost, and we could wade
ashore in safety. But there were all our stores at the bottom, and, to
make things worse, only two guns out of five remained in a state for
service. Mine I had snatched from my knees and held over my head, by a
sort of instinct. As for the captain, he had carried his over his
shoulder by a bandoleer, and, like a wise man, lock uppermost. The other
three had gone down with the boat.
To add to our concern, we heard voices already drawing near us in the
woods along shore; and we had not only the danger of being cut off from
the stockade in our half-crippled state, but the fear before us whether,
if Hunter and Joyce were attacked by half a dozen, they would have the
sense and conduct to stand firm. Hunter was steady, that we knew; Joyce
was a doubtful case--a pleasant, polite man for a valet, and to brush
one's clothes, but not entirely fitted for a man of war.
With all this in our minds, we waded ashore as fast as we could, leaving
behind us the poor jolly-boat, and a good half of all our powder and
provisions.
CHAPTER XVIII
NARRATIVE CONTINUED BY THE DOCTOR--END OF THE FIRST DAY'S FIGHTING
We made our best speed across the strip of wood that now divided us from
the stockade; and at every step we took the voices of the buccaneers rang
nearer. Soon we could hear their footfalls as they ran, and the cracking
of the branches as they breasted across a bit of thicket.
I began to see we should have a brush for it in earnest, and looked to my
priming.
"Captain," said I, "Trelawney is the dead shot. Give him your gun; his
own is useless."
They exchanged guns, and Trelawney, silent and cool as he had been since
the beginning of the bustle, hung a moment on his heel to see that all
was fit for service. At the same time, observing Gray to be unarmed, I
handed him my cutlass. It did all our hearts good to see him spit in his
hand, knit his brows, and make the blade sing through the air. It was
plain from every line of his body that our new hand was worth his salt.
Forty paces farther we came to the edge of the wood and saw the stockade
in front of us. We struck the enclosure about the middle of the south
side, and, almost at the same time, seven mutineers--Job Anderson, the
boatswain, at their head--appeared in full cry at the south-western
corner.
They paused, as if taken aback; and before they recovered, not only the
squire and I, but Hunter and Joyce from the block-house, had time to
fire. The four shots came in rather a scattering volley; but they did the
business: one of the enemy actually fell, and the rest, without
hesitation, turned and plunged into the trees.
After reloading, we walked down the outside of the palisade to see to the
fallen enemy. He was stone dead--shot through the heart.
We began to rejoice over our good success, when just at that moment a
pistol cracked in the bush, a ball whistled close past my ear, and poor
Tom Redruth stumbled and fell his length on the ground. Both the squire
and I returned the shot; but as we had nothing to aim at, it is probable
we only wasted powder. Then we reloaded, and turned our attention to poor
Tom.
The captain and Gray were already examining him; and I saw with half an
eye that all was over.
I believe the readiness of our return volley had scattered the mutineers
once more, for we were suffered without further molestation to get the
poor old gamekeeper hoisted over the stockade, and carried, groaning and
bleeding, into the log-house.
Poor old fellow, he had not uttered one word of surprise, complaint,
fear, or even acquiescence, from the very beginning of our troubles till
now, when we had laid him down in the log-house to die. He had lain like
a Trojan behind his mattress in the gallery; he had followed every order
silently, doggedly, and well; he was the oldest of our party by a score
of years; and now, sullen, old, serviceable servant, it was he that was
to die.
The squire dropped down beside him on his knees and kissed his hand,
crying like a child.
"Be I going, doctor?" he asked.
"Tom, my man," said I, "you're going home."
"I wish I had had a lick at them with the gun first," he replied.
"Tom," said the squire, "say you forgive me, won't you?"
"Would that be respectful like, from me to you, squire?" was the answer.
"Howsoever, so be it--amen!"
After a little while of silence, he said he thought somebody might read a
prayer. "It's the custom, sir," he added apologetically. And not long
after, without another word, he passed away.
In the meantime the captain, whom I had observed to be wonderfully
swollen about the chest and pockets, had turned out a great many various
stores--the British colours, a Bible, a coil of stoutish rope, pen, ink,
the log-book, and pounds of tobacco. He had found a longish fir-tree
lying felled and cleared in the enclosure, and, with the help of Hunter,
he had set it up at the corner of the log-house where the trunks crossed
and made an angle. Then, climbing on the roof, he had with his own hand
bent and run up the colours.
This seemed mightily to relieve him. He re-entered the log-house, and set
about counting up the stores, as if nothing else existed. But he had an
eye on Tom's passage for all that; and as soon as all was over, came
forward with another flag, and reverently spread it on the body.
"Don't you take on, sir," he said, shaking the squire's hand. "All's well
with him; no fear for a hand that's been shot down in his duty to captain
and owner. It mayn't be good divinity, but it's a fact."
Then he pulled me aside.
"Dr. Livesey," he said, "in how many weeks do you and squire expect the
consort?"
I told him it was a question, not of weeks, but of months; that if we
were not back by the end of August, Blandly was to send to find us; but
neither sooner nor later. "You can calculate for yourself," I said.
"Why, yes," returned the captain, scratching his head, "and making a
large allowance, sir, for all the gifts of Providence, I should say we
were pretty close hauled."
"How do you mean?" I asked.
"It's a pity, sir, we lost that second load. That's what I mean," replied
the captain. "As for powder and shot, we'll do. But the rations are
short, very short--so short, Doctor Livesey, that we're perhaps as well
without that extra mouth."
And he pointed to the dead body under the flag.
Just then, with a roar and a whistle, a round-shot passed high above the
roof of the log-house and plumped far beyond us in the wood.
"Oho!" said the captain. "Blaze away! You've little enough powder
already, my lads."
At the second trial, the aim was better, and the ball descended inside
the stockade, scattering a cloud of sand, but doing no further damage.
"Captain," said the squire, "the house is quite invisible from the ship.
It must be the flag they are aiming at. Would it not be wiser to take it
in?"
"Strike my colours!" cried the captain. "No, sir, not I;" and, as soon as
he had said the words I think we all agreed with him. For it was not only
a piece of stout, seamanly, good feeling; it was good policy besides, and
showed our enemies that we despised their cannonade.
All through the evening they kept thundering away. Ball after ball flew
over or fell short, or kicked up the sand in the enclosure; but they had
to fire so high that the shot fell dead and buried itself in the soft
sand. We had no ricochet to fear; and though one popped in through the
roof of the log-house, and out again through the floor, we soon got used
to that sort of horse-play, and minded it no more than cricket.
"There is one thing good about all this," observed the captain: "the wood
in front of us is likely clear. The ebb has made a good while; our stores
should be uncovered. Volunteers to go and bring in pork!"
Gray and Hunter were the first to come forward. Well armed, they stole
out of the stockade; but it proved a fruitless mission. The mutineers
were bolder than we fancied, or they put more trust in Israel's gunnery.
For four or five of them were busy carrying off our stores, and wading
out with them to one of the gigs that lay close by, pulling an oar or so
to hold her steady against the current. Silver was in the stern-sheets in
command; and every man of them was now provided with a musket from some
secret magazine of their own.
The captain sat down to his log, and here is the beginning of the
entry:--
"Alexander Smollett, master; David Livesey, ship's doctor; Abraham Gray,
carpenter's mate; John Trelawney, owner; John Hunter and Richard Joyce,
owner's servants, landsmen--being all that is left faithful of the ship's
company--with stores for ten days at short rations, came ashore this day,
and flew British colours on the log-house in Treasure Island. Thomas
Redruth, owner's servant, landsman, shot by the mutineers; James Hawkins,
cabin-boy----"
And at the same time I was wondering over poor Jim Hawkins's fate.
A hail on the land side.
"Somebody hailing us," said Hunter, who was on guard.
"Doctor! squire! captain! Hullo, Hunter, is that you?" came the cries.
And I ran to the door in time to see Jim Hawkins, safe and sound, come
climbing over the stockade.
CHAPTER XIX
NARRATIVE RESUMED BY JIM HAWKINS--THE GARRISON IN THE STOCKADE
As soon as Ben Gunn saw the colours he came to a halt, stopped me by the
arm, and sat down.
"Now," said he, "there's your friends, sure enough."
"Far more likely it's the mutineers," I answered.
"That!" he cried. "Why, in a place like this, where nobody puts in but
gen'lemen of fortune, Silver would fly the Jolly Roger, you don't make no
doubt of that. No; that's your friends. There's been blows, too, and I
reckon your friends has had the best of it; and here they are ashore in
the old stockade, as was made years and years ago by Flint. Ah, he was
the man to have a headpiece, was Flint! Barring rum, his match were never
seen. He were afraid of none, not he; on'y Silver--Silver was that
genteel."
"Well," said I, "that may be so, and so be it; all the more reason that I
should hurry on and join my friends."
"Nay, mate," returned Ben, "not you. You're a good boy, or I'm mistook:
but you're on'y a boy, all told. Now, Ben Gunn is fly. Rum wouldn't bring
me there, where you're going--not rum wouldn't, till I see your born
gen'leman, and gets it on his word of honour. And you won't forget my
words: 'A precious sight (that's what you'll say), a precious sight more
confidence'--and then nips him."
And he pinched me the third time with the same air of cleverness.
"And when Ben Gunn is wanted, you know where to find him, Jim. Just wheer
you found him to-day. And him that comes is to have a white thing in his
hand: and he's to come alone. O, and you'll say this: 'Ben Gunn,' says
you, 'has reasons of his own.'"
"Well," said I, "I believe I understand. You have something to propose,
and you wish to see the squire or the doctor; and you're to be found
where I found you. Is that all?"
"And when? says you," he added. "Why, from about noon observation to
about six bells."
"Good," said I, "and now may I go?"
"You won't forget?" he inquired anxiously. "Precious sight, and reasons
of his own, says you. Reasons of his own; that's the mainstay; as between
man and man. Well, then"--still holding me--"I reckon you can go, Jim.
And, Jim, if you was to see Silver, you wouldn't go for to sell Ben Gunn?
wild horses wouldn't draw it from you? No, says you. And if them pirates
camp ashore, Jim, what would you say but there'd be widders in the
morning?"
Here he was interrupted by a loud report, and a cannon-ball came tearing
through the trees and pitched in the sand, not a hundred yards from where
we two were talking. The next moment each of us had taken to his heels in
a different direction.
For a good hour to come frequent reports shook the island, and balls kept
crashing through the woods. I moved from hiding-place to hiding-place,
always pursued, or so it seemed to me, by these terrifying missiles. But
towards the end of the bombardment, though still I durst not venture in
the direction of the stockade, where the balls fell oftenest, I had
begun, in a manner, to pluck up my heart again; and after a long detour
to the east, crept down among the shoreside trees.
The sun had just set, the sea-breeze was rustling and tumbling in the
woods, and ruffling the grey surface of the anchorage; the tide, too, was
far out, and great tracts of sand lay uncovered; the air, after the heat
of the day, chilled me through my jacket.
The _Hispaniola_ still lay where she had anchored; but, sure enough,
there was the Jolly Roger--the black flag of piracy--flying from her
peak. Even as I looked, there came another red flash and another report,
that sent the echoes clattering, and one more round-shot whistled through
the air. It was the last of the cannonade.
I lay for some time, watching the bustle which succeeded the attack. Men
were demolishing something with axes on the beach near the stockade; the
poor jolly-boat, I afterwards discovered. Away, near the mouth of the
river, a great fire was glowing among the trees, and between that point
and the ship one of the gigs kept coming and going, the men, whom I had
seen so gloomy, shouting at the oars like children. But there was a sound
in their voices which suggested rum.
At length I thought I might return towards the stockade. I was pretty far
down on the low, sandy spit that encloses the anchorage to the east, and
is joined at half-water to Skeleton Island; and now, as I rose to my
feet, I saw, some distance further down the spit, and rising from among
low bushes, an isolated rock, pretty high, and peculiarly white in
colour. It occurred to me that this might be the white rock of which Ben
Gunn had spoken, and that some day or other a boat might be wanted, and I
should know where to look for one.
Then I skirted among the woods until I had regained the rear, or
shoreward side, of the stockade, and was soon warmly welcomed by the
faithful party.
I had soon told my story, and began to look about me. The log-house was
made of unsquared trunks of pine--roof, walls, and floor. The latter
stood in several places as much as a foot or a foot and a half above the
surface of the sand. There was a porch at the door, and under this porch
the little spring welled up into an artificial basin of a rather odd
kind--no other than a great ship's kettle of iron, with the bottom
knocked out, and sunk "to her bearings," as the captain said, among the
sand.
Little had been left beside the framework of the house; but in one corner
there was a stone slab laid down by way of hearth, and an old rusty iron
basket to contain the fire.
The slopes of the knoll and all the inside of the stockade had been
cleared of timber to build the house, and we could see by the stumps what
a fine and lofty grove had been destroyed. Most of the soil had been
washed away or buried in drift after the removal of the trees; only where
the streamlet ran down from the kettle a thick bed of moss and some ferns
and little creeping bushes were still green among the sand. Very close
around the stockade--too close for defence, they said--the wood still
flourished high and dense, all of fir on the land side, but towards the
sea with a large admixture of live-oaks.
The cold evening breeze, of which I have spoken, whistled through every
chink of the rude building, and sprinkled the floor with a continual rain
of fine sand. There was sand in our eyes, sand in our teeth, sand in our
suppers, sand dancing in the spring at the bottom of the kettle, for all
the world like porridge beginning to boil. Our chimney was a square hole
in the roof; it was but a little part of the smoke that found its way
out, and the rest eddied about the house, and kept us coughing and piping
the eye.
Add to this that Gray, the new man, had his face tied up in a bandage for
a cut he had got in breaking away from the mutineers; and that poor old
Tom Redruth, still unburied, lay along the wall, stiff and stark under
the Union Jack.
If we had been allowed to sit idle, we should all have fallen in the
blues, but Captain Smollett was never the man for that. All hands were
called up before him, and he divided us into watches. The doctor, and
Gray, and I, for one; the squire, Hunter, and Joyce upon the other. Tired
as we all were, two were sent out for firewood; two more were set to dig
a grave for Redruth; the doctor was named cook; I was put sentry at the
door; and the captain himself went from one to another, keeping up our
spirits and lending a hand wherever it was wanted.
From time to time the doctor came to the door for a little air and to
rest his eyes, which were almost smoked out of his head; and whenever he
did so, he had a word for me.
"That man Smollett," he said once, "is a better man than I am. And when I
say that it means a deal, Jim."
Another time he came and was silent for a while. Then he put his head on
one side, and looked at me.
"Is this Ben Gunn a man?" he asked.
"I do not know, sir," said I. "I am not very sure whether he's sane."
"If there's any doubt about the matter, he is," returned the doctor. "A
man who has been three years biting his nails on a desert island, Jim,
can't expect to appear as sane as you or me. It doesn't lie in human
nature. Was it cheese you said he had a fancy for?"
"Yes, sir, cheese," I answered.
"Well, Jim," says he, "just see the good that comes of being dainty in
your food. You've seen my snuff-box, haven't you? And you never saw me
take snuff; the reason being that in my snuff-box I carry a piece of
Parmesan cheese--a cheese made in Italy, very nutritious. Well, that's
for Ben Gunn!"
Before supper was eaten we buried old Tom in the sand, and stood round
him for a while bareheaded in the breeze. A good deal of firewood had
been got in, but not enough for the captain's fancy; and he shook his
head over it, and told us we "must get back to this to-morrow rather
livelier." Then, when we had eaten our pork, and each had a good stiff
glass of brandy grog, the three chiefs got together in a corner to
discuss our prospects.
It appears they were at their wits' end what to do, the stores being so
low that we must have been starved into surrender long before help came.
But our best hope, it was decided, was to kill off the buccaneers until
they either hauled down their flag or ran away with the _Hispaniola_.
From nineteen they were already reduced to fifteen, two others were
wounded, and one, at least--the man shot beside the gun--severely
wounded, if he were not dead. Every time we had a crack at them, we were
to take it, saving our own lives, with the extremest care. And, besides
that, we had two able allies--rum and the climate.
As for the first, though we were about half a mile away, we could hear
them roaring and singing late into the night; and as for the second, the
doctor staked his wig that, camped where they were in the marsh, and
unprovided with remedies, the half of them would be on their backs before
a week.
"So," he added, "if we are not all shot down first they'll be glad to be
packing in the schooner. It's always a ship, and they can get to
buccaneering again, I suppose."
"First ship that ever I lost," said Captain Smollett.
I was dead tired, as you may fancy; and when I got to sleep, which was
not till after a great deal of tossing, I slept like a log of wood.
The rest had long been up, and had already breakfasted and increased the
pile of firewood by about half as much again, when I was awakened by a
bustle and the sound of voices.
"Flag of truce!" I heard some one say; and then, immediately after, with
a cry of surprise, "Silver himself!"
And at that up I jumped, and, rubbing my eyes, ran to a loophole in the
wall.
CHAPTER XX
SILVER'S EMBASSY
Sure enough, there were two men just outside the stockade, one of them
waving a white cloth; the other, no less a person than Silver himself,
standing placidly by.
It was still quite early, and the coldest morning that I think I ever was
abroad in; a chill that pierced into the marrow. The sky was bright and
cloudless overhead, and the tops of the trees shone rosily in the sun.
But where Silver stood with his lieutenant all was still in shadow, and
they waded knee-deep in a low, white vapour, that had crawled during the
night out of the morass. The chill and the vapour taken together told a
poor tale of the island. It was plainly a damp, feverish, unhealthy spot.
"Keep indoors, men," said the captain. "Ten to one this is a trick."
Then he hailed the buccaneer.
"Who goes? Stand, or we fire."
"Flag of truce," cried Silver.
The captain was in the porch, keeping himself carefully out of the way of
a treacherous shot should any be intended. He turned and spoke to us:--
"Doctor's watch on the look-out. Dr. Livesey take the north side, if you
please; Jim, the east; Gray, west. The watch below, all hands to load
muskets. Lively, men, and careful."
And then he turned again to the mutineers.
"And what do you want with your flag of truce?" he cried.
This time it was the other man who replied.
"Cap'n Silver, sir, to come on board and make terms," he shouted.
"Cap'n Silver! Don't know him. Who's he?" cried the captain. And we could
hear him adding to himself: "Cap'n, is it? My heart, and here's
promotion!"
Long John answered for himself.
"Me, sir. These poor lads have chosen me cap'n, after your desertion,
sir"--laying a particular emphasis upon the word "desertion." "We're
willing to submit, if we can come to terms, and no bones about it. All I
ask is your word, Cap'n Smollett, to let me safe and sound out of this
here stockade, and one minute to get out o' shot before a gun is fired."
"My man," said Captain Smollett, "I have not the slightest desire to talk
to you. If you wish to talk to me, you can come, that's all. If there's
any treachery, it'll be on your side, and the Lord help you."
"That's enough, cap'n," shouted Long John cheerily. "A word from you's
enough. I know a gentleman, and you may lay to that."
We could see the man who carried the flag of truce attempting to hold
Silver back. Nor was that wonderful, seeing how cavalier had been the
captain's answer. But Silver laughed at him aloud, and slapped him on the
back, as if the idea of alarm had been absurd. Then he advanced to the
stockade, threw over his crutch, got a leg up, and with great vigour and
skill succeeded in surmounting the fence and dropping safely to the other
side.
I will confess that I was far too much taken up with what was going on to
be of the slightest use as sentry; indeed, I had already deserted my
eastern loophole, and crept up behind the captain, who had now seated
himself on the threshold, with his elbows on his knees, his head in his
hands, and his eyes fixed on the water, as it bubbled out of the old iron
kettle in the sand. He was whistling to himself, "Come, Lasses and Lads."
Silver had terrible hard work getting up the knoll. What with the
steepness of the incline, the thick tree-stumps, and the soft sand, he
and his crutch were as helpless as a ship in stays. But he stuck to it
like a man in silence, and at last arrived before the captain, whom he
saluted in the handsomest style. He was tricked out in his best; an
immense blue coat, thick with brass buttons, hung as low as to his knees,
and a fine laced hat was set on the back of his head.
"Here you are, my man," said the captain, raising his head. "You had
better sit down."
"You ain't a-going to let me inside, cap'n?" complained Long John. "It's
a main cold morning, to be sure, sir, to sit outside upon the sand."
"Why, Silver," said the captain, "if you had pleased to be an honest man,
you might have been sitting in your galley. It's your own doing. You're
either my ship's cook--and then you were treated handsome--or Cap'n
Silver, a common mutineer and pirate, and then you can go hang!"
"Well, well, cap'n," returned the sea cook, sitting down as he was bidden
on the sand, "you'll have to give me a hand up again, that's all. A sweet
pretty place you have of it here.--Ah, there's Jim! The top of the
morning to you, Jim.--Doctor, here's my service. Why, there you all are
together like a happy family, in a manner of speaking."
"If you have anything to say, my man, better say it," said the captain.
"Right you were, Cap'n Smollett," replied Silver. "Dooty is dooty, to be
sure. Well, now, you look here, that was a good lay of yours last night.
I don't deny it was a good lay. Some of you pretty handy with a
handspike-end. And I'll not deny neither but what some of my people was
shook--maybe all was shook; maybe I was shook myself; maybe that's why
I'm here for terms. But you mark me, cap'n, it won't do twice, by
thunder! We'll have to do sentry-go, and ease off a point or so on the
rum. Maybe you think we were all a sheet in the wind's eye. But I'll
tell you I was sober; I was on'y dog-tired; and if I'd awoke a second
sooner I'd a-caught you at the act, I would. He wasn't dead when I got
round to him, not he."
"Well?" says Captain Smollett, as cool as can be.
All that Silver said was a riddle to him, but you would never have
guessed it from his tone. As for me, I began to have an inkling. Ben
Gunn's last words came back to my mind. I began to suppose that he had
paid the buccaneers a visit, while they all lay drunk together round
their fire, and I reckoned up with glee that we had only fourteen enemies
to deal with.
"Well, here it is," said Silver. "We want that treasure and we'll have
it--that's our point! You would just as soon save your lives, I reckon;
and that's yours. You have a chart, haven't you?"
"That's as may be," replied the captain.
"Oh, well, you have, I know that," returned Long John. "You needn't be so
husky with a man; there ain't a particle of service in that, and you may
lay to it. What I mean is, we want your chart. Now, I never meant you no
harm, myself."
"That won't do with me, my man," interrupted the captain. "We know
exactly what you meant to do, and we don't care; for now, you see, you
can't do it."
And the captain looked at him calmly, and proceeded to fill a pipe.
"If Abe Gray----" Silver broke out.
"Avast there!" cried Mr. Smollett. "Gray told me nothing, and I asked him
nothing; and what's more, I would see you and him and this whole island
blown clean out of the water into blazes first. So there's my mind for
you, my man, on that."
This little whiff of temper seemed to cool Silver down. He had been
growing nettled before, but now he pulled himself together.
"Like enough," said he. "I would set no limits to what gentlemen might
consider ship-shape, or might not, as the case were. And, seein' as how
you are about to take a pipe, cap'n, I'll make so free as do likewise."
And he filled a pipe and lighted it; and the two men sat silently smoking
for quite a while, now looking each other in the face, now stopping their
tobacco, now leaning forward to spit. It was as good as the play to see
them.
"Now," resumed Silver, "here it is. You give us the chart to get the
treasure by, and drop shooting poor seamen, and stoving of their heads in
while asleep. You do that, and we'll offer you a choice. Either you come
aboard along of us, once the treasure shipped, and then I'll give you my
affy-davy, upon my word of honour, to clap you somewhere safe ashore. Or,
if that ain't to your fancy, some of my hands being rough, and having old
scores, on account of hazing, then you can stay here, you can. We'll
divide stores with you, man for man; and I'll give my affy-davy, as
before, to speak the first ship I sight, and send 'em here to pick you
up. Now you'll own that's talking. Handsomer you couldn't look to get,
not you. And I hope"--raising his voice--"that all hands in this here
block-house will overhaul my words, for what is spoke to one is spoke to
all."
Captain Smollett rose from his seat, and knocked out the ashes of his
pipe in the palm of his left hand.
"Is that all?" he asked.
"Every last word, by thunder!" answered John. "Refuse that, and you've
seen the last of me but musket-balls."
"Very good," said the captain. "Now you'll hear me. If you'll come up one
by one, unarmed, I'll engage to clap you all in irons, and take you home
to a fair trial in England. If you won't, my name is Alexander Smollett,
I've flown my sovereign's colours, and I'll see you all to Davy Jones.
You can't find the treasure. You can't sail the ship--there's not a man
among you fit to sail the ship. You can't fight us--Gray, there, got
away from five of you. Your ship's in irons, Master Silver; you're on a
lee shore, and so you'll find. I stand here and tell you so; and they're
the last good words you'll get from me; for, in the name of heaven, I'll
put a bullet in your back when next I meet you. Tramp, my lad. Bundle out
of this, please, hand over hand, and double quick."
Silver's face was a picture; his eyes started in his head with wrath. He
shook the fire out of his pipe.
"Give me a hand up!" he cried.
"Not I," returned the captain.
"Who'll give me a hand up?" he roared.
Not a man among us moved. Growling the foulest imprecations, he crawled
along the sand till he got hold of the porch and could hoist himself
again upon his crutch. Then he spat into the spring.
"There!" he cried, "that's what I think of ye. Before an hour's out, I'll
stove in your old block-house like a rum-puncheon. Laugh, by thunder,
laugh! Before an hour's out, ye'll laugh upon the other side. Them that
die'll be the lucky ones."
And with a dreadful oath he stumbled off, ploughed down the sand, was
helped across the stockade, after four or five failures, by the man with
the flag of truce, and disappeared in an instant afterwards among the
trees.
CHAPTER XXI
THE ATTACK
As soon as Silver disappeared, the captain, who had been closely watching
him, turned towards the interior of the house, and found not a man of us
at his post but Gray. It was the first time we had ever seen him angry.
"Quarters!" he roared. And then, as we all slunk back to our places,
"Gray," he said, "I'll put your name in the log; you've stood by your
duty like a seaman.--Mr. Trelawney, I'm surprised at you, sir.--Doctor, I
thought you had worn the king's coat! If that was how you served at
Fontenoy, sir, you'd have been better in your berth."
The doctor's watch were all back at their loopholes, the rest were busy
loading the spare muskets, and every one with a red face, you may be
certain, and a flea in his ear, as the saying is.
The captain looked on for a while in silence. Then he spoke.
"My lads," said he, "I've given Silver a broadside. I pitched it in
red-hot on purpose; and before the hour's out, as he said, we shall be
boarded. We're outnumbered, I needn't tell you that, but we fight in
shelter; and, a minute ago, I should have said we fought with discipline.
I've no manner of doubt that we can drub them, if you choose."
Then he went the rounds, and saw, as he said, that all was clear.
On the two short sides of the house, east and west, there were only two
loopholes; on the south side, where the porch was, two again; and on the
north side, five. There was a round score of muskets for the seven of us;
the firewood had been built into four piles--tables, you might say--one
about the middle of each side, and on each of these tables some
ammunition and four loaded muskets were laid ready to the hand of the
defenders. In the middle, the cutlasses lay ranged.
"Toss out the fire," said the captain; "the chill is past, and we mustn't
have smoke in our eyes."
The iron fire-basket was carried bodily out by Mr. Trelawney, and the
embers smothered among sand.
"Hawkins hasn't had his breakfast.--Hawkins, help yourself, and back to
your post to eat it," continued Captain Smollett. "Lively, now, my lad;
you'll want it before you've done.--Hunter, serve out a round of brandy
to all hands."
And while this was going on, the captain completed, in his own mind, the
plan of the defence.
"Doctor, you will take the door," he resumed. "See and don't expose
yourself; keep within, and fire through the porch.--Hunter, take the east
side, there.--Joyce, you stand by the west, my man. Mr. Trelawney, you
are the best shot--you and Gray will take this long north side, with the
five loopholes; it's there the danger is. If they can get up to it, and
fire in upon us through our own ports, things would begin to look
dirty.--Hawkins, neither you nor I are much account at the shooting;
we'll stand by to load and bear a hand."
As the captain had said, the chill was past. As soon as the sun had
climbed above our girdle of trees, it fell with all its force upon the
clearing, and drank up the vapours at a draught. Soon the sand was
baking, and the resin melting in the logs of the block-house. Jackets and
coats were flung aside; shirts thrown open at the neck, and rolled up to
the shoulders; and we stood there, each at his post, in a fever of heat
and anxiety.
An hour passed away.
"Hang them!" said the captain. "This is as dull as the doldrums.--Gray,
whistle for a wind."
And just at that moment came the first news of the attack.
"If you please, sir," said Joyce, "if I see any one am I to fire?"
"I told you so!" cried the captain.
"Thank you, sir," returned Joyce, with the same quiet civility.
Nothing followed for a time; but the remark had set us all on the alert,
straining ears and eyes--the musketeers with their pieces balanced in
their hands, the captain out in the middle of the block-house, with his
mouth very tight and a frown on his face.
So some seconds passed, till suddenly Joyce whipped up his musket and
fired. The report had scarcely died away ere it was repeated and repeated
from without in a scattering volley, shot behind shot, like a string of
geese, from every side of the enclosure. Several bullets struck the
log-house, but not one entered; and, as the smoke cleared away and
vanished, the stockade and the woods around it looked as quiet and empty
as before. Not a bough waved, not the gleam of a musket-barrel betrayed
the presence of our foes.
"Did you hit your man?" asked the captain.
"No, sir," replied Joyce. "I believe not, sir."
"Next best thing to tell the truth," muttered Captain Smollett. "Load his
gun, Hawkins. How many should you say there were on your side, doctor?"
"I know precisely," said Dr. Livesey. "Three shots were fired on this
side. I saw the three flashes--two close together--one farther to the
west."
"Three!" repeated the captain. "And how many on yours, Mr. Trelawney?"
But this was not so easily answered. There had come many from the
north--seven, by the squire's computation; eight or nine, according to
Gray. From the east and west only a single shot had been fired. It was
plain, therefore, that the attack would be developed from the north, and
that on the other three sides we were only to be annoyed by a show of
hostilities. But Captain Smollett made no change in his arrangement. If
the mutineers succeeded in crossing the stockade, he argued, they would
take possession of any unprotected loophole, and shoot us down like rats
in our own stronghold.
Nor had we much time left to us for thought. Suddenly, with a loud huzza,
a little cloud of pirates leaped from the woods on the north side, and
ran straight on the stockade. At the same moment the fire was once more
opened from the woods, and a rifle-ball sang through the doorway, and
knocked the doctor's musket into bits.
The boarders swarmed over the fence like monkeys, Squire and Gray fired
again, and yet again; three men fell, one forwards into the enclosure,
two back on the outside. But of these, one was evidently more frightened
than hurt, for he was on his feet again in a crack, and instantly
disappeared among the trees.
Two had bit the dust, one had fled, four had made good their footing
inside our defences; while from the shelter of the woods seven or eight
men, each evidently supplied with several muskets, kept up a hot, though
useless, fire on the log-house.
The four who had boarded made straight before them for the building,
shouting as they ran, and the men among the trees shouted back to
encourage them. Several shots were fired; but, such was the hurry of the
marksmen, that not one appeared to have taken effect. In a moment, the
four pirates had swarmed up the mound and were upon us.
The head of Job Anderson, the boatswain, appeared at the middle loophole.
"At 'em, all hands--all hands!" he roared, in a voice of thunder.
At the same moment another pirate grasped Hunter's musket by the muzzle,
wrenched it from his hands, plucked it through the loophole, and, with
one stunning blow, laid the poor fellow senseless on the floor. Meanwhile
a third, running unharmed all round the house, appeared suddenly in the
doorway, and fell with his cutlass on the doctor.
Our position was utterly reversed. A moment since we were firing, under
cover, at an exposed enemy; now it was we who lay uncovered, and could
not return a blow.
The log-house was full of smoke, to which we owed our comparative safety.
Cries and confusion, the flashes and reports of pistol-shots, and one
loud groan, rang in my ears.
"Out, lads, out, and fight 'em in the open! Cutlasses!" cried the
captain.
I snatched a cutlass from the pile, and some one, at the same time
snatching another, gave me a cut across the knuckles which I hardly felt.
I dashed out of the door into the clear sunlight. Some one was close
behind, I knew not whom. Right in front, the doctor was pursuing his
assailant down the hill, and, just as my eyes fell upon him, beat down
his guard, and sent him sprawling on his back, with a great slash across
the face.
"Round the house, lads! round the house!" cried the captain; and even in
the hurly-burly I perceived a change in his voice.
Mechanically I obeyed, turned eastwards, and, with my cutlass raised, ran
round the corner of the house. Next moment I was face to face with
Anderson. He roared aloud, and his hanger went up above his head,
flashing in the sunlight. I had not time to be afraid, but, as the blow
still hung impending, leaped in a trice upon one side, and missing my
foot in the soft sand, rolled headlong down the slope.
When I had first sallied from the door, the other mutineers had been
already swarming up the palisade to make an end of us. One man, in a red
night-cap, with his cutlass in his mouth, had even got upon the top and
thrown a leg across. Well, so short had been the interval, that when I
found my feet again all was in the same posture, the fellow with the red
night-cap still half-way over, another still just showing his head above
the top of the stockade. And yet, in this breath of time, the fight was
over, and the victory was ours.
Gray, following close behind me, had cut down the big boatswain ere he
had time to recover from his lost blow. Another had been shot at a
loophole in the very act of firing into the house, and now lay in agony,
the pistol still smoking in his hand. A third, as I had seen, the doctor
disposed of at a blow. Of the four who had scaled the palisade, one only
remained unaccounted for, and he, having left his cutlass on the field,
was now clambering out again with the fear of death upon him.
"Fire--fire from the house!" cried the doctor. "And you, lads, back into
cover."
But his words were unheeded, no shot was fired, and the last boarder made
good his escape, and disappeared with the rest into the wood. In three
seconds nothing remained of the attacking party but the five who had
fallen, four on the inside, and one on the outside, of the palisade.
The doctor and Gray and I ran full speed for shelter. The survivors would
soon be back where they had left their muskets, and at any moment the
fire might recommence.
The house was by this time somewhat cleared of smoke, and we saw at a
glance the price we had paid for victory. Hunter lay beside his loophole,
stunned; Joyce by his, shot through the head, never to move again; while
right in the centre, the squire was supporting the captain, one as pale
as the other.
"The captain's wounded," said Mr. Trelawney.
"Have they run?" asked Mr. Smollett.
"All that could, you may be bound," returned the doctor; "but there's
five of them will never run again."
"Five!" cried the captain. "Come, that's better. Five against three
leaves us four to nine. That's better odds than we had at starting. We
were seven to nineteen then, or thought we were, and that's as bad to
bear."[1]
FOOTNOTE:
[1] The mutineers were soon only eight in number, for the man shot by
Mr. Trelawney on board the schooner died that same evening of his
wound. But this was, of course, not known till after by the faithful
party.
PART V
MY SEA ADVENTURE
CHAPTER XXII
HOW I BEGAN MY SEA ADVENTURE
There was no return of the mutineers--not so much as another shot out of
the woods. They had "got their rations for that day," as the captain put
it, and we had the place to ourselves and a quiet time to overhaul the
wounded and get dinner. Squire and I cooked outside in spite of the
danger, and even outside we could hardly tell what we were at, for horror
of the loud groans that reached us from the doctor's patients.
Out of the eight men who had fallen in the action, only three still
breathed--that one of the pirates who had been shot at the loophole,
Hunter, and Captain Smollett; and of these the first two were as good as
dead; the mutineer, indeed, died under the doctor's knife, and Hunter, do
what we could, never recovered consciousness in this world. He lingered
all day, breathing loudly, like the old buccaneer at home in his
apoplectic fit; but the bones of his chest had been crushed by the blow
and his skull fractured in falling, and some time in the following night,
without sign or sound, he went to his Maker.
As for the captain, his wounds were grievous indeed, but not dangerous.
No organ was fatally injured. Anderson's ball--for it was Job that shot
him first--had broken his shoulder-blade and touched the lung, not badly;
the second had only torn and displaced some muscles in the calf. He was
sure to recover, the doctor said, but in the meantime, and for weeks to
come, he must not walk nor move his arm, nor so much as speak when he
could help it.
My own accidental cut across the knuckles was a flea-bite. Dr. Livesey
patched it up with plaster, and pulled my ears for me into the bargain.
After dinner the squire and the doctor sat by the captain's side a while
in consultation; and when they had talked to their hearts' content, it
being then a little past noon, the doctor took up his hat and pistols,
girt on a cutlass, put the chart in his pocket, and with a musket over
his shoulder, crossed the palisade on the north side, and set off briskly
through the trees.
Gray and I were sitting together at the far end of the block-house, to be
out of earshot of our officers consulting; and Gray took his pipe out of
his mouth and fairly forgot to put it back again, so thunderstruck he was
at this Occurrence.
"Why, in the name of Davy Jones," said he, "is Dr. Livesey mad?"
"Why, no," says I. "He's about the last of this crew for that, I take
it."
"Well, shipmate," said Gray, "mad he may not be; but if _he's_ not, you
mark my words, _I_ am."
"I take it," replied I, "the doctor has his idea; and if I am right, he's
going now to see Ben Gunn."
I was right, as appeared later; but, in the meantime, the house being
stifling hot, and the little patch of sand inside the palisade ablaze
with midday sun, I began to get another thought into my head, which was
not by any means so right. What I began to do was to envy the doctor,
walking in the cool shadow of the woods, with the birds about him, and
the pleasant smell of the pines, while I sat grilling, with my clothes
stuck to the hot resin, and so much blood about me, and so many poor dead
bodies lying all around, that I took a disgust of the place that was
almost as strong as fear.
All the time I was washing out the block-house and then washing up the
things from dinner, this disgust and envy kept growing stronger and
stronger, till at last, being near a bread-bag, and no one then
observing me, I took the first step towards my escapade, and filled both
pockets of my coat with biscuit.
I was a fool, if you like, and certainly I was going to do a foolish,
over-bold act; but I was determined to do it with all the precautions in
my power. These biscuits, should anything befall me, would keep me, at
least, from starving till far on in the next day.
The next thing I laid hold of was a brace of pistols, and as I already
had a powder-horn and bullets, I felt myself well supplied with arms.
As for the scheme I had in my head, it was not a bad one in itself. I was
to go down the sandy spit that divides the anchorage on the east from the
open sea, find the white rock I had observed last evening, and ascertain
whether it was there or not that Ben Gunn had hidden his boat; a thing
quite worth doing, as I still believe. But as I was certain I should not
be allowed to leave the enclosure, my only plan was to take French leave,
and slip out when nobody was watching; and that was so bad a way of doing
it as made the thing itself wrong. But I was only a boy, and I had made
my mind up.
Well, as things at last fell out, I found an admirable opportunity. The
squire and Gray were busy helping the captain with his bandages; the
coast was clear; I made a bolt for it over the stockade and into the
thickest of the trees, and before my absence was observed I was out of
cry of my companions.
This was my second folly, far worse than the first, as I left but two
sound men to guard the house; but like the first, it was a help towards
saving all of us.
I took my way straight for the east coast of the island, for I was
determined to go down the sea side of the spit to avoid all chance of
observation from the anchorage. It was already late in the afternoon,
although still warm and sunny. As I continued to thread the tall woods I
could hear from far before me not only the continuous thunder of the
surf, but a certain tossing of foliage and grinding of boughs, which
showed me the sea breeze had set in higher than usual. Soon cool draughts
of air began to reach me; and a few steps farther I came forth into the
open borders of the grove, and saw the sea lying blue and sunny to the
horizon, and the surf tumbling and tossing its foam along the beach.
I have never seen the sea quiet round Treasure Island. The sun might
blaze overhead, the air be without a breath, the surface smooth and blue,
but still these great rollers would be running along all the external
coast, thundering and thundering by day and night; and I scarce believe
there is one spot in the island where a man would be out of earshot of
their noise.
I walked along beside the surf with great enjoyment, till, thinking I was
now got far enough to the south, I took the cover of some thick bushes,
and crept warily up to the ridge of the spit.
Behind me was the sea, in front the anchorage. The sea breeze, as though
it had the sooner blown itself out by its unusual violence, was already
at an end; it had been succeeded by light, variable airs from the south
and south-east, carrying great banks of fog; and the anchorage, under lee
of Skeleton Island, lay still and leaden as when first we entered it. The
_Hispaniola_, in that unbroken mirror, was exactly portrayed from the
truck to the water-line, the Jolly Roger hanging from her peak.
Alongside lay one of the gigs, Silver in the stern-sheets--him I could
always recognise--while a couple of men were leaning over the stern
bulwarks, one of them with a red cap--the very rogue that I had seen some
hours before stride-legs upon the palisade. Apparently they were talking
and laughing, though at that distance--upwards of a mile--I could, of
course, hear no word of what was said. All at once there began the most
horrid, unearthly screaming, which at first startled me badly, though I
had soon remembered the voice of Captain Flint, and even thought I could
make out the bird by her bright plumage as she sat perched upon her
master's wrist.
Soon after the jolly-boat shoved off and pulled for shore, and the man
with the red cap and his comrade went below by the cabin companion.
Just about the same time the sun had gone down behind the Spy-glass, and
as the fog was collecting rapidly, it began to grow dark in earnest. I
saw I must lose no time if I were to find the boat that evening.
The white rock, visible enough above the brush, was still some eighth of
a mile farther down the spit, and it took me a goodish while to get up
with it, crawling, often on all-fours, among the scrub. Night had almost
come when I laid my hand on its rough sides. Right below it there was an
exceedingly small hollow of green turf, hidden by banks and a thick
underwood about knee-deep, that grew there very plentifully; and in the
centre of the dell, sure enough, a little tent of goat-skins, like what
the gipsies carry about with them in England.
I dropped into the hollow, lifted the side of the tent, and there was Ben
Gunn's boat--home-made if ever anything was home-made: a rude, lop-sided
framework of tough wood, and stretched upon that a covering of goat-skin,
with the hair inside. The thing was extremely small, even for me, and I
can hardly imagine that it could have floated with a full-sized man.
There was one thwart set as low as possible, a kind of stretcher in the
bows, and a double paddle for propulsion.
I had not then seen a coracle, such as the ancient Britons made, but I
have seen one since, and I can give you no fairer idea of Ben Gunn's boat
than by saying it was like the first and the worst coracle ever made by
man. But the great advantage of the coracle it certainly possessed, for
it was exceedingly light and portable.
Well, now that I had found the boat, you would have thought I had had
enough of truantry for once; but, in the meantime, I had taken another
notion, and become so obstinately fond of it, that I would have carried
it out, I believe, in the teeth of Captain Smollett himself. This was to
slip out under cover of the night, cut the _Hispaniola_ adrift, and let
her go ashore where she fancied. I had quite made up my mind that the
mutineers, after their repulse of the morning, had nothing nearer their
hearts than to up anchor and away to sea; this, I thought, it would be a
good thing to prevent; and now that I had seen how they left their
watchmen unprovided with a boat, I thought it might be done with little
risk.
Down I sat to wait for darkness, and made a hearty meal of biscuit. It
was a night out of ten thousand for my purpose. The fog had now buried
all heaven. As the last rays of daylight dwindled and disappeared,
absolute blackness settled down on Treasure Island. And when, at last, I
shouldered the coracle, and groped my way stumblingly out of the hollow
where I had supped, there were but two points visible on the whole
anchorage.
One was the great fire on shore, by which the defeated pirates lay
carousing in the swamp. The other, a mere blur of light upon the
darkness, indicated the position of the anchored ship. She had swung
round to the ebb--her bow was now towards me--the only lights on board
were in the cabin; and what I saw was merely a reflection on the fog of
the strong rays that flowed from the stern window.
The ebb had already run some time, and I had to wade through a long belt
of swampy sand, where I sank several times above the ankle, before I came
to the edge of the retreating water, and wading a little way in, with
some strength and dexterity, set my coracle, keel downwards, on the
surface.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE EBB-TIDE RUNS
The coracle--as I had ample reason to know before I was done with
her--was a very safe boat for a person of my height and weight, both
buoyant and clever in a sea-way; but she was the most cross-grained,
lop-sided craft to manage. Do as you pleased, she always made more leeway
than anything else, and turning round and round was the manoeuvre she
was best at. Even Ben Gunn himself has admitted that she was "queer to
handle till you knew her way."
Certainly I did not know her way. She turned in every direction but the
one I was bound to go; the most part of the time we were broadside on,
and I am very sure I never should have made the ship at all but for the
tide. By good fortune, paddle as I pleased, the tide was still sweeping
me down; and there lay the _Hispaniola_ right in the fair-way, hardly to
be missed.
First she loomed before me like a blot of something yet blacker than
darkness, then her spars and hull began to take shape, and the next
moment, as it seemed (for, the farther I went the brisker grew the
current of the ebb), I was alongside of her hawser, and had laid hold.
The hawser was as taut as a bowstring--so strong she pulled upon her
anchor. All round the hull, in the blackness, the rippling current
bubbled and chattered like a little mountain stream. One cut with my
sea-gully, and the _Hispaniola_ would go humming down the tide.
So far so good; but it next occurred to my recollection that a taut
hawser, suddenly cut, is a thing as dangerous as a kicking horse. Ten to
one, if I were so foolhardy as to cut the _Hispaniola_ from her anchor, I
and the coracle would be knocked clean out of the water.
This brought me to a full stop, and if fortune had not again particularly
favoured me, I should have had to abandon my design. But the light airs
which had begun blowing from the south-east and south had hauled round
after nightfall into the south-west. Just while I was meditating, a puff
came, caught the _Hispaniola_, and forced her up into the current; and to
my great joy, I felt the hawser slacken in my grasp, and the hand by
which I held it dip for a second under water.
With that I made my mind up, took out my gully, opened it with my teeth,
and cut one strand after another, till the vessel only swung by two. Then
I lay quiet, waiting to sever these last when the strain should be once
more lightened by a breath of wind.
All this time I had heard the sound of loud voices from the cabin; but,
to say truth, my mind had been so entirely taken up with other thoughts
that I had scarcely given ear. Now, however, when I had nothing else to
do, I began to pay more heed.
One I recognised for the coxswain's, Israel Hands, that had been Flint's
gunner in former days. The other was, of course, my friend of the red
night-cap. Both men were plainly the worse for drink, and they were still
drinking; for, even while I was listening, one of them, with a drunken
cry, opened the stern window and threw out something, which I divined to
be an empty bottle. But they were not only tipsy; it was plain that they
were furiously angry. Oaths flew like hailstones, and every now and then
there came forth such an explosion as I thought was sure to end in blows.
But each time the quarrel passed off, and the voices grumbled lower for a
while, until the next crisis came, and, in its turn, passed away without
result.
On shore, I could see the glow of the great camp-fire burning warmly
through the shore-side trees. Some one was singing, a dull, old, droning
sailor's song, with a droop and a quaver at the end of every verse, and
seemingly no end to it at all but the patience of the singer. I had heard
it on the voyage more than once, and remembered these words:--
"But one man of her crew alive,
What put to sea with seventy-five."
And I thought it was a ditty rather too dolefully appropriate for a
company that had met such cruel losses in the morning. But, indeed, from
what I saw, all these buccaneers were as callous as the sea they sailed
on.
At last the breeze came; the schooner sidled and drew nearer in the dark;
I felt the hawser slacken once more, and with a good, tough effort, cut
the last fibres through.
The breeze had but little action on the coracle, and I was almost
instantly swept against the bows of the _Hispaniola_. At the same time
the schooner began to turn upon her heel, spinning slowly, end for end,
across the current.
I wrought like a fiend, for I expected every moment to be swamped; and
since I found I could not push the coracle directly off, I now shoved
straight astern. At length I was clear of my dangerous neighbour; and
just as I gave the last impulsion, my hands came across a light cord that
was trailing overboard across the stern bulwarks. Instantly I grasped it.
Why I should have done so I can hardly say. It was at first mere
instinct; but once I had it in my hands and found it fast, curiosity
began to get the upper hand, and I determined I should have one look
through the cabin window.
I pulled in hand over hand on the cord, and, when I judged myself near
enough, rose at infinite risk to about half my height, and thus commanded
the roof and a slice of the interior of the cabin.
By this time the schooner and her little consort were gliding pretty
swiftly through the water; indeed, we had already fetched up level with
the camp-fire. The ship was talking, as sailors say, loudly, treading the
innumerable ripples with an incessant weltering splash; and until I got
my eye above the window-sill I could not comprehend why the watchmen had
taken no alarm. One glance, however, was sufficient; and it was only one
glance that I durst take from that unsteady skiff. It showed me Hands and
his companion locked together in deadly wrestle, each with a hand upon
the other's throat.
I dropped upon the thwart again, none too soon, for I was near overboard.
I could see nothing for the moment but these two furious, encrimsoned
faces, swaying together under the smoky lamp; and I shut my eyes to let
them grow once more familiar with the darkness.
The endless ballad had come to an end at last, and the whole diminished
company about the camp-fire had broken into the chorus I had heard so
often:--
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest--
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest--
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
I was just thinking how busy drink and the devil were at that very moment
in the cabin of the _Hispaniola_, when I was surprised by a sudden lurch
of the coracle. At the same moment she yawed sharply and seemed to change
her course. The speed in the meantime had strangely increased.
I opened my eyes at once. All round me were little ripples, combing over
with a sharp, bristling sound, and slightly phosphorescent. The
_Hispaniola_ herself, a few yards in whose wake I was still being whirled
along, seemed to stagger in her course, and I saw her spars toss a little
against the blackness of the night; nay, as I looked longer, I made sure
she also was wheeling to the southward.
I glanced over my shoulder, and my heart jumped against my ribs. There,
right behind me, was the glow of the camp-fire. The current had turned at
right angles, sweeping round along with it the tall schooner and the
little dancing coracle; ever quickening, ever bubbling higher, ever
muttering louder, it went spinning through the narrows for the open sea.
Suddenly the schooner in front of me gave a violent yaw, turning perhaps
through twenty degrees; and almost at the same moment one shout followed
another from on board; I could hear feet pounding on the
companion-ladder; and I knew that the two drunkards had at last been
interrupted in their quarrel and awakened to a sense of their disaster.
I lay down flat in the bottom of that wretched skiff, and devoutly
recommended my spirit to its Maker. At the end of the straits I made sure
we must fall into some bar of raging breakers, where all my troubles
would be ended speedily; and though I could, perhaps, bear to die, I
could not bear to look upon my fate as it approached.
So I must have lain for hours, continually beaten to and fro upon the
billows, now and again wetted with flying sprays, and never ceasing to
expect death at the next plunge. Gradually weariness grew upon me; a
numbness, an occasional stupor, fell upon my mind even in the midst of my
terrors; until sleep at last supervened, and in my sea-tossed coracle I
lay and dreamed of home and the old "Admiral Benbow."
CHAPTER XXIV
THE CRUISE OF THE CORACLE
It was broad day when I awoke, and found myself tossing at the south-west
end of Treasure Island. The sun was up, but was still hid from me behind
the great bulk of the Spy-glass, which on this side descended almost to
the sea in formidable cliffs.
Haulbowline Head and Mizzen-mast Hill were at my elbow; the hill bare and
dark, the head bound with cliffs forty or fifty feet high, and fringed
with great masses of fallen rock. I was scarce a quarter of a mile to
seaward, and it was my first thought to paddle in and land.
That notion was soon given over. Among the fallen rocks the breakers
spouted and bellowed; loud reverberations, heavy sprays flying and
falling, succeeded one another from second to second; and I saw myself,
if I ventured nearer, dashed to death upon the rough shore, or spending
my strength in vain to scale the beetling crags.
Nor was that all; for crawling together on flat tables of rock, or
letting themselves drop into the sea with loud reports, I beheld huge
slimy monsters--soft snails, as it were, of incredible bigness--two or
three score of them together, making the rocks to echo with their
barkings.
I have understood since that they were sea-lions, and entirely harmless.
But the look of them, added to the difficulty of the shore and the high
running of the surf, was more than enough to disgust me of that landing
place. I felt willing rather to starve at sea than to confront such
perils.
In the meantime I had a better chance, as I supposed, before me. North of
Haulbowline Head, the land runs in a long way, leaving, at low tide, a
long stretch of yellow sand. To the north of that, again, there comes
another cape--Cape of the Woods, as it was marked upon the chart--buried
in tall green pines, which descended to the margin of the sea.
I remembered what Silver had said about the current that sets northward
along the whole west coast of Treasure Island; and seeing from my
position that I was already under its influence, I preferred to leave
Haulbowline Head behind me, and reserve my strength for an attempt to
land upon the kindlier-looking Cape of the Woods.
There was a great, smooth swell upon the sea. The wind blowing steady and
gentle from the south, there was no contrariety between that and the
current, and the billows rose and fell unbroken.
Had it been otherwise, I must long ago have perished; but as it was, it
is surprising how easily and securely my little and light boat could
ride. Often, as I still lay at the bottom, and kept no more than an eye
above the gunwale, I would see a big blue summit heaving close above me;
yet the coracle would but bounce a little, dance as if on springs, and
subside on the other side into the trough as lightly as a bird.
I began after a little to grow very bold, and sat up to try my skill at
paddling. But even a small change in the disposition of the weight will
produce violent changes in the behaviour of a coracle. And I had hardly
moved before the boat, giving up at once her gentle dancing movement, ran
straight down a slope of water so steep that it made me giddy, and struck
her nose, with a spout of spray, deep into the side of the next wave.
I was drenched and terrified, and fell instantly back into my old
position, whereupon the coracle seemed to find her head again, and led me
as softly as before among the billows. It was plain she was not to be
interfered with, and at that rate, since I could in no way influence her
course, what hope had I left of reaching land?
I began to be horribly frightened, but I kept my head for all that.
First, moving with all care, I gradually baled out the coracle with my
sea-cap; then getting my eye once more above the gunwale, I set myself to
study how it was she managed to slip so quietly through the rollers.
I found each wave, instead of the big, smooth glossy mountain it looks
from the shore, or from a vessel's deck, was for all the world like any
range of hills on the dry land, full of peaks and smooth places and
valleys. The coracle, left to herself, turning from side to side,
threaded, so to speak, her way through these lower parts, and avoided the
steep slopes and higher, toppling summits of the wave.
"Well, now," thought I to myself, "it is plain I must lie where I am, and
not disturb the balance; but it is plain, also, that I can put the paddle
over the side, and from time to time, in smooth places, give her a shove
or two towards land." No sooner thought upon than done. There I lay on my
elbows, in the most trying attitude, and every now and again gave a weak
stroke or two to turn her head to shore.
It was very tiring, and slow work, yet I did visibly gain ground; and, as
we drew near the Cape of the Woods, though I saw I must infallibly miss
that point, I had still made some hundred yards of easting. I was,
indeed, close in. I could see the cool, green tree-tops swaying together
in the breeze, and I felt sure I should make the next promontory without
fail.
It was high time, for I now began to be tortured with thirst. The glow of
the sun from above, its thousandfold reflection from the waves, the
sea-water that fell and dried upon me, caking my very lips with salt,
combined to make my throat burn and my brain ache. The sight of the trees
so near at hand had almost made me sick with longing; but the current had
soon carried me past the point; and, as the next reach of sea opened out,
I beheld a sight that changed the nature of my thoughts.
Right in front of me, not half a mile away, I beheld the _Hispaniola_
under sail. I made sure, of course, that I should be taken; but I was so
distressed for want of water that I scarce knew whether to be glad or
sorry at the thought; and, long before I had come to a conclusion,
surprise had taken entire possession of my mind, and I could do nothing
but stare and wonder.
The _Hispaniola_ was under her main-sail and two jibs, and the beautiful
white canvas shone in the sun like snow or silver. When I first sighted
her, all her sails were drawing; she was lying a course about north-west;
and I presumed the men on board were going round the island on their way
back to the anchorage. Presently she began to fetch more and more to the
westward, so that I thought they had sighted me and were going about in
chase. At last, however, she fell right into the wind's eye, was taken
dead aback, and stood there a while helpless, with her sails shivering.
"Clumsy fellows," said I; "they must still be drunk as owls." And I
thought how Captain Smollett would have set them skipping.
Meanwhile the schooner gradually fell off, and filled again upon another
tack, sailed swiftly for a minute or so, and brought up once more dead in
the wind's eye. Again and again was this repeated. To and fro, up and
down, north, south, east, and west, the _Hispaniola_ sailed by swoops and
dashes, and at each repetition ended as she had begun, with idly-flapping
canvas. It became plain to me that nobody was steering. And, if so, where
were the men? Either they were dead drunk, or had deserted her, I
thought, and perhaps if I could get on board, I might return the vessel
to her captain.
The current was bearing coracle and schooner southward at an equal rate.
As for the latter's sailing, it was so wild and intermittent, and she
hung each time so long in irons, that she certainly gained nothing, if
she did not even lose. If only I dared to sit up and paddle, I made sure
that I could overhaul her. The scheme had an air of adventure that
inspired me, and the thought of the water-breaker beside the
fore-companion doubled my growing courage.
Up I got, was welcomed almost instantly by another cloud of spray, but
this time stuck to my purpose; and set myself, with all my strength and
caution, to paddle after the unsteered _Hispaniola_. Once I shipped a sea
so heavy that I had to stop and bale, with my heart fluttering like a
bird; but gradually I got into the way of the thing, and guided my
coracle among the waves, with only now and then a blow upon her bows and
a dash of foam in my face.
I was now gaining rapidly on the schooner; I could see the brass glisten
on the tiller as it banged about; and still no soul appeared upon her
decks. I could not choose but suppose she was deserted. If not, the men
were lying drunk below, where I might batten them down, perhaps, and do
what I chose with the ship.
For some time she had been doing the worst thing possible for
me--standing still. She headed nearly due south, yawing, of course, all
the time. Each time she fell off her sails partly filled, and these
brought her, in a moment, right to the wind again. I have said this was
the worst thing possible for me; for helpless as she looked in this
situation, with the canvas cracking like cannon, and the blocks trundling
and banging on the deck, she still continued to run away from me, not
only with the speed of the current, but by the whole amount of her
leeway, which was naturally great.
But now, at last, I had my chance. The breeze fell, for some seconds,
very low, and the current gradually turning her, the _Hispaniola_
revolved slowly round her centre, and at last presented me her stern,
with the cabin window still gaping open, and the lamp over the table
still burning on into the day. The main-sail hung drooped like a banner.
She was stock-still, but for the current.
For the last little while I had even lost; but now redoubling my efforts,
I began once more to overhaul the chase.
I was not a hundred yards from her when the wind came again in a clap;
she filled on the port tack, and was off again, stooping and skimming
like a swallow.
My first impulse was one of despair, but my second was towards joy. Round
she came, till she was broadside on to me--round still till she had
covered a half, and then two-thirds, and then three-quarters of the
distance that separated us. I could see the waves boiling white under her
forefoot. Immensely tall she looked to me from my low station in the
coracle.
And then, of a sudden, I began to comprehend. I had scarce time to
think--scarce time to act and save myself. I was on the summit of one
swell when the schooner came stooping over the next. The bowsprit was
over my head. I sprang to my feet, and leaped, stamping the coracle under
water. With one hand I caught the jib-boom, while my foot was lodged
between the stay and the brace; and as I still clung there panting, a
dull blow told me that the schooner had charged down upon and struck the
coracle, and that I was left without retreat on the _Hispaniola_.
CHAPTER XXV
I STRIKE THE JOLLY ROGER
I had scarce gained a position on the bowsprit, when the flying jib
flapped and filled upon the other tack, with a report like a gun. The
schooner trembled to her keel under the reverse; but next moment, the
other sails still drawing, the jib flapped back again, and hung idle.
This had nearly tossed me off into the sea; and now I lost no time,
crawled back along the bowsprit, and tumbled head-foremost on the deck.
I was on the lee side of the forecastle, and the main-sail, which was
still drawing, concealed from me a certain portion of the after-deck. Not
a soul was to be seen. The planks, which had not been swabbed since the
mutiny, bore the print of many feet; and an empty bottle, broken by the
neck, tumbled to and fro like a live thing in the scuppers.
Suddenly the _Hispaniola_ came right into the wind. The jibs behind me
cracked aloud; the rudder slammed-to; the whole ship gave a sickening
heave and shudder, and at the same moment the main-boom swung inboard,
the sheet groaning in the blocks, and showed me the lee after-deck.
There were the two watchmen, sure enough: red-cap on his back, as stiff
as a handspike, with his arms stretched out like those of a crucifix, and
his teeth showing through his open lips; Israel Hands propped against the
bulwarks, his chin on his chest, his hands lying open before him on the
deck, his face as white, under its tan, as a tallow-candle.
For a while the ship kept bucking and sidling like a vicious horse, the
sails filling, now on one tack, now on another, and the boom swinging to
and fro till the mast groaned aloud under the strain. Now and again, too,
there would come a cloud of light sprays over the bulwark, and a heavy
blow of the ship's bows against the swell: so much heavier weather was
made of it by this great rigged ship than by my home-made, lop-sided
coracle, now gone to the bottom of the sea.
At every jump of the schooner, red-cap slipped to and fro; but--what was
ghastly to behold--neither his attitude nor his fixed teeth-disclosing
grin was anyway disturbed by this rough usage. At every jump, too, Hands
appeared still more to sink into himself and settle down upon the deck,
his feet sliding ever the farther out, and the whole body canting towards
the stern, so that his face became, little by little, hid from me; and at
last I could see nothing beyond his ear and the frayed ringlet of one
whisker.
At the same time, I observed, around both of them, splashes of dark blood
upon the planks, and began to feel sure that they had killed each other
in their drunken wrath.
While I was thus looking and wondering, in a calm 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 bulk-heads, 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.
"Ay," 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 bye," 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 ankercher 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.
CHAPTER XXVI
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 have 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 maybe
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 underjaw, 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 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 re-appearance 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 catspaw, 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 o' 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 bull's.
At the same instant he threw himself forward, and I leapt sideways
towards the bows. As I did so, I left hold 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
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 he was
trying to think, and the process was so slow and laborious that, in my
new-found security, I laughed aloud. At last, with a swallow or two, he
spoke, his face still wearing the same expression of extreme perplexity.
In order to speak he had to take the dagger from his mouth, but, in all
else, he remained unmoved.
"Jim," says he, "I reckon we're fouled, you and me, and we'll have to
sign articles. I'd have had you but for that there lurch: but I don't
have no luck, not I; and I reckon I'll have to strike, which comes hard,
you see, for a master mariner to a ship's younker like you, Jim."
I was drinking in his words and smiling away, as conceited as a cock upon
a wall, when, all in a breath, back went his right hand over his
shoulder. Something sang like an arrow through the air: I felt a blow and
then a sharp pang, and there I was pinned by the shoulder to the mast. In
the horrid pain and surprise of the moment--I scarce can say it was by
my own volition, and I am sure it was without a conscious aim--both my
pistols went off, and both escaped out of my hands. They did not fall
alone; with a choked cry, the coxswain loosed his grasp upon the shrouds,
and plunged head first into the water.
CHAPTER XXVII
"PIECES OF EIGHT"
Owing to the cant of the vessel, the masts hung far out over the water,
and from my perch on the cross-trees I had nothing below me but the
surface of the bay. Hands, who was not so far up, was, in consequence,
near to the ship, and fell between me and the bulwarks. He rose once to
the surface in a lather of foam and blood, and then sank again for good.
As the water settled, I could see him lying huddled together on the
clean, bright sand in the shadow of the vessel's sides. A fish or two
whipped past his body. Sometimes, by the quivering of the water, he
appeared to move a little, as if he were trying to rise. But he was dead
enough, for all that, being both shot and drowned, and was food for fish
in the very place where he had designed my slaughter.
I was no sooner certain of this than I began to feel sick, faint, and
terrified. The hot blood was running over my back and chest. The dirk,
where it had pinned my shoulder to the mast, seemed to burn like a hot
iron; yet it was not so much these real sufferings that distressed me,
for these, it seemed to me, I could bear without a murmur; it was the
horror I had upon my mind of falling from the cross-trees into that still
green water, beside the body of the coxswain.
I clung with both hands till my nails ached, and I shut my eyes as if to
cover up the peril. Gradually my mind came back again, my pulses quieted
down to a more natural time, and I was once more in possession of myself.
It was my first thought to pluck forth the dirk; but either it stuck too
hard or my nerve failed me; and I desisted with a violent shudder. Oddly
enough, that very shudder did the business. The knife, in fact, had come
the nearest in the world to missing me altogether; it held me by a mere
pinch of skin, and this the shudder tore away. The blood ran down the
faster, to be sure; but I was my own master again, and only tacked to the
mast by my coat and shirt.
These last I broke through with a sudden jerk, and then regained the deck
by the starboard shrouds. For nothing in the world would I have again
ventured, shaken as I was, upon the overhanging port shrouds, from which
Israel had so lately fallen.
I went below, and did what I could for my wound; it pained me a good
deal, and still bled freely; but it was neither deep nor dangerous, nor
did it greatly gall me when I used my arm. Then I looked around me, and
as the ship was now, in a sense, my own, I began to think of clearing it
from its last passenger--the dead man, O'Brien.
He had pitched, as I have said, against the bulwarks, where he lay like
some horrible, ungainly sort of puppet; life-size, indeed, but how
different from life's colour or life's comeliness! In that position I
could easily have my way with him; and as the habit of tragical
adventures had worn off almost all my terror for the dead, I took him by
the waist as if he had been a sack of bran, and with one good heave
tumbled him overboard. He went in with a sounding plunge; the red cap
came off, and remained floating on the surface; and as soon as the splash
subsided, I could see him and Israel lying side by side, both wavering
with the tremulous movement of the water. O'Brien, though still quite a
young man, was very bald. There he lay, with that bald head across the
knees of the man who had killed him, and the quick fishes steering to and
fro over both.
I was now alone upon the ship; the tide had just turned. The sun was
within so few degrees of setting that already the shadow of the pines
upon the western shore began to reach right across the anchorage, and
fall in patterns on the deck. The evening breeze had sprung up, and
though it was well warded off by the hill with the two peaks upon the
east, the cordage had begun to sing a little softly to itself and the
idle sails to rattle to and fro.
I began to see a danger to the ship. The jibs I speedily doused and
brought tumbling to the deck; but the mainsail was a harder matter. Of
course, when the schooner canted over, the boom had swung out-board, and
the cap of it and a foot or two of sail hung even under water. I thought
this made it still more dangerous; yet the strain was so heavy that I
half feared to meddle. At last I got my knife and cut the halyards. The
peak dropped instantly, a great belly of loose canvas floated broad upon
the water; and since, pull as I liked, I could not budge the downhaul,
that was the extent of what I could accomplish. For the rest, the
_Hispaniola_ must trust to luck, like myself.
By this time the whole anchorage had fallen into shadow--the last rays, I
remember, falling through a glade of the wood, and shining bright as
jewels, on the flowery mantle of the wreck. It began to be chill; the
tide was rapidly fleeting seaward, the schooner settling more and more on
her beam-ends.
I scrambled forward and looked over. It seemed shallow enough, and
holding the cut hawser in both hands for a last security, I let myself
drop softly overboard. The water scarcely reached my waist; the sand was
firm and covered with ripple-marks, and I waded ashore in great spirits,
leaving the _Hispaniola_ on her side, with her mainsail trailing wide
upon the surface of the bay. About the same time the sun went fairly
down, and the breeze whistled low in the dusk among the tossing pines.
At least, and at last, I was off the sea, nor had I returned thence
empty-handed. There lay the schooner, clear at last from buccaneers and
ready for our own men to board and get to sea again. I had nothing nearer
my fancy than to get home to the stockade and boast of my achievements.
Possibly I might be blamed a bit for my truantry, but the recapture of
the _Hispaniola_ was a clenching answer, and I hoped that even Captain
Smollett would confess I had not lost my time.
So thinking, and in famous spirits, I began to set my face homeward for
the block-house and my companions. I remembered that the most easterly of
the rivers which drain into Captain Kidd's anchorage ran from the
two-peaked hill upon my left; and I bent my course in that direction that
I might pass the stream while it was small. The wood was pretty open, and
keeping along the lower spurs, I had soon turned the corner of that hill,
and not long after waded to the mid-calf across the water-course.
This brought me near to where I had encountered Ben Gunn, the maroon; and
I walked more circumspectly, keeping an eye on every side. The dusk had
come nigh hand completely, and, as I opened out the cleft between the two
peaks, I became aware of a wavering glow against the sky, where, as I
judged, the man of the island was cooking his supper before a roaring
fire. And yet I wondered, in my heart, that he should show himself so
careless. For if I could see this radiance, might it not reach the eyes
of Silver himself where he camped upon the shore among the marshes?
Gradually the night fell blacker; it was all I could do to guide myself
even roughly towards my destination; the double hill behind me and the
Spy-glass on my right hand loomed faint and fainter; the stars were few
and pale; and in the low ground where I wandered I kept tripping among
bushes and rolling into sandy pits.
Suddenly a kind of brightness fell about me. I looked up; a pale glimmer
of moonbeams had alighted on the summit of the Spy-glass, and soon after
I saw something broad and silvery moving low down behind the trees, and
knew the moon had risen.
With this to help me, I passed rapidly over what remained to me of my
journey; and, sometimes walking, sometimes running, impatiently drew near
to the stockade. Yet, as I began to thread the grove that lies before it,
I was not so thoughtless but that I slackened my pace and went a trifle
warily. It would have been a poor end of my adventures to get shot down
by my own party in mistake.
The moon was climbing higher and higher; its light began to fall here and
there in masses through the more open districts of the wood; and right in
front of me a glow of a different colour appeared among the trees. It was
red and hot, and now and again it was a little darkened--as it were the
embers of a bonfire smouldering.
For the life of me, I could not think what it might be.
At last I came right down upon the borders of the clearing. The western
end was already steeped in moonshine: the rest, and the block-house
itself, still lay in a black shadow, chequered with long, silvery streaks
of light. On the other side of the house an immense fire had burned
itself into clear embers and shed a steady, red reverberation, contrasted
strongly with the mellow paleness of the moon. There was not a soul
stirring, nor a sound beside the noises of the breezes.
I stopped, with much wonder in my heart, and perhaps a little terror
also. It had not been our way to build great fires; we were, indeed, by
the captain's orders, somewhat niggardly of firewood; and I began to fear
that something had gone wrong while I was absent.
I stole round by the eastern end, keeping close in shadow, and at a
convenient place, where the darkness was thickest, crossed the palisade.
To make assurance surer, I got upon my hands and knees, and crawled,
without a sound, towards the corner of the house. As I drew nearer, my
heart was suddenly and greatly lightened. It is not a pleasant noise in
itself, and I have often complained of it at other times; but just then
it was like music to hear my friends snoring together so loud and
peaceful in their sleep. The sea-cry of the watch, that beautiful "All's
well," never fell more reassuringly on my ear.
In the meantime, there was no doubt of one thing: they kept an infamous
bad watch. If it had been Silver and his lads that were now creeping in
on them, not a soul would have seen daybreak. That was what it was,
thought I, to have the captain wounded; and again I blamed myself sharply
for leaving them in that danger with so few to mount guard.
By this time I had got to the door and stood up. All was dark within, so
that I could distinguish nothing by the eye. As for sounds, there was the
steady drone of the snorers, and a small occasional noise, a flickering
or pecking that I could in no way account for.
With my arms before me I walked steadily in. I should lie down in my own
place (I thought, with a silent chuckle) and enjoy their faces when they
found me in the morning.
My foot struck something yielding--it was a sleeper's leg; and he turned
and groaned, but without awaking.
And then, all of a sudden, a shrill voice broke forth out of the
darkness--
"Pieces of eight! pieces of eight! pieces of eight! pieces of eight!
pieces of eight!" and so forth, without pause or change, like the
clacking of a tiny mill.
Silver's green parrot, Captain Flint! It was she whom I had heard pecking
at a piece of bark; it was she, keeping better watch than any human
being, who thus announced my arrival with her wearisome refrain.
I had no time left me to recover. At the sharp, clipping tone of the
parrot, the sleepers awoke and sprang up; and with a mighty oath, the
voice of Silver cried--
"Who goes?"
I turned to run, struck violently against one person, recoiled, and ran
full into the arms of a second, who, for his part, closed upon and held
me tight.
"Bring a torch, Dick," said Silver, when my capture was thus assured.
And one of the men left the log-house and presently returned with a
lighted brand.
PART VI
CAPTAIN SILVER
CHAPTER XXVIII
IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP
The red glare of the torch, lighting up the interior of the block-house,
showed me the worst of my apprehensions realised. The pirates were in
possession of the house and stores: there was the cask of cognac, there
were the pork and bread, as before; and, what tenfold increased my
horror, not a sign of any prisoner. I could only judge that all had
perished, and my heart smote me sorely that I had not been there to
perish with them.
There were six of the buccaneers, all told; not another man was left
alive. Five of them were on their feet, flushed and swollen, suddenly
called out of the first sleep of drunkenness. The sixth had only risen
upon his elbow: he was deadly pale, and the blood-stained bandage round
his head told that he had recently been wounded, and still more recently
dressed. I remembered the man who had been shot and had run back among
the woods in the great attack, and doubted not that this was he.
The parrot sat, preening her plumage, on Long John's shoulder. He
himself, I thought, looked somewhat paler and more stern than I was used
to. He still wore the fine broadcloth suit in which he had fulfilled his
mission, but it was bitterly the worse for wear, daubed with clay and
torn with the sharp briers of the wood.
"So," said he, "here's Jim Hawkins, shiver my timbers! dropped in, like,
eh? Well, come, I take that friendly."
And thereupon he sat down across the brandy cask, and began to fill a
pipe.
"Give me a loan of the link, Dick," said he; and then, when he had a
good light, "that'll do, lad," he added; "stick the glim in the
wood-heap; and you, gentlemen, bring yourselves to!--you needn't stand up
for Mr. Hawkins; _he'll_ excuse you, you may lay to that. And so,
Jim"--stopping the tobacco--"here you were, and quite a pleasant surprise
for poor old John. I see you were smart when first I set my eyes on you;
but this here gets away from me clean, it do."
To all this, as may be well supposed, I made no answer. They had set me
with my back against the wall; and I stood there, looking Silver in the
face, pluckily enough, I hope, to all outward appearance, but with black
despair in my heart.
Silver took a whiff or two of his pipe with great composure, and then ran
on again.
"Now, you see, Jim, so be as you _are_ here," says he, "I'll give you a
piece of my mind. I've always liked you, I have, for a lad of spirit, and
the picter of my own self when I was young and handsome. I always wanted
you to jine and take your share, and die a gentleman, and now, my cock,
you've got to. Cap'n Smollett's a fine seaman, as I'll own up to any day,
but stiff on discipline. 'Dooty is dooty,' says he, and right he is. Just
you keep clear of the cap'n. The doctor himself is gone dead again
you--'ungrateful scamp' was what he said; and the short and the long of
the whole story is about here: you can't go back to your own lot, for
they won't have you; and, without you start a third ship's company all by
yourself, which might be lonely, you'll have to jine with Cap'n Silver."
So far so good. My friends, then, were still alive, and though I partly
believed the truth of Silver's statement, that the cabin party were
incensed at me for my desertion, I was more relieved than distressed by
what I heard.
"I don't say nothing as to your being in our hands," continued Silver,
"though there you are, and you may lay to it. I'm all for argyment; I
never seen good come out o' threatening. If you like the service, well,
you'll jine; and if you don't, Jim, why, you're free to answer no--free
and welcome, shipmate; and if fairer can be said by mortal seaman, shiver
my sides!"
"Am I to answer, then?" I asked, with a very tremulous voice. Through all
this sneering talk I was made to feel the threat of death that overhung
me, and my cheeks burned and my heart beat painfully in my breast.
"Lad," said Silver, "no one's a-pressing of you. Take your bearings. None
of us won't hurry you, mate; time goes so pleasant in your company, you
see."
"Well," says I, growing a bit bolder, "if I'm to choose, I declare I have
a right to know what's what, and why you're here, and where my friends
are."
"Wot's wot?" repeated one of the buccaneers in a deep growl. "Ah, he'd be
a lucky one as knowed that!"
"You'll perhaps batten down your hatches till you're spoke to, my
friend," cried Silver truculently to this speaker. And then, in his first
gracious tones, he replied to me: "Yesterday morning, Mr. Hawkins," said
he, "in the dog-watch, down came Dr. Livesey with a flag of truce. Says
he, 'Cap'n Silver, you're sold out. Ship's gone.' Well, maybe we'd been
taking a glass and a song to help it round. I won't say no. Leastways
none of us had looked out. We looked out, and, by thunder! the old ship
was gone. I never seen a pack o' fools look fishier; and you may lay to
that, if I tells you that looked the fishiest. 'Well,' says the doctor,
'let's bargain.' We bargained, him and I, and here we are: stores,
brandy, block-house, the firewood you was thoughtful enough to cut, and,
in a manner of speaking, the whole blessed boat, from cross-trees to
kelson. As for them, they've tramped; I don't know where's they are."
He drew again quietly at his pipe.
"And lest you should take it into that head of yours," he went on, "that
you was included in the treaty, here's the last word that was said: 'How
many are you,' says I, 'to leave?' 'Four,' says he--'four, and one of us
wounded. As for that boy, I don't know where he is, confound him,' says
he, 'nor I don't much care. We're about sick of him.' These was his
words."
"Is that all?" I asked.
"Well, it's all that you're to hear, my son," returned Silver.
"And now I am to choose?"
"And now you are to choose, and you may lay to that," said Silver.
"Well," said I, "I am not such a fool but I know pretty well what I have
to look for. Let the worst come to the worst, it's little I care. I've
seen too many die since I fell in with you. But there's a thing or two I
have to tell you," I said, and by this time I was quite excited; "and the
first is this: here you are, in a bad way: ship lost, treasure lost, men
lost; your whole business gone to wreck; and if you want to know who did
it--it was I! I was in the apple-barrel the night we sighted land, and I
heard you, John, and you, Dick Johnson, and Hands, who is now at the
bottom of the sea, and told every word you said before the hour was out.
And as for the schooner, it was I who cut her cable, and it was I that
killed the men you had aboard of her, and it was I who brought her where
you'll never see her more, not one of you. The laugh's on my side; I've
had the top of this business from the first; I no more fear you than I
fear a fly. Kill me, if you please, or spare me. But one thing I'll say,
and no more: if you spare me, bygones are bygones, and when you fellows
are in court for piracy, I'll save you all I can. It is for you to
choose. Kill another and do yourselves no good, or spare me and keep a
witness to save you from the gallows."
I stopped, for, I tell you, I was out of breath, and, to my wonder, not a
man of them moved, but all sat staring at me like as many sheep. And
while they were still staring, I broke out again:--
"And now, Mr. Silver," I said, "I believe you're the best man here, and
if things go the worst, I'll take it kind of you to let the doctor know
the way I took it."
"I'll bear it in mind," said Silver, with an accent so curious that I
could not, for the life of me, decide whether he were laughing at my
request, or had been favourably affected by my courage.
"I'll put one to that," cried the old mahogany-faced seaman--Morgan by
name--whom I had seen in Long John's public-house upon the quays of
Bristol. "It was him that knowed Black Dog."
"Well, and see here," added the sea-cook. "I'll put another again to
that, by thunder! for it was this same boy that faked the chart from
Billy Bones. First and last, we've split upon Jim Hawkins!"
"Then here goes!" said Morgan, with an oath.
And he sprang up, drawing his knife as if he had been twenty.
"Avast there!" cried Silver. "Who are you, Tom Morgan? Maybe you thought
you was cap'n here, perhaps. By the powers, but I'll teach you better!
Cross me, and you'll go where many a good man's gone before you, first
and last, these thirty year back--some to the yard-arm, shiver my sides!
and some by the board, and all to feed the fishes. There's never a man
looked me between the eyes and seen a good day a'terwards, Tom Morgan,
you may lay to that."
Morgan paused; but a hoarse murmur rose from the others.
"Tom's right," said one.
"I stood hazing long enough from one," added another. "I'll be hanged if
I'll be hazed by you, John Silver."
"Did any of you gentlemen want to have it out with _me_?" roared Silver,
bending far forward from his position on the keg, with his pipe still
glowing in his right hand. "Put a name on what you're at; you ain't dumb,
I reckon. Him that wants shall get it. Have I lived this many years, and
a son of a rum-puncheon cock his hat athwart my hawse at the latter end
of it? You know the way; you're all gentlemen o' fortune, by your
account. Well, I'm ready. Take a cutlass, him that dares, and I'll see
the colour of his inside, crutch and all, before that pipe's empty."
Not a man stirred; not a man answered.
"That's your sort, is it?" he added, returning his pipe to his mouth.
"Well, you're a gay lot to look at, anyway. Not much worth to fight, you
ain't. P'r'aps you can understand King George's English. I'm cap'n here
by 'lection. I'm cap'n here because I'm the best man by a long sea-mile.
You won't fight, as gentlemen o' fortune should; then, by thunder, you'll
obey, and you may lay to it! I like that boy, now; I never seen a better
boy than that. He's more a man than any pair of rats of you in this here
house, and what I say is this: let me see him that'll lay a hand on
him--that's what I say, and you may lay to it."
There was a long pause after this. I stood straight up against the wall,
my heart still going like a sledge-hammer, but with a ray of hope now
shining in my bosom. Silver leant back against the wall, his arms
crossed, his pipe in the corner of his mouth, as calm as though he had
been in church; yet his eye kept wandering furtively, and he kept the
tail of it on his unruly followers. They, on their part, drew gradually
together towards the far end of the block-house, and the low hiss of
their whispering sounded in my ear continuously like a stream. One after
another they would look up, and the red light of the torch would fall for
a second on their nervous faces; but it was not towards me, it was
towards Silver that they turned their eyes.
"You seem to have a lot to say," remarked Silver, spitting far into the
air. "Pipe up and let me hear it, or lay-to."
"Ax your pardon, sir," returned one of the men, "you're pretty free with
some of the rules; maybe you'll kindly keep an eye upon the rest. This
crew's dissatisfied; this crew don't vally bullying a marlinspike; this
crew has its rights like other crews, I'll make so free as that; and by
your own rules I take it we can talk together. I ax your pardon, sir,
acknowledging you to be capting at this present; but I claim my right,
and steps outside for a council."
And with an elaborate sea-salute, this fellow, a long, ill-looking,
yellow-eyed man of five-and-thirty, stepped coolly towards the door and
disappeared out of the house. One after another, the rest followed his
example; each making a salute as he passed; each adding some apology.
"According to rules," said one. "Fo'c's'le council," said Morgan. And so
with one remark or another, all marched out, and left Silver and me alone
with the torch.
The sea-cook instantly removed his pipe.
"Now, look you here, Jim Hawkins," he said, in a steady whisper, that was
no more than audible, "you're within half a plank of death, and, what's a
long sight worse, of torture. They're going to throw me off. But, you
mark, I stand by you through thick and thin. I didn't mean to; no, not
till you spoke up. I was about desperate to lose that much blunt, and be
hanged into the bargain. But I see you was the right sort. I says to
myself: You stand by Hawkins, John, and Hawkins'll stand by you. You're
his last card, and, by the living thunder, John, he's yours! Back to
back, says I. You save your witness, and he'll save your neck!"
I began dimly to understand.
"You mean all's lost?" I asked.
"Ay, by gum, I do!" he answered. "Ship gone, neck gone--that's the size
of it. Once I looked into that bay, Jim Hawkins, and seen no
schooner--well, I'm tough, but I gave out. As for that lot and their
council, mark me, they're outright fools and cowards. I'll save your
life--if so be as I can--from them. But, see here, Jim--tit for tat--you
save Long John from swinging."
I was bewildered; it seemed a thing so hopeless he was asking--he, the
old buccaneer, the ringleader throughout.
"What I can do, that I'll do," I said.
"It's a bargain!" cried Long John. "You speak up plucky, and, by thunder!
I've a chance."
He hobbled to the torch, where it stood propped among the firewood, and
took a fresh light to his pipe.
"Understand me, Jim," he said, returning. "I've a head on my shoulders, I
have. I'm on squire's side now. I know you've got that ship safe
somewheres. How you done it I don't know, but safe it is. I guess Hands
and O'Brien turned soft. I never much believed in neither of _them_. Now
you mark me. I ask no questions, nor I won't let others. I know when a
game's up, I do; and I know a lad that's staunch. Ah, you that's
young--you and me might have done a power of good together!"
He drew some cognac from the cask into a tin cannikin.
"Will you taste, messmate?" he asked; and when I had refused: "Well, I'll
take a drain myself, Jim," said he. "I need a caulker, for there's
trouble on hand. And, talking o' trouble, why did that doctor give me the
chart, Jim?"
My face expressed a wonder so unaffected that he saw the needlessness of
further questions.
"Ah, well, he did, though," said he. "And there's something under that,
no doubt--something, surely, under that, Jim--bad or good."
And he took another swallow of the brandy, shaking his great fair head
like a man who looks forward to the worst.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE BLACK SPOT AGAIN
The council of the buccaneers had lasted some time, when one of them
re-entered the house, and with a repetition of the same salute, which had
in my eyes an ironical air, begged for a moment's loan of the torch.
Silver briefly agreed; and this emissary retired again, leaving us
together in the dark.
"There's a breeze coming, Jim," said Silver, who had, by this time,
adopted quite a friendly and familiar tone.
I turned to the loophole nearest me and looked out. The embers of the
great fire had so far burned themselves out, and now glowed so low and
duskily, that I understood why these conspirators desired a torch. About
half-way down the slope to the stockade they were collected in a group;
one held the light; another was on his knees in their midst, and I saw
the blade of an open knife shine in his hand with varying colours, in the
moon and torchlight. The rest were all somewhat stooping, as though
watching the manoeuvres of this last. I could just make out that he had
a book as well as a knife in his hand; and was still wondering how
anything so incongruous had come in their possession, when the kneeling
figure rose once more to his feet, and the whole party began to move
together towards the house.
"Here they come," said I; and I returned to my former position, for it
seemed beneath my dignity that they should find me watching them.
"Well, let 'em come, lad--let 'em come," said Silver, cheerily. "I've
still a shot in my locker."
The door opened, and the five men, standing huddled together just inside,
pushed one of their number forward. In any other circumstances it would
have been comical to see his slow advance, hesitating as he set down each
foot, but holding his closed right hand in front of him.
"Step up, lad," cried Silver. "I won't eat you. Hand it over, lubber. I
know the rules, I do; I won't hurt a depytation."
Thus encouraged, the buccaneer stepped forth more briskly, and having
passed something to Silver, from hand to hand, slipped yet more smartly
back again to his companions.
The sea-cook looked at what had been given him.
"The black spot! I thought so," he observed. "Where might you have got
the paper? Why, hillo! look here, now: this ain't lucky! You've gone and
cut this out of a Bible. What fool's cut a Bible?"
"Ah, there!" said Morgan--"there! Wot did I say? No good'll come o' that,
I said."
"Well, you've about fixed it now, among you," continued Silver. "You'll
all swing now, I reckon. What soft-headed lubber had a Bible?"
"It was Dick," said one.
"Dick, was it? Then Dick can get to prayers," said Silver. "He's seen his
slice of luck, has Dick, and you may lay to that."
But here the long man with the yellow eyes struck in.
"Belay that talk, John Silver," he said. "This crew has tipped you the
black spot in full council, as in dooty bound; just you turn it over, as
in dooty bound, and see what's wrote there. Then you can talk."
"Thanky, George," replied the sea-cook. "You always was brisk for
business, and has the rules by heart, George, as I'm pleased to see.
Well, what is it, anyway? Ah! 'Deposed'--that's it, is it? Very pretty
wrote, to be sure; like print, I swear. Your hand o' write, George. Why,
you was gettin' quite a leadin' man in this here crew. You'll be cap'n
next, I shouldn't wonder. Just oblige me with that torch again, will you?
this pipe don't draw."
"Come, now," said George, "you don't fool this crew no more. You're a
funny man, by your account; but you're over now, and you'll maybe step
down off that barrel, and help vote."
"I thought you said you knowed the rules," returned Silver
contemptuously. "Leastways, if you don't, I do; and I wait here--and I'm
still your cap'n, mind--till you outs with your grievances, and I reply;
in the meantime, your black spot ain't worth a biscuit. After that, we'll
see."
"Oh," replied George, "you don't be under no kind of apprehension;
_we're_ all square, we are. First, you've made a hash of this
cruise--you'll be a bold man to say no to that. Second, you let the enemy
out o' this here trap for nothing. Why did they want out? I dunno; but
it's pretty plain they wanted it. Third, you wouldn't let us go at them
upon the march. Oh, we see through you, John Silver; you want to play
booty, that's what's wrong with you. And then, fourth, there's this here
boy."
"Is that all?" asked Silver quietly.
"Enough, too," retorted George. "We'll all swing and sun-dry for your
bungling."
"Well, now, look here, I'll answer these four p'ints; one after another
I'll answer 'em. I made a hash o' this cruise, did I? Well, now, you all
know what I wanted: and you all know, if that had been done, that we'd
'a' been aboard the _Hispaniola_ this night as ever was, every man of us
alive, and fit, and full of good plum-duff, and the treasure in the hold
of her, by thunder! Well, who crossed me? Who forced my hand, as was the
lawful cap'n? Who tipped me the black spot the day we landed, and began
this dance? Ah, it's a fine dance--I'm with you there--and looks mighty
like a hornpipe in a rope's end at Execution Dock by London town, it
does. But who done it? Why, it was Anderson, and Hands, and you, George
Merry! And you're the last above board of that same meddling crew; and
you have the Davy Jones's insolence to up and stand for cap'n over
me--you, that sank the lot of us! By the powers! but this tops the
stiffest yarn to nothing."
Silver paused, and I could see by the faces of George and his late
comrades that these words had not been said in vain.
"That's for number one," cried the accused, wiping the sweat from his
brow, for he had been talking with a vehemence that shook the house.
"Why, I give you my word, I'm sick to speak to you. You've neither sense
nor memory, and I leave it to fancy where your mothers was that let you
come to sea. Sea! Gentlemen o' fortune! I reckon tailors is your trade."
"Go on, John," said Morgan. "Speak up to the others."
"Ah, the others!" returned John. "They're a nice lot, ain't they? You say
this cruise is bungled. Ah! by gum, if you could understand how bad it's
bungled, you would see! We're that near the gibbet that my neck's stiff
with thinking on it. You've seen 'em, maybe, hanged in chains, birds
about 'em, seamen p'inting 'em out as they go down with the tide. 'Who's
that?' says one. 'That! Why, that's John Silver. I knowed him well,' says
another. And you can hear the chains a-jangle as you go about and reach
for the other buoy. Now that's about where we are, every mother's son of
us, thanks to him, and Hands, and Anderson, and other ruination fools of
you. And if you want to know about number four, and that boy, why, shiver
my timbers, isn't he a hostage? Are we a-going to waste a hostage? No,
not us; he might be our last chance, and I shouldn't wonder. Kill that
boy? not me, mates! And number three? Ah, well, there's a deal to say to
number three. Maybe you don't count it nothing to have a real college
doctor come to see you every day--you, John, with your head broke--or
you, George Merry, that had the ague-shakes upon you not six hours agone,
and has your eyes the colour of lemon-peel to this same moment on the
clock? And maybe, perhaps, you didn't know there was a consort coming,
either? But there is; and not so long till then; and we'll see who'll be
glad to have a hostage when it comes to that. And as for number two, and
why I made a bargain--well, you came crawling on your knees to me to make
it--on your knees you came, you was that downhearted--and you'd have
starved, too, if I hadn't--but that's a trifle! you look there--that's
why!"
And he cast down upon the floor a paper that I instantly recognised--none
other than the chart on yellow paper, with the three red crosses, that I
had found in the oilcloth at the bottom of the captain's chest. Why the
doctor had given it to him was more than I could fancy.
But if it were inexplicable to me, the appearance of the chart was
incredible to the surviving mutineers. They leaped upon it like cats upon
a mouse. It went from hand to hand, one tearing it from another; and by
the oaths and the cries and the childish laughter with which they
accompanied their examination, you would have thought, not only they were
fingering the very gold, but were at sea with it, besides, in safety.
"Yes," said one, "that's Flint, sure enough. J. F., and a score below,
with a clove hitch to it; so he done ever."
"Mighty pretty," said George. "But how are we to get away with it, and us
no ship?"
Silver suddenly sprang up, and supporting himself with a hand against the
wall: "Now I give you warning, George," he cried. "One more word of your
sauce, and I'll call you down and fight you. How? Why, how do I know? You
had ought to tell me that--you and the rest, that lost me my schooner,
with your interference, burn you! But not you, you can't; you hain't got
the invention of a cockroach. But civil you can speak, and shall, George
Merry, you may lay to that."
"That's fair enow," said the old man Morgan.
"Fair! I reckon so," said the sea-cook. "You lost the ship; I found the
treasure. Who's the better man at that? And now I resign, by thunder!
Elect whom you please to be your cap'n now; I'm done with it."
"Silver!" they cried. "Barbecue for ever! Barbecue for cap'n!"
"So that's the toon, is it?" cried the cook. "George, I reckon you'll
have to wait another turn, friend: and lucky for you as I'm not a
revengeful man. But that was never my way. And now, shipmates, this black
spot? 'Tain't much good now, is it? Dick's crossed his luck and spoiled
his Bible, and that's about all."
"It'll do to kiss the book on still, won't it?" growled Dick, who was
evidently uneasy at the curse he had brought upon himself.
"A Bible with a bit cut out!" returned Silver derisively. "Not it. It
don't bind no more'n a ballad-book."
"Don't it, though?" cried Dick, with a sort of joy. "Well, I reckon
that's worth having, too."
"Here, Jim--here's a cur'osity for you," said Silver; and he tossed me
the paper.
It was a round about the size of a crown-piece. One side was blank, for
it had been the last leaf; the other contained a verse or two of
Revelation--these words among the rest, which struck sharply home upon my
mind: "Without are dogs and murderers." The printed side had been
blackened with wood ash, which already began to come off and soil my
fingers; on the blank side had been written with the same material the
one word "Depposed." I have that curiosity beside me at this moment; but
not a trace of writing now remains beyond a single scratch, such as a man
might make with his thumb-nail.
That was the end of the night's business. Soon after, with a drink all
round, we lay down to sleep, and the outside of Silver's vengeance was to
put George Merry up for sentinel, and threaten him with death if he
should prove unfaithful.
It was long ere I could close an eye, and Heaven knows I had matter
enough for thought in the man whom I had slain that afternoon, in my own
most perilous position, and, above all, in the remarkable game that I
saw Silver now engaged upon--keeping the mutineers together with one
hand, and grasping, with the other, after every means, possible and
impossible, to make his peace and save his miserable life. He himself
slept peacefully, and snored aloud; yet my heart was sore for him, wicked
as he was, to think on the dark perils that environed, and the shameful
gibbet that awaited him.
CHAPTER XXX
ON PAROLE
I was wakened--indeed, we were all wakened, for I could see even the
sentinel shake himself together from where he had fallen against the
door-post--by a clear, hearty voice hailing us from the margin of the
wood:--
"Block-house, ahoy!" it cried. "Here's the doctor."
And the doctor it was. Although I was glad to hear the sound, yet my
gladness was not without admixture. I remembered with confusion my
insubordinate and stealthy conduct; and when I saw where it had brought
me--among what companions and surrounded by what dangers--I felt ashamed
to look him in the face.
He must have risen in the dark, for the day had hardly come; and when I
ran to a loophole and looked out, I saw him standing, like Silver once
before, up to the mid-leg in creeping vapour.
"You, doctor! Top o' the morning to you, sir!" cried Silver, broad awake
and beaming with good-nature in a moment. "Bright and early, to be sure;
and it's the early bird, as the saying goes, that gets the
rations.--George, shake up your timbers, son, and help Dr. Livesey over
the ship's side. All a-doin' well, your patients was--all well and
merry."
So he pattered on, standing on the hill-top, with his crutch under his
elbow, and one hand upon the side of the log-house--quite the old John in
voice, manner, and expression.
"We've quite a surprise for you too, sir," he continued. "We've a little
stranger here--he! he! A noo boarder and lodger, sir, and looking fit
and taut as a fiddle; slep' like a supercargo, he did, right alongside of
John--stem to stem we was, all night."
Dr. Livesey was by this time across the stockade and pretty near the
cook; and I could hear the alteration in his voice as he said--
"Not Jim?"
"The very same Jim as ever was," says Silver.
The doctor stopped outright, although he did not speak, and it was some
seconds before he seemed able to move on.
"Well, well," he said, at last, "duty first and pleasure afterwards, as
you might have said yourself, Silver. Let us overhaul these patients of
yours."
A moment afterwards he had entered the block-house, and, with one grim
nod to me, proceeded with his work among the sick. He seemed under no
apprehension, though he must have known that his life, among these
treacherous demons, depended on a hair; and he rattled on to his patients
as if he were paying an ordinary professional visit in a quiet English
family. His manner, I suppose, reacted on the men; for they behaved to
him as if nothing had occurred--as if he were still ship's doctor, and
they still faithful hands before the mast.
"You're doing well, my friend," he said to the fellow with the bandaged
head, "and if ever any person had a close shave, it was you; your head
must be as hard as iron.--Well, George, how goes it? You're a pretty
colour, certainly; why, your liver, man, is upside down. Did you take
that medicine?--did he take that medicine, men?"
"Ay, ay, sir, he took it, sure enough," returned Morgan.
"Because, you see, since I am mutineers' doctor, or prison doctor, as I
prefer to call it," says Dr. Livesey, in his pleasantest way, "I make it
a point of honour not to lose a man for King George (God bless him!) and
the gallows."
The rogues looked at each other, but swallowed the home-thrust in
silence.
"Dick don't feel well, sir," said one.
"Don't he?" replied the doctor. "Well, step up here, Dick, and let me see
your tongue. No, I should be surprised if he did! the man's tongue is fit
to frighten the French. Another fever."
"Ah, there," said Morgan, "that comed of sp'iling Bibles."
"That comed--as you call it--of being arrant asses," retorted the doctor,
"and not having sense enough to know honest air from poison, and the dry
land from a vile, pestiferous slough. I think it most probable--though,
of course, it's only an opinion--that you'll all have the deuce to pay
before you get that malaria out of your systems. Camp in a bog, would
you?--Silver, I'm surprised at you. You're less a fool than many, take
you all round; but you don't appear to me to have the rudiments of a
notion of the rules of health."
"Well," he added, after he had dosed them round, and they had taken his
prescriptions with really laughable humility, more like charity-school
children than blood-guilty mutineers and pirates--"Well, that's done for
to-day. And now I should wish to have a talk with that boy, please."
And he nodded his head in my direction carelessly.
George Merry was at the door, spitting and spluttering over some
bad-tasted medicine; but at the first word of the doctor's proposal he
swung round with a deep flush, and cried "No!" and swore.
Silver struck the barrel with his open hand.
"Si-lence!" he roared, and looked about him positively like a lion.
"Doctor," he went on, in his usual tones, "I was a-thinking of that,
knowing as how you had a fancy for the boy. We're all humbly grateful for
your kindness, and, as you see, puts faith in you, and takes the drugs
down like that much grog. And I take it, I've found a way as'll suit
all.--Hawkins, will you give me your word of honour as a young
gentleman--for a young gentleman you are, although poor born--your word
of honour not to slip your cable?"
I readily gave the pledge required.
"Then, doctor," said Silver, "you just step outside o' that stockade, and
once you're there, I'll bring the boy down on the inside, and I reckon
you can yarn through the spars. Good-day to you, sir, and all our dooties
to the squire and Cap'n Smollett."
The explosion of disapproval, which nothing but Silver's black looks had
restrained, broke out immediately the doctor had left the house. Silver
was roundly accused of playing double--of trying to make a separate peace
for himself--of sacrificing the interests of his accomplices and victims;
and, in one word, of the identical, exact thing that he was doing. It
seemed to me so obvious, in this case, that I could not imagine how he
was to turn their anger. But he was twice the man the rest were; and his
last night's victory had given him a huge preponderance on their minds.
He called them all the fools and dolts you can imagine, said it was
necessary I should talk to the doctor, fluttered the chart in their
faces, asked them if they could afford to break the treaty the very day
they were bound a-treasure-hunting.
"No, by thunder!" he cried, "it's us must break the treaty when the time
comes; and till then I'll gammon that doctor, if I have to ile his boots
with brandy."
And then he bade them get the fire lit, and stalked out upon his crutch,
with his hand on my shoulder, leaving them in a disarray, and silenced by
his volubility rather than convinced.
"Slow, lad, slow," he said. "They might round upon us in a twinkle of an
eye, if we was seen to hurry."
Very deliberately, then, did we advance across the sand to where the
doctor awaited us on the other side of the stockade, and as soon as we
were within easy speaking distance, Silver stopped.
"You'll make a note of this here also, doctor," says he, "and the boy'll
tell you how I saved his life, and were deposed for it, too, and you may
lay to that. Doctor, when a man's steering as near the wind as
me--playing chuck-farthing with the last breath in his body, like--you
wouldn't think it too much, mayhap, to give him one good word? You'll
please bear in mind it's not my life only now--it's that boy's into the
bargain; and you'll speak me fair, doctor, and give me a bit o' hope to
go on, for the sake of mercy."
Silver was a changed man, once he was out there and had his back to his
friends and the block-house; his cheeks seemed to have fallen in, his
voice trembled; never was a soul more dead in earnest.
"Why, John, you're not afraid?" asked Doctor Livesey.
"Doctor, I'm no coward; no, not I--not _so_ much!" and he snapped his
fingers. "If I was I wouldn't say it. But I'll own up fairly, I've the
shakes upon me for the gallows. You're a good man and a true; I never
seen a better man! And you'll not forget what I done good, not any more
than you'll forget the bad, I know. And I step aside--see here--and leave
you and Jim alone. And you'll put that down for me too, for it's a long
stretch, is that!"
So saying, he stepped back a little way, till he was out of earshot, and
there sat down upon a tree-stump and began to whistle; spinning round now
and again upon his seat so as to command a sight, sometimes of me and the
doctor, and sometimes of his unruly ruffians as they went to and fro in
the sand, between the fire--which they were busy rekindling--and the
house, from which they brought forth pork and bread to make the
breakfast.
"So, Jim," said the doctor sadly, "here you are. As you have brewed, so
shall you drink, my boy. Heaven knows, I cannot find it in my heart to
blame you; but this much I will say, be it kind or unkind: when Captain
Smollett was well, you dared not have gone off; and when he was ill, and
couldn't help it, by George, it was downright cowardly!"
I will own that I here began to weep. "Doctor," I said, "you might spare
me. I have blamed myself enough; my life's forfeit anyway, and I should
have been dead by now, if Silver hadn't stood for me; and, doctor,
believe this, I can die--and I daresay I deserve it--but what I fear is
torture. If they come to torture me----"
"Jim," the doctor interrupted, and his voice was quite changed, "Jim, I
can't have this. Whip over, and we'll run for it."
"Doctor," said I, "I passed my word."
"I know, I know," he cried. "We can't help that, Jim, now. I'll take it
on my shoulders, holus bolus, blame and shame, my boy; but stay here I
cannot let you. Jump! One jump, and you're out, and we'll run for it like
antelopes."
"No," I replied, "you know right well you wouldn't do the thing yourself;
neither you, nor squire, nor captain; and no more will I. Silver trusted
me; I passed my word, and back I go. But, doctor, you did not let me
finish. If they come to torture me, I might let slip a word of where the
ship is; for I got the ship, part by luck and part by risking, and she
lies in North Inlet, on the southern beach, and just below high water. At
half-tide she must be high and dry."
"The ship!" exclaimed the doctor.
Rapidly I described to him my adventures, and he heard me out in silence.
"There is a kind of fate in this," he observed, when I had done. "Every
step, it's you that saves our lives; and do you suppose by any chance
that we are going to let you lose yours? That would be a poor return, my
boy. You found out the plot; you found Ben Gunn--the best deed that ever
you did, or will do, though you live to ninety. Oh, by Jupiter, and
talking of Ben Gunn! why, this is the mischief in person. Silver!" he
cried, "Silver!--I'll give you a piece of advice," he continued, as the
cook drew near again; "don't you be in any great hurry after that
treasure."
"Why, sir, I do my possible, which that ain't," said Silver. "I can only,
asking your pardon, save my life and the boy's by seeking for that
treasure; and you may lay to that."
"Well, Silver," replied the doctor, "if that is so, I'll go one step
further: look out for squalls when you find it."
"Sir," said Silver, "as between man and man, that's too much and too
little. What you're after, why you left the block-house, why you given me
that there chart, I don't know, now, do I? and yet I done your bidding
with my eyes shut and never a word of hope! But no, this here's too much.
If you won't tell me what you mean plain out, just say so, and I'll leave
the helm."
"No," said the doctor musingly, "I've no right to say more; it's not my
secret, you see, Silver, or, I give you my word, I'd tell it you. But
I'll go as far with you as I dare go, and a step beyond; for I'll have my
wig sorted by the captain, or I'm mistaken! And, first, I'll give you a
bit of hope: Silver, if we both get alive out of this wolf-trap, I'll do
my best to save you, short of perjury."
Silver's face was radiant. "You couldn't say more, I'm sure, sir, not if
you was my mother," he cried.
"Well, that's my first concession," added the doctor. "My second is a
piece of advice: Keep the boy close beside you, and when you need help,
halloo. I'm off to seek it for you, and that itself will show you if I
speak at random.--Good-bye, Jim."
And Dr. Livesey shook hands with me through the stockade, nodded to
Silver, and set off at a brisk pace into the wood.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE TREASURE HUNT--FLINT'S POINTER
"Jim," said Silver, when we were alone, "if I saved your life, you saved
mine; and I'll not forget it. I seen the doctor waving you to run for
it--with the tail of my eye, I did; and I seen you say no, as plain as
hearing. Jim, that's one to you. This is the first glint of hope I had
since the attack failed, and I owe it you. And now, Jim, we're to go in
for this here treasure-hunting, with sealed orders, too, and I don't like
it; and you and me must stick close, back to back like, and we'll save
our necks in spite o' fate and fortune."
Just then a man hailed us from the fire that breakfast was ready, and we
were soon seated here and there about the sand over biscuit and fried
junk. They had lit a fire fit to roast an ox; and it was now grown so hot
that they could only approach it from the windward, and even there not
without precaution. In the same wasteful spirit, they had cooked, I
suppose, three times more than we could eat; and one of them, with an
empty laugh, threw what was left into the fire, which blazed and roared
again over this unusual fuel. I never in my life saw men so careless of
the morrow; hand to mouth is the only word that can describe their way of
doing; and what with wasted food and sleeping sentries, though they were
bold enough for a brush and be done with it, I could see their entire
unfitness for anything like a prolonged campaign.
Even Silver, eating away, with Captain Flint upon his shoulder, had not a
word of blame for their recklessness. And this the more surprised me,
for I thought he had never shown himself so cunning as he did then.
"Ay, mates," said he, "it's lucky you have Barbecue to think for you with
this here head. I got what I wanted, I did. Sure enough, they have the
ship. Where they have it, I don't know yet; but once we hit the treasure,
we'll have to jump about and find out. And then, mates, us that has the
boats, I reckon, has the upper hand."
Thus he kept running on, with his mouth full of the hot bacon: thus he
restored their hope and confidence, and, I more than suspect, repaired
his own at the same time.
"As for hostage," he continued, "that's his last talk, I guess, with them
he loves so dear. I've got my piece o' news, and thanky to him for that;
but it's over and done. I'll take him in a line when we go
treasure-hunting, for we'll keep him like so much gold, in case of
accidents, you mark, and in the meantime. Once we got the ship and
treasure both, and off to sea like jolly companions, why, then, we'll
talk Mr. Hawkins over, we will, and we'll give him his share, to be sure,
for all his kindness."
It was no wonder the men were in a good humour now. For my part, I was
horribly cast down. Should the scheme he had now sketched prove feasible,
Silver, already doubly a traitor, would not hesitate to adopt it. He had
still a foot in either camp, and there was no doubt he would prefer
wealth and freedom with the pirates to a bare escape from hanging, which
was the best he had to hope on our side.
Nay, and even if things so fell out that he was forced to keep his faith
with Dr. Livesey, even then what danger lay before us! What a moment that
would be when the suspicions of his followers turned to certainty, and he
and I should have to fight for dear life--he, a cripple, and I, a
boy--against five strong and active seamen!
Add to this double apprehension, the mystery that still hung over the
behaviour of my friends; their unexplained desertion of the stockade;
their inexplicable cession of the chart; or, harder still to understand,
the doctor's last warning to Silver, "Look out for squalls when you find
it;" and you will readily believe how little taste I found in my
breakfast, and with how uneasy a heart I set forth behind my captors on
the quest for treasure.
We made a curious figure, had any one been there to see us; all in soiled
sailor clothes, and all but me armed to the teeth. Silver had two guns
slung about him--one before and one behind--besides the great cutlass at
his waist, and a pistol in each pocket of his square-tailed coat. To
complete his strange appearance, Captain Flint sat perched upon his
shoulder and gabbling odds and ends of purposeless sea-talk. I had a line
about my waist, and followed obediently after the sea-cook, who held the
loose end of the rope, now in his free hand, now between his powerful
teeth. For all the world, I was led like a dancing bear.
The other men were variously burthened; some carrying picks and
shovels--for that had been the very first necessary they brought ashore
from the _Hispaniola_--others laden with pork, bread, and brandy for the
midday meal. All the stores, I observed, came from our stock; and I could
see the truth of Silver's words the night before. Had he not struck a
bargain with the doctor, he and his mutineers, deserted by the ship, must
have been driven to subsist on clear water and the proceeds of their
hunting. Water would have been little to their taste; a sailor is not
usually a good shot; and, besides all that, when they were so short of
eatables, it was not likely they would be very flush of powder.
Well, thus equipped, we all set out--even the fellow with the broken
head, who should certainly have kept in shadow--and straggled, one after
another, to the beach, where the two gigs awaited us. Even these bore
trace of the drunken folly of the pirates, one in a broken thwart, and
both in their muddied and unbaled condition. Both were to be carried
along with us, for the sake of safety; and so, with our numbers divided
between them, we set forth upon the bosom of the anchorage.
As we pulled over, there was some discussion on the chart. The red cross
was, of course, far too large to be a guide; and the terms of the note on
the back, as you will hear, admitted of some ambiguity. They ran, the
reader may remember, thus:--
"Tall tree, Spy-glass Shoulder, bearing a point to the N. of N.N.E.
"Skeleton Island E.S.E. and by E.
"Ten feet."
A tall tree was thus the principal mark. Now, right before us, the
anchorage was bounded by a plateau from two to three hundred feet high,
adjoining on the north the sloping southern shoulder of the Spy-glass,
and rising again towards the south into the rough, cliffy eminence called
the Mizzen-mast Hill. The top of the plateau was dotted thickly with pine
trees of varying height. Every here and there, one of a different species
rose forty or fifty feet clear above its neighbours, and which of these
was the particular "tall tree" of Captain Flint could only be decided on
the spot, and by the readings of the compass.
Yet, although that was the case, every man on board the boats had picked
a favourite of his own ere we were half-way over, Long John alone
shrugging his shoulders and bidding them wait till they were there.
We pulled easily, by Silver's directions, not to weary the hands
prematurely; and, after quite a long passage, landed at the mouth of the
second river--that which runs down a woody cleft of the Spy-glass.
Thence, bending to our left, we began to ascend the slope towards the
plateau.
At the first outset, heavy, miry ground and a matted, marish vegetation,
greatly delayed our progress; but by little and little the hill began to
steepen and become stony under foot, and the wood to change its character
and to grow in a more open order. It was, indeed, a most pleasant portion
of the island that we were now approaching. A heavy-scented broom and
many flowering shrubs had almost taken the place of grass. Thickets of
green nutmeg trees were dotted here and there with the red columns and
the broad shadow of the pines; and the first mingled their spice with
the aroma of the others. The air, besides, was fresh and stirring, and
this, under the sheer sunbeams, was a wonderful refreshment to our
senses.
The party spread itself abroad, in a fan shape, shouting and leaping to
and fro. About the centre, and a good way behind the rest, Silver and I
followed--I tethered by my rope, he ploughing, with deep pants, among the
sliding gravel. From time to time, indeed, I had to lend him a hand, or
he must have missed his footing and fallen backward down the hill.
We had thus proceeded for about half a mile, and were approaching the
brow of the plateau, when the man upon the farthest left began to cry
aloud, as if in terror. Shout after shout came from him, and the others
began to run in his direction.
"He can't 'a' found the treasure," said old Morgan, hurrying past us from
the right, "for that's clean a-top."
Indeed, as we found when we also reached the spot, it was something very
different. At the foot of a pretty big pine, and involved in a green
creeper, which had even partly lifted some of the smaller bones, a human
skeleton lay, with a few shreds of clothing, on the ground. I believe a
chill struck for a moment to every heart.
"He was a seaman," said George Merry, who, bolder than the rest, had gone
up close, and was examining the rags of clothing. "Leastways, this is
good sea-cloth."
"Ay, ay," said Silver, "like enough; you wouldn't look to find a bishop
here, I reckon. But what sort of a way is that for bones to lie? 'Tain't
in natur'."
Indeed, on a second glance, it seemed impossible to fancy that the body
was in a natural position. But for some disarray (the work, perhaps, of
the birds that had fed upon him, or of the slow-growing creeper that had
gradually enveloped his remains) the man lay perfectly straight--his feet
pointing in one direction, his hands, raised above his head like a
diver's, pointing directly in the opposite.
"I've taken a notion into my old numskull," observed Silver. "Here's the
compass; there's the tip-top p'int o' Skeleton Island, stickin' out like
a tooth. Just take a bearing, will you, along the line of them bones?"
It was done. The body pointed straight in the direction of the island,
and the compass read duly E.S.E. and by E.
"I thought so," cried the cook; "this here is a p'inter. Right up there
is our line for the Pole Star and the jolly dollars. But, by thunder! if
it don't make me cold inside to think of Flint. This is one of _his_
jokes, and no mistake. Him and these six was alone here; he killed 'em,
every man; and this one he hauled here and laid down by compass, shiver
my timbers! They're long bones, and the hair's been yellow. Ay, that
would be Allardyce.--You mind Allardyce, Tom Morgan?"
"Ay, ay," returned Morgan, "I mind him; he owed me money, he did, and
took my knife ashore with him."
"Speaking of knives," said another, "why don't we find his'n lying round?
Flint warn't the man to pick a seaman's pocket; and the birds, I guess,
would leave it be."
"By the powers, and that's true!" cried Silver.
"There ain't a thing left here," said Merry, still feeling round among
the bones, "not a copper doit nor a baccy-box. It don't look nat'ral to
me."
"No, by gum, it don't," agreed Silver; "not nat'ral, nor not nice, says
you. Great guns! messmates, but if Flint was living, this would be a hot
spot for you and me. Six they were, and six are we; and bones is what
they are now."
"I saw him dead with these here deadlights," said Morgan. "Billy took me
in. There he laid, with penny-pieces on his eyes."
"Dead--ay, sure enough he's dead and gone below," said the fellow with
the bandage; "but if ever sperrit walked, it would be Flint's. Dear
heart, but he died bad, did Flint!"
"Ay, that he did," observed another; "now he raged, and now he hollered
for the rum, and now he sang. 'Fifteen Men' were his only song, mates;
and I tell you true, I never rightly liked to hear it since. It was main
hot, and the windy was open, and I hear that old song comin' out as clear
as clear--and the death-haul on the man already."
"Come, come," said Silver, "stow this talk. He's dead, and he don't walk,
that I know; leastways, he won't walk by day, and you may lay to that.
Care killed a cat. Fetch ahead for the doubloons."
We started, certainly; but in spite of the hot sun and the staring
daylight, the pirates no longer ran separate and shouting through the
wood, but kept side by side and spoke with bated breath. The terror of
the dead buccaneer had fallen on their spirits.
CHAPTER XXXII
THE TREASURE HUNT--THE VOICE AMONG THE TREES
Partly from the damping influence of this alarm, partly to rest Silver
and the sick folk, the whole party sat down as soon as they had gained
the brow of the ascent.
The plateau being somewhat tilted towards the west, this spot on which we
had paused commanded a wide prospect on either hand. Before us, over the
tree-tops, we beheld the Cape of the Woods fringed with surf; behind, we
not only looked down upon the anchorage and Skeleton Island, but
saw--clear across the spit and the eastern lowlands--a great field of
open sea upon the east. Sheer above us rose the Spy-glass, here dotted
with single pines, there black with precipices. There was no sound but
that of the distant breakers, mounting from all round, and the chirp of
countless insects in the brush. Not a man, not a sail upon the sea; the
very largeness of the view increased the sense of solitude.
Silver, as he sat, took certain bearings with his compass.
"There are three 'tall trees,'" said he, "about in the right line from
Skeleton Island. 'Spy-glass Shoulder,' I take it, means that lower p'int
there. It's child's-play to find the stuff now. I've half a mind to dine
first."
"I don't feel sharp," growled Morgan. "Thinkin' o' Flint--I think it
were--'as done me."
"Ah, well, my son, you praise your stars he's dead," said Silver.
"He were an ugly devil," cried a third pirate with a shudder; "that blue
in the face, too!"
"That was how the rum took him," added Merry. "Blue! well, I reckon he
was blue. That's a true word."
Ever since they had found the skeleton and got upon this train of
thought, they had spoken lower and lower, and they had almost got to
whispering by now, so that the sound of their talk hardly interrupted the
silence of the wood. All of a sudden, out of the middle of the trees in
front of us, a thin, high, trembling voice struck up the well-known air
and words:--
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest--
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
I never have seen men more dreadfully affected than the pirates. The
colour went from their six faces like enchantment; some leaped to their
feet, some clawed hold of others; Morgan grovelled on the ground.
"It's Flint, by ----!" cried Merry.
The song had stopped as suddenly as it began--broken off, you would have
said, in the middle of a note, as though some one had laid his hand upon
the singer's mouth. Coming so far through the clear, sunny atmosphere
among the green tree-tops, I thought it had sounded airily and sweetly;
and the effect on my companions was the stranger.
"Come," said Silver, struggling with his ashen lips to get the word out,
"this won't do. Stand by to go about. This is a rum start, and I can't
name the voice: but it's some one skylarking--some one that's flesh and
blood, and you may lay to that."
His courage had come back as he spoke, and some of the colour to his face
along with it. Already the others had begun to lend an ear to this
encouragement, and were coming a little to themselves, when the same
voice broke out again--not this time singing, but in a faint distant
hail, that echoed yet fainter among the clefts of the Spy-glass.
"Darby M'Graw," it wailed--for that is the word that best describes the
sound--"Darby M'Graw! Darby M'Graw!" again and again and again; and then
rising a little higher, and with an oath that I leave out, "Fetch aft
the rum, Darby!"
The buccaneers remained rooted to the ground, their eyes starting from
their heads. Long after the voice had died away they still stared in
silence, dreadfully, before them.
"That fixes it!" gasped one. "Let's go."
"They was his last words," moaned Morgan, "his last words above board."
Dick had his Bible out, and was praying volubly. He had been well brought
up, had Dick, before he came to sea and fell among bad companions.
Still, Silver was unconquered. I could hear his teeth rattle in his head;
but he had not yet surrendered.
"Nobody in this here island ever heard of Darby," he muttered: "not one
but us that's here." And then, making a great effort: "Shipmates," he
cried, "I'm here to get that stuff, and I'll not be beat by man nor
devil. I never was feared of Flint in his life, and, by the powers! I'll
face him dead. There's seven hundred thousand pound not a quarter of a
mile from here. When did ever a gentleman o' fortune show his stern to
that much dollars, for a boosy old seaman with a blue mug--and him dead,
too?"
But there was no sign of re-awakening courage in his followers; rather,
indeed, of growing terror at the irreverence of his words.
"Belay there, John!" said Merry. "Don't you cross a sperrit."
And the rest were all too terrified to reply. They would have run away
severally had they dared; but fear kept them together, and kept them
close by John, as if his daring helped them. He, on his part, had pretty
well fought his weakness down.
"Sperrit? Well, maybe," he said. "But there's one thing not clear to me.
There was an echo. Now, no man ever seen a sperrit with a shadow; well,
then, what's he doing with an echo to him, I should like to know? That
ain't in natur', surely?"
This argument seemed weak enough to me. But you can never tell what will
affect the superstitious, and, to my wonder, George Merry was greatly
relieved.
"Well, that's so," he said. "You've a head upon your shoulders, John, and
no mistake. 'Bout ship, mates! This here crew is on a wrong tack, I do
believe. And come to think on it, it was like Flint's voice, I grant you,
but not just so clear-away like it, after all. It was liker somebody
else's voice now--it was liker----"
"By the powers, Ben Gunn!" roared Silver.
"Ay, and so it were," cried Morgan, springing on his knees. "Ben Gunn it
were!"
"It don't make much odds, do it, now?" asked Dick. "Ben Gunn's not here
in the body, any more'n Flint."
But the older hands greeted this remark with scorn.
"Why, nobody minds Ben Gunn," cried Merry; "dead or alive, nobody minds
him."
It was extraordinary how their spirits had returned, and how the natural
colour had revived in their faces. Soon they were chatting together, with
intervals of listening; and not long after, hearing no further sound,
they shouldered the tools and set forth again, Merry walking first with
Silver's compass to keep them on the right line with Skeleton Island. He
had said the truth; dead or alive, nobody minded Ben Gunn.
Dick alone still held his Bible, and looked around him as he went, with
fearful glances; but he found no sympathy, and Silver even joked him on
his precautions.
"I told you," said he--"I told you, you had sp'iled your Bible. If it
ain't no good to swear by, what do you suppose a sperrit would give for
it? Not that!" and he snapped his big fingers, halting a moment on his
crutch.
But Dick was not to be comforted; indeed, it was soon plain to me that
the lad was falling sick; hastened by heat, exhaustion, and the shock of
his alarm, the fever, predicted by Doctor Livesey, was evidently growing
swiftly higher.
It was fine open walking here, upon the summit; our way lay a little
down-hill, for, as I have said, the plateau tilted towards the west. The
pines, great and small, grew wide apart: and even between the clumps of
nutmeg and azalea, wide open spaces baked in the hot sunshine. Striking,
as we did, pretty near north-west across the island, we drew, on the one
hand, ever nearer under the shoulders of the Spy-glass, and on the other,
looked ever wider over that western bay where I had once tossed and
trembled in the coracle.
The first of the tall trees was reached, and, by the bearing, proved the
wrong one. So with the second. The third rose nearly two hundred feet
into the air above a clump of underwood; a giant of a vegetable, with a
red column as big as a cottage, and a wide shadow around in which a
company could have manoeuvred. It was conspicuous far to sea both on
the east and west, and might have been entered as a sailing mark upon the
chart.
But it was not its size that now impressed my companions; it was the
knowledge that seven hundred thousand pounds in gold lay somewhere buried
below its spreading shadow. The thought of the money, as they drew
nearer, swallowed up their previous terrors. Their eyes burned in their
heads; their feet grew speedier and lighter; their whole soul was bound
up in that fortune, that whole lifetime of extravagance and pleasure,
that lay waiting there for each of them.
Silver hobbled, grunting, on his crutch; his nostrils stood out and
quivered: he cursed like a madman when the flies settled on his hot and
shiny countenance; he plucked furiously at the line that held me to him,
and, from time to time, turned his eyes upon me with a deadly look.
Certainly he took no pains to hide his thoughts; and certainly I read
them like print. In the immediate nearness of the gold, all else had been
forgotten; his promise and the doctor's warning were both things of the
past; and I could not doubt that he hoped to seize upon the treasure,
find and board the _Hispaniola_ under cover of night, cut every honest
throat about that island, and sail away, as he had at first intended,
laden with crimes and riches.
Shaken as I was with these alarms, it was hard for me to keep up with the
rapid pace of the treasure-hunters. Now and again I stumbled; and it was
then that Silver plucked so roughly at the rope and launched at me his
murderous glances. Dick, who had dropped behind us, and now brought up
the rear, was babbling to himself both prayers and curses, as his fever
kept rising. This also added to my wretchedness, and, to crown all, I was
haunted by the thought of the tragedy that had once been acted on that
plateau, when that ungodly buccaneer with the blue face--he who died at
Savannah, singing and shouting for drink--had there, with his own hand,
cut down his six accomplices. This grove, that was now so peaceful, must
then have rung with cries, I thought; and even with the thought I could
believe I heard it ringing still.
We were now at the margin of the thicket.
"Huzza, mates, all together!" shouted Merry; and the foremost broke into
a run.
And suddenly, not ten yards farther, we beheld them stop. A low cry
arose. Silver doubled his pace, digging away with the foot of his crutch
like one possessed; and next moment he and I had come also to a dead
halt.
Before us was a great excavation, not very recent, for the sides had
fallen in and grass had sprouted on the bottom. In this were the shaft of
a pick broken in two and the boards of several packing-cases strewn
around. On one of these boards I saw, branded with a hot iron, the name
_Walrus_--the name of Flint's ship.
All was clear to probation. The _cache_ had been found and rifled: the
seven hundred thousand pounds were gone!
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE FALL OF A CHIEFTAIN
There never was such an overturn in this world. Each of these six men was
as though he had been struck. But with Silver the blow passed almost
instantly. Every thought of his soul had been set full-stretch, like a
racer, on that money; well, he was brought up in a single second, dead;
and he kept his head, found his temper, and changed his plan before the
others had had time to realise the disappointment.
"Jim," he whispered, "take that, and stand by for trouble."
And he passed me a double-barrelled pistol.
At the same time he began quietly moving northward, and in a few steps
had put the hollow between us two and the other five. Then he looked at
me and nodded, as much as to say, "Here is a narrow corner," as, indeed,
I thought it was. His looks were now quite friendly; and I was so
revolted at these constant changes, that I could not forbear whispering,
"So you've changed sides again."
There was no time left for him to answer in. The buccaneers, with oaths
and cries, began to leap, one after another, into the pit, and to dig
with their fingers, throwing the boards aside as they did so. Morgan
found a piece of gold. He held it up with a perfect spout of oaths. It
was a two-guinea piece, and it went from hand to hand among them for a
quarter of a minute.
"Two guineas!" roared Merry, shaking it at Silver. "That's your seven
hundred thousand pounds, is it? You're the man for bargains, ain't you?
You're him that never bungled nothing, you wooden-headed lubber!"
"Dig away, boys," said Silver, with the coolest insolence; "you'll find
some pig-nuts and I shouldn't wonder."
"Pig-nuts!" repeated Merry, in a scream. "Mates, do you hear that? I tell
you, now, that man there knew it all along. Look in the face of him, and
you'll see it wrote there."
"Ah, Merry," remarked Silver, "standing for cap'n again? You're a pushing
lad, to be sure."
But this time every one was entirely in Merry's favour. They began to
scramble out of the excavation, darting furious glances behind them. One
thing I observed, which looked well for us: they all got out upon the
opposite side from Silver.
Well, there we stood, two on one side, five on the other, the pit between
us, and nobody screwed up high enough to offer the first blow. Silver
never moved; he watched them, very upright on his crutch, and looked as
cool as ever I saw him. He was brave, and no mistake.
At last, Merry seemed to think a speech might help matters.
"Mates," says he, "there's two of them alone there; one's the old cripple
that brought us all here and blundered us down to this; the other's that
cub that I mean to have the heart of. Now, mates----"
He was raising his arm and his voice, and plainly meant to lead a charge.
But just then--crack! crack! crack!--three musket-shots flashed out of
the thicket. Merry tumbled head-foremost into the excavation; the man
with the bandage spun round like a teetotum, and fell all his length upon
his side, where he lay dead, but still twitching; and the other three
turned and ran for it with all their might.
Before you could wink, Long John had fired two barrels of a pistol into
the struggling Merry; and as the man rolled up his eyes at him in the
last agony, "George," said he, "I reckon I settled you."
At the same moment the doctor, Gray, and Ben Gunn joined us, with
smoking muskets, from among the nutmeg trees.
"Forward!" cried the doctor. "Double quick, my lads! We must head 'em off
the boats."
And we set off at a great pace, sometimes plunging through the bushes to
the chest.
I tell you, but Silver was anxious to keep up with us. The work that man
went through, leaping on his crutch till the muscles of his chest were
fit to burst, was work no sound man ever equalled; and so thinks the
doctor. As it was, he was already thirty yards behind us, and on the
verge of strangling, when we reached the brow of the slope.
"Doctor," he hailed, "see there! no hurry!"
Sure enough there was no hurry. In a more open part of the plateau, we
could see the three survivors still running in the same direction as they
had started, right for Mizzen-mast Hill. We were already between them and
the boats; and so we four sat down to breathe, while Long John, mopping
his face, came slowly up with us.
"Thank ye kindly, doctor," says he. "You came in in about the nick, I
guess, for me and Hawkins.--And so it's you, Ben Gunn!" he added. "Well,
you're a nice one, to be sure."
"I'm Ben Gunn, I am," replied the maroon, wriggling like an eel in his
embarrassment. "And," he added, after a long pause, "how do, Mr. Silver?
Pretty well, I thank ye, says you."
"Ben, Ben," murmured Silver, "to think as you've done me!"
The doctor sent back Gray for one of the pickaxes, deserted, in their
flight, by the mutineers; and then, as we proceeded leisurely down-hill
to where the boats were lying, related, in a few words, what had taken
place. It was a story that profoundly interested Silver; and Ben Gunn,
the half-idiot maroon, was the hero from beginning to end.
Ben, in his long, lonely wanderings about the island had found the
skeleton--it was he that had rifled it; he had found the treasure; he had
dug it up (it was the haft of his pickaxe that lay broken in the
excavation); he had carried it on his back, in many weary journeys, from
the foot of a tall pine to a cave he had on the two-pointed hill at the
north-east angle of the island, and there it had lain stored in safety
since two months before the arrival of the _Hispaniola_.
When the doctor had wormed this secret from him, on the afternoon of the
attack, and when, next morning, he saw the anchorage deserted, he had
gone to Silver, given him the chart, which was now useless--given him the
stores, for Ben Gunn's cave was well supplied with goat's meat salted by
himself--given anything and everything to get a chance of moving in
safety from the stockade to the two-pointed hill, there to be clear of
malaria and keep a guard upon the money.
"As for you, Jim," he said, "it went against my heart, but I did what I
thought best for those who had stood by their duty; and if you were not
one of these, whose fault was it?"
That morning, finding that I was to be involved in the horrid
disappointment he had prepared for the mutineers, he had run all the way
to the cave, and, leaving squire to guard the captain, had taken Gray and
the maroon, and started, making the diagonal across the island, to be at
hand beside the pine. Soon, however, he saw that our party had the start
of him: and Ben Gunn, being fleet of foot, had been despatched in front
to do his best alone. Then it had occurred to him to work upon the
superstitions of his former shipmates; and he was so far successful that
Gray and the doctor had come up and were already ambushed before the
arrival of the treasure-hunters.
"Ah," said Silver, "it were fortunate for me that I had Hawkins here. You
would have let old John be cut to bits, and never given it a thought,
doctor."
"Not a thought," replied Dr. Livesey cheerily.
And by this time we had reached the gigs. The doctor, with the pickaxe,
demolished one of them, and then we all got aboard the other and set out
to go round by sea for North Inlet.
This was a run of eight or nine miles. Silver, though he was almost
killed already with fatigue, was set to an oar, like the rest of us, and
we were soon skimming swiftly over a smooth sea. Soon we passed out of
the straits and doubled the south-east corner of the island, round which,
four days ago, we had towed the _Hispaniola_.
As we passed the two-pointed hill we could see the black mouth of Ben
Gunn's cave, and a figure standing by it, leaning on a musket. It was the
squire; and we waved a handkerchief and gave him three cheers, in which
the voice of Silver joined as heartily as any.
Three miles farther, just inside the mouth of North Inlet, what should we
meet but the _Hispaniola_, cruising by herself? The last flood had lifted
her; and had there been much wind, or a strong tide current, as in the
southern anchorage, we should never have found her more, or found her
stranded beyond help. As it was, there was little amiss, beyond the wreck
of the main-sail. Another anchor was got ready, and dropped in a fathom
and a half of water. We all pulled round again to Rum Cove, the nearest
point for Ben Gunn's treasure-house; and then Gray, single-handed,
returned with the gig to the _Hispaniola_, where he was to pass the night
on guard.
A gentle slope ran up from the beach to the entrance of the cave. At the
top the squire met us. To me he was cordial and kind, saying nothing of
my escapade, either in the way of blame or praise. At Silver's polite
salute he somewhat flushed.
"John Silver," he said, "you're a prodigious villain and impostor--a
monstrous impostor, sir. I am told I am not to prosecute you. Well, then,
I will not. But the dead men, sir, hang about your neck like
mill-stones."
"Thank you kindly, sir," replied Long John, again saluting.
"I dare you to thank me!" cried the squire. "It is a gross dereliction of
my duty. Stand back."
And thereupon we all entered the cave. It was a large, airy place, with a
little spring and a pool of clear water, overhung with ferns. The floor
was sand. Before a big fire lay Captain Smollett; and in a far corner,
only duskily flickered over by the blaze, I beheld great heaps of coin
and quadrilaterals built of bars of gold. That was Flint's treasure, that
we had come so far to seek, and that had cost already the lives of
seventeen men from the _Hispaniola_. How many it had cost in the
amassing, what blood and sorrow, what good ships scuttled on the deep,
what brave men walking the plank blindfold, what shot of cannon, what
shame and lies and cruelty, perhaps no man alive could tell. Yet there
were still three upon that island--Silver, and old Morgan, and Ben
Gunn--who had each taken his share in these crimes, as each had hoped in
vain to share in the reward.
"Come in, Jim," said the captain. "You're a good boy in your line, Jim;
but I don't think you and me'll go to sea again. You're too much of the
born favourite for me.--Is that you, John Silver? What brings you here,
man?"
"Come back to my dooty, sir," returned Silver.
"Ah!" said the captain; and that was all he said.
What a supper I had of it that night, with all my friends around me; and
what a meal it was, with Ben Gunn's salted goat, and some delicacies and
a bottle of old wine from the _Hispaniola_. Never, I am sure, were people
gayer or happier. And there was Silver, sitting back almost out of the
firelight, but eating heartily, prompt to spring forward when anything
was wanted, even joining quietly in our laughter--the same bland, polite,
obsequious seaman of the voyage out.
CHAPTER XXXIV
AND LAST
The next morning we fell early to work, for the transportation of this
great mass of gold near a mile by land to the beach, and thence three
miles by boat to the _Hispaniola_, was a considerable task for so small a
number of workmen. The three fellows still abroad upon the island did not
greatly trouble us; a single sentry on the shoulder of the hill was
sufficient to insure us against any sudden onslaught, and we thought,
besides, they had had more than enough of fighting.
Therefore the work was pushed on briskly. Gray and Ben Gunn came and went
with the boat, while the rest, during their absences, piled treasure on
the beach. Two of the bars, slung in a rope's-end, made a good load for a
grown man--one that he was glad to walk slowly with. For my part, as I
was not much use at carrying, I was kept busy all day in the cave,
packing the minted money into bread-bags.
It was a strange collection, like Billy Bones's hoard for the diversity
of coinage, but so much larger and so much more varied that I think I
never had more pleasure than in sorting them. English, French, Spanish,
Portuguese, Georges, and Louises, doubloons and double guineas and
moidores and sequins, the pictures of all the kings of Europe for the
last hundred years, strange Oriental pieces stamped with what looked like
wisps of string or bits of spider's web, round pieces and square pieces,
and pieces bored through the middle, as if to wear them round your
neck--nearly every variety of money in the world must, I think, have
found a place in that collection; and for number, I am sure they were
like autumn leaves, so that my back ached with stooping and my fingers
with sorting them out.
Day after day this work went on; by every evening a fortune had been
stowed aboard, but there was another fortune waiting for the morrow; and
all this time we heard nothing of the three surviving mutineers.
At last--I think it was on the third night--the doctor and I were
strolling on the shoulder of the hill where it overlooks the lowlands of
the isle, when, from out the thick darkness below, the wind brought us a
noise between shrieking and singing. It was only a snatch that reached
our ears, followed by the former silence.
"Heaven forgive them," said the doctor; "'tis the mutineers!"
"All drunk, sir," struck in the voice of Silver from behind us.
Silver, I should say, was allowed his entire liberty, and, in spite of
daily rebuffs, seemed to regard himself once more as quite a privileged
and friendly dependant. Indeed, it was remarkable how well he bore these
slights, and with what unwearying politeness he kept on trying to
ingratiate himself with all. Yet, I think, none treated him better than a
dog; unless it was Ben Gunn, who was still terribly afraid of his old
quartermaster, or myself, who had really something to thank him for;
although for that matter, I suppose, I had reason to think even worse of
him than anybody else, for I had seen him meditating a fresh treachery
upon the plateau. Accordingly, it was pretty gruffly that the doctor
answered him.
"Drunk or raving," said he.
"Right you were, sir," replied Silver; "and precious little odds which,
to you and me."
"I suppose you would hardly ask me to call you a humane man," returned
the doctor, with a sneer, "and so my feelings may surprise you, Master
Silver. But if I were sure they were raving--as I am morally certain
one, at least, of them is down with fever--I should leave this camp,
and, at whatever risk to my own carcass, take them the assistance of my
skill."
"Ask your pardon, sir, you would be very wrong," quoth Silver. "You would
lose your precious life, and you may lay to that. I'm on your side now,
hand and glove; and I shouldn't wish for to see the party weakened, let
alone yourself, seeing as I know what I owes you. But these men down
there, they couldn't keep their word--no, not supposing they wished to;
and, what's more, they couldn't believe as you could."
"No," said the doctor. "You're the man to keep your word, we know that."
Well, that was about the last news we had of the three pirates. Only once
we heard a gunshot a great way off, and supposed them to be hunting. A
council was held, and it was decided that we must desert them on the
island--to the huge glee, I must say, of Ben Gunn, and with the strong
approval of Gray. We left a good stock of powder and shot, the bulk of
the salt goat, a few medicines, and some other necessaries, tools,
clothing, a spare sail, a fathom or two of rope, and, by the particular
desire of the doctor, a handsome present of tobacco.
That was about our last doing on the island. Before that, we had got the
treasure stowed, and had shipped enough water and the remainder of the
goat meat, in case of any distress; and at last, one fine morning, we
weighed anchor, which was about all that we could manage, and stood out
of North Inlet, the same colours flying that the captain had flown and
fought under at the palisade.
The three fellows must have been watching us closer than we thought for,
as we soon had proved. For, coming through the narrows, we had to lie
very near the southern point, and there we saw all three of them kneeling
together on a spit of sand, with their arms raised in supplication. It
went to all our hearts, I think, to leave them in that wretched state;
but we could not risk another mutiny; and to take them home for the
gibbet would have been a cruel sort of kindness. The doctor hailed them,
and told them of the stores we had left, and where they were to find
them. But they continued to call us by name, and appeal to us, for God's
sake, to be merciful, and not leave them to die in such a place.
At last, seeing the ship still bore on her course, and was now swiftly
drawing out of earshot, one of them--I know not which it was--leapt to
his feet with a hoarse cry, whipped his musket to his shoulder, and sent
a shot whistling over Silver's head and through the main-sail.
After that we kept under cover of the bulwarks, and when next I looked
out they had disappeared from the spit, and the spit itself had almost
melted out of sight in the growing distance. That was, at least, the end
of that; and before noon, to my inexpressible joy, the highest rock of
Treasure Island had sunk into the blue round of sea.
We were so short of men that every one on board had to bear a hand--only
the captain lying on a mattress in the stern and giving his orders; for,
though greatly recovered, he was still in want of quiet. We laid her head
for the nearest port in Spanish America, for we could not risk the voyage
home without fresh hands; and as it was, what with baffling winds and a
couple of fresh gales, we were all worn out before we reached it.
It was just at sundown when we cast anchor in a most beautiful
land-locked gulf, and were immediately surrounded by shore-boats full of
negroes, and Mexican Indians, and half-bloods, selling fruit and
vegetables, and offering to dive for bits of money. The sight of so many
good-humoured faces (especially the blacks), the taste of the tropical
fruits, and, above all, the lights that began to shine in the town, made
a most charming contrast to our dark and bloody sojourn on the island;
and the doctor and the squire, taking me along with them, went ashore to
pass the early part of the night. Here they met the captain of an English
man-of-war, fell in talk with him, went on board his ship, and, in
short, had so agreeable a time, that day was breaking when we came
alongside the _Hispaniola_.
Ben Gunn was on deck alone, and, as soon as we came on board, he began,
with wonderful contortions, to make us a confession. Silver was gone. The
maroon had connived at his escape in a shore-boat some hours ago, and he
now assured us he had only done so to preserve our lives, which would
certainly have been forfeit if "that man with the one leg had stayed
aboard." But this was not all. The sea-cook had not gone empty-handed. He
had cut through a bulkhead unobserved, and had removed one of the sacks
of coin, worth, perhaps, three or four hundred guineas, to help him on
his further wanderings.
I think we were all pleased to be so cheaply quit of him.
Well, to make a long story short, we got a few hands on board, made a
good cruise home, and the _Hispaniola_ reached Bristol just as Mr.
Blandly was beginning to think of fitting out her consort. Five men only
of those who had sailed returned with her. "Drink and the devil had done
for the rest," with a vengeance; although, to be sure, we were not quite
in so bad a case as that other ship they sang about:
"With one man of her crew alive,
What put to sea with seventy-five."
All of us had an ample share of the treasure, and used it wisely or
foolishly, according to our natures. Captain Smollett is now retired from
the sea. Gray not only saved his money, but, being suddenly smit with the
desire to rise, also studied his profession; and he is now mate and part
owner of a fine full-rigged ship; married besides, and the father of a
family. As for Ben Gunn, he got a thousand pounds, which he spent or lost
in three weeks, or, to be more exact, in nineteen days, for he was back
begging on the twentieth. Then he was given a lodge to keep, exactly as
he had feared upon the island; and he still lives, a great favourite,
though something of a butt, with the country boys, and a notable singer
in church on Sundays and saints' days.
Of Silver we have heard no more. That formidable seafaring man with one
leg has at last gone clean out of my life; but I daresay he met his old
negress, and perhaps still lives in comfort with her and Captain Flint.
It is to be hoped so, I suppose, for his chances of comfort in another
world are very small.
The bar silver and the arms still lie, for all that I know, where Flint
buried them; and certainly they shall lie there for me. Oxen and
wain-ropes would not bring me back again to that accursed island; and the
worst dreams that ever I have are when I hear the surf booming about its
coasts, or start upright in bed, with the sharp voice of Captain Flint
still ringing in my ears: "Pieces of eight! pieces of eight!"
WILL O' THE MILL
WILL O' THE MILL
THE PLAIN AND THE STARS
The Mill where Will lived with his adopted parents stood in a falling
valley between pinewoods and great mountains. Above, hill after hill
soared upwards until they soared out of the depth of the hardiest timber,
and stood naked against the sky. Some way up, a long grey village lay
like a seam or a rag of vapour on a wooded hillside; and when the wind
was favourable, the sound of the church bells would drop down, thin and
silvery, to Will. Below, the valley grew ever steeper and steeper, and at
the same time widened out on either hand; and from an eminence beside the
mill it was possible to see its whole length and away beyond it over a
wide plain, where the river turned and shone, and moved on from city to
city on its voyage towards the sea. It chanced that over this valley
there lay a pass into a neighbouring kingdom; so that, quiet and rural as
it was, the road that ran along beside the river was a high thoroughfare
between two splendid and powerful societies. All through the summer,
travelling-carriages came crawling up, or went plunging briskly downwards
past the mill; and as it happened that the other side was very much
easier of ascent, the path was not much frequented, except by people
going in one direction; and of all the carriages that Will saw go by,
five-sixths were plunging briskly downwards and only one-sixth crawling
up. Much more was this the case with foot-passengers. All the
light-footed tourists, all the pedlars laden with strange wares, were
tending downward like the river that accompanied their path. Nor was this
all; for when Will was yet a child a disastrous war arose over a great
part of the world. The newspapers were full of defeats and victories, the
earth rang with cavalry hoofs, and often for days together and for miles
around the coil of battle terrified good people from their labours in the
field. Of all this, nothing was heard for a long time in the valley; but
at last one of the commanders pushed an army over the pass by forced
marches, and for three days horse and foot, cannon and tumbril, drum and
standard, kept pouring downward past the mill. All day the child stood
and watched them on their passage; the rhythmical stride, the pale,
unshaven faces tanned about the eyes, the discoloured regimentals, and
the tattered flags, filled him with a sense of weariness, pity, and
wonder; and all night long, after he was in bed, he could hear the cannon
pounding and the feet trampling, and the great armament sweeping onward
and downward past the mill. No one in the valley ever heard the fate of
the expedition, for they lay out of the way of gossip in those troublous
times; but Will saw one thing plainly, that not a man returned. Whither
had they all gone? Whither went all the tourists and pedlars with strange
wares? whither all the brisk barouches with servants in the dicky?
whither the water of the stream, ever coursing downward, and ever renewed
from above? Even the wind blew oftener down the valley, and carried the
dead leaves along with it in the fall. It seemed like a great conspiracy
of things animate and inanimate; they all went downward, fleetly and
gaily downward, and only he, it seemed, remained behind, like a stock
upon the wayside. It sometimes made him glad when he noticed how the
fishes kept their heads up stream. They, at least, stood faithfully by
him, while all else were posting downward to the unknown world.
One evening he asked the miller where the river went.
"It goes down the valley," answered he, "and turns a power of
mills--sixscore mills, they say, from here to Unterdeck--and it none the
wearier after all. And then it goes out into the lowlands, and waters
the great corn country, and runs through a sight of fine cities (so they
say) where kings live all alone in great palaces, with a sentry walking
up and down before the door. And it goes under bridges with stone men
upon them, looking down and smiling so curious at the water, and living
folks leaning their elbows on the wall and looking over too. And then it
goes on and on, and down through marshes and sands, until at last it
falls into the sea, where the ships are that bring parrots and tobacco
from the Indies. Ay, it has a long trot before it as it goes singing over
our weir, bless its heart!"
"And what is the sea?" asked Will.
"The sea!" cried the miller. "Lord help us all, it is the greatest thing
God made! That is where all the water in the world runs down into a great
salt lake. There it lies, as flat as my hand, and as innocent-like as a
child; but they do say when the wind blows it gets up into
water-mountains bigger than any of ours, and swallows down great ships
bigger than our mill, and makes such a roaring that you can hear it miles
away upon the land. There are great fish in it five times bigger than a
bull, and one old serpent as long as our river and as old as all the
world, with whiskers like a man, and a crown of silver on her head."
Will thought he had never heard anything like this, and he kept on asking
question after question about the world that lay away down the river,
with all its perils and marvels, until the old miller became quite
interested himself, and at last took him by the hand and led him to the
hill-top that overlooks the valley and the plain. The sun was near
setting, and hung low down in a cloudless sky. Everything was defined and
glorified in golden light. Will had never seen so great an expanse of
country in his life; he stood and gazed with all his eyes. He could see
the cities, and the woods and fields, and the bright curves of the river,
and far away to where the rim of the plain trenched along the shining
heavens. An overmastering emotion seized upon the boy, soul and body; his
heart beat so thickly that he could not breathe; the scene swam before
his eyes; the sun seemed to wheel round and round, and throw off, as it
turned, strange shapes which disappeared with the rapidity of thought,
and were succeeded by others. Will covered his face with his hands, and
burst into a violent fit of tears; and the poor miller, sadly
disappointed and perplexed, saw nothing better for it than to take him up
in his arms and carry him home in silence.
From that day forward Will was full of new hopes and longings. Something
kept tugging at his heart-strings; the running water carried his desires
along with it as he dreamed over its fleeting surface; the wind, as it
ran over innumerable tree-tops, hailed him with encouraging words;
branches beckoned downward; the open road, as it shouldered round the
angles and went turning and vanishing fast and faster down the valley,
tortured him with its solicitations. He spent long whiles on the
eminence, looking down the rivershed and abroad on the fat lowlands, and
watched the clouds that travelled forth upon the sluggish wind and
trailed their purple shadows on the plain; or he would linger by the
wayside, and follow the carriages with his eyes as they rattled downward
by the river. It did not matter what it was; everything that went that
way, were it cloud or carriage, bird or brown water in the stream, he
felt his heart flow out after it in an ecstasy of longing.
We are told by men of science that all the ventures of mariners on the
sea, all that counter-marching of tribes and races that confounds old
history with its dust and rumour, sprang from nothing more abstruse than
the laws of supply and demand, and a certain natural instinct for cheap
rations. To any one thinking deeply, this will seem a dull and pitiful
explanation. The tribes that came swarming out of the North and East, if
they were indeed pressed onward from behind by others, were drawn at the
same time by the magnetic influence of the South and West. The fame of
other lands had reached them; the name of the eternal city rang in their
ears; they were not colonists, but pilgrims; they travelled towards wine
and gold and sunshine, but their hearts were set on something higher.
That divine unrest, that old stinging trouble of humanity that makes all
high achievements and all miserable failure, the same that spread wings
with Icarus, the same that sent Columbus into the desolate Atlantic,
inspired and supported these barbarians on their perilous march. There is
one legend which profoundly represents their spirit, of how a flying
party of these wanderers encountered a very old man shod with iron. The
old man asked them whither they were going; and they answered with one
voice: "To the Eternal City!" He looked upon them gravely. "I have sought
it," he said, "over the most part of the world. Three such pairs as I now
carry on my feet have I worn out upon this pilgrimage, and now the fourth
is growing slender underneath my steps. And all this while I have not
found the city." And he turned and went his own way alone, leaving them
astonished.
And yet this would scarcely parallel the intensity of Will's feeling for
the plain. If he could only go far enough out there, he felt as if his
eyesight would be purged and clarified, as if his hearing would grow more
delicate, and his very breath would come and go with luxury. He was
transplanted and withering where he was; he lay in a strange country and
was sick for home. Bit by bit, he pieced together broken notions of the
world below: of the river, ever moving and growing until it sailed forth
into the majestic ocean; of the cities, full of brisk and beautiful
people, playing fountains, bands of music and marble palaces, and lighted
up at night from end to end with artificial stars of gold; of the great
churches, wise universities, brave armies, and untold money lying stored
in vaults; of the high-flying vice that moved in the sunshine, and the
stealth and swiftness of midnight murder. I have said he was sick as if
for home: the figure halts. He was like some one lying in twilit,
formless pre-existence, and stretching out his hands lovingly towards
many-coloured, many-sounding life. It was no wonder he was unhappy, he
would go and tell the fish: they were made for their life, wished for no
more than worms and running water, and a hole below a falling bank; but
he was differently designed, full of desires and aspirations, itching at
the fingers, lusting with the eyes, whom the whole variegated world could
not satisfy with aspects. The true life, the true bright sunshine, lay
far out upon the plain. And, O! to see this sunlight once before he died!
to move with a jocund spirit in a golden land! to hear the trained
singers and sweet church bells, and see the holiday gardens! "And, O
fish!" he would cry, "if you would only turn your noses down stream, you
could swim so easily into the fabled waters and see the vast ships
passing over your head like clouds, and hear the great water-hills making
music over you all day long!" But the fish kept looking patiently in
their own direction, until Will hardly knew whether to laugh or cry.
Hitherto the traffic on the road had passed by Will, like something seen
in a picture: he had perhaps exchanged salutations with a tourist, or
caught sight of an old gentleman in a travelling cap at a carriage
window; but for the most part it had been a mere symbol, which he
contemplated from apart and with something of a superstitious feeling. A
time came at last when this was to be changed. The miller, who was a
greedy man in his way, and never forewent an opportunity of honest
profit, turned the mill-house into a little wayside inn, and, several
pieces of good fortune falling in opportunely, built stables and got the
position of post-master on the road. It now became Will's duty to wait
upon people, as they sat to break their fasts in the little arbour at the
top of the mill garden; and you may be sure that he kept his ears open,
and learned many new things about the outside world as he brought the
omelette or the wine. Nay, he would often get into conversation with
single guests, and by adroit questions and polite attention, not only
gratify his own curiosity, but win the goodwill of the travellers. Many
complimented the old couple on their serving-boy; and a professor was
eager to take him away with him, and have him properly educated in the
plain. The miller and his wife were mightily astonished, and even more
pleased. They thought it a very good thing that they should have opened
their inn. "You see," the old man would remark, "he has a kind of talent
for a publican; he never would have made anything else!" And so life
wagged on in the valley, with high satisfaction to all concerned but
Will. Every carriage that left the inn-door seemed to take a part of him
away with it; and when people jestingly offered him a lift, he could with
difficulty command his emotion. Night after night he would dream that he
was awakened by flustered servants, and that a splendid equipage waited
at the door to carry him down into the plain; night after night; until
the dream, which had seemed all jollity to him at first, began to take on
a colour of gravity, and the nocturnal summons and waiting equipage
occupied a place in his mind as something to be both feared and hoped
for.
One day, when Will was about sixteen, a fat young man arrived at sunset
to pass the night. He was a contented-looking fellow, with a jolly eye,
and carried a knapsack. While dinner was preparing, he sat in the arbour
to read a book; but as soon as he had begun to observe Will, the book was
laid aside; he was plainly one of those who prefer living people to
people made of ink and paper. Will, on his part, although he had not been
much interested in the stranger at first sight, soon began to take a
great deal of pleasure in his talk, which was full of good nature and
good sense, and at last conceived a great respect for his character and
wisdom. They sat far into the night; and about two in the morning Will
opened his heart to the young man, and told him how he longed to leave
the valley, and what bright hopes he had connected with the cities of the
plain. The young man whistled, and then broke into a smile.
"My young friend," he remarked, "you are a very curious little fellow, to
be sure, and wish a great many things which you will never get. Why, you
would feel quite ashamed if you knew how the little fellows in these
fairy cities of yours are all after the same sort of nonsense, and keep
breaking their hearts to get up into the mountains. And let me tell you,
those who go down into the plains are a very short while there before
they wish themselves heartily back again. The air is not so light nor so
pure; nor is the sun any brighter. As for the beautiful men and women,
you would see many of them in rags, and many of them deformed with
horrible disorders, and a city is so hard a place for people who are poor
and sensitive that many choose to die by their own hand."
"You must think me very simple," answered Will. "Although I have never
been out of this valley, believe me, I have used my eyes. I know how one
thing lives on another; for instance, how the fish hangs in the eddy to
catch his fellows; and the shepherd, who makes so pretty a picture
carrying home the lamb, is only carrying it home for dinner. I do not
expect to find all things right in your cities. That is not what troubles
me; it might have been that once upon a time; but although I live here
always, I have asked many questions and learned a great deal in these
last years, and certainly enough to cure me of my old fancies. But you
would not have me die like a dog and not see all that is to be seen, and
do all that a man can do, let it be good or evil? you would not have me
spend all my days between this road here and the river, and not so much
as make a motion to be up and live my life?--I would rather die out of
hand," he cried, "than linger on as I am doing."
"Thousands of people," said the young man, "live and die like you, and
are none the less happy."
"Ah!" said Will, "if there are thousands who would like, why should not
one of them have my place?"
It was quite dark; there was a hanging lamp in the arbour which lit up
the table and the faces of the speakers; and along the arch, the leaves
upon the trellis stood out illuminated against the night sky, a pattern
of transparent green upon a dusky purple. The fat young man rose, and,
taking Will by the arm, led him out under the open heavens. "Did you ever
look at the stars?" he asked, pointing upwards.
"Often and often," answered Will.
"And do you know what they are?"
"I have fancied many things."
"They are worlds like ours," said the young man.
"Some of them less; many of them a million times greater; and some of the
least sparkles that you see are not only worlds but whole clusters of
worlds turning about each other in the midst of space. We do not know
what there may be in any of them; perhaps the answer to all our
difficulties or the cure of all our sufferings: and yet we can never
reach them; not all the skill of the craftiest of men can fit out a ship
for the nearest of these our neighbours, nor would the life of the most
aged suffice for such a journey. When a great battle has been lost or a
dear friend is dead, when we are hipped or in high spirits, there they
are, unweariedly shining overhead. We may stand down here, a whole army
of us together, and shout until we break our hearts, and not a whisper
reaches them. We may climb the highest mountain, and we are no nearer
them. All we can do is to stand down here in the garden and take off our
hats; the starshine lights upon our heads, and where mine is a little
bald, I daresay you can see it glisten in the darkness. The mountain and
the mouse. That is like to be all we shall ever have to do with Arcturus
or Aldebaran. Can you apply a parable?" he added, laying his hand upon
Will's shoulder.
"It is not the same thing as a reason, but usually vastly more
convincing."
Will hung his head a little, and then raised it once more to heaven. The
stars seemed to expand and emit a sharper brilliancy; and as he kept
turning his eyes higher and higher, they seemed to increase in multitude
under his gaze.
"I see," he said, turning to the young man. "We are in a rat-trap."
"Something of that size. Did you ever see a squirrel turning in a cage?
and another squirrel sitting philosophically over his nuts? I needn't ask
you which of them looked more of a fool."
THE PARSON'S MARJORY
After some years the old people died, both in one winter, very carefully
tended by their adopted son, and very quietly mourned when they were
gone. People who had heard of his roving fancies supposed he would hasten
to sell the property, and go down the river to push his fortunes. But
there was never any sign of such an intention on the part of Will. On the
contrary, he had the inn set on a better footing, and hired a couple of
servants to assist him in carrying it on; and there he settled down, a
kind, talkative, inscrutable young man, six feet three in his stockings,
with an iron constitution and a friendly voice. He soon began to take
rank in the district as a bit of an oddity: it was not much to be
wondered at from the first, for he was always full of notions, and kept
calling the plainest commonsense in question; but what most raised the
report upon him was the odd circumstance of his courtship with the
parson's Marjory.
The parson's Marjory was a lass about nineteen, when Will would be about
thirty; well enough looking, and much better educated than any other girl
in that part of the country, as became her parentage. She held her head
very high, and had already refused several offers of marriage with a
grand air, which had got her hard names among the neighbours. For all
that she was a good girl, and one that would have made any man well
contented.
Will had never seen much of her; for although the church and parsonage
were only two miles from his own door, he was never known to go there but
on Sundays. It chanced, however, that the parsonage fell into disrepair,
and had to be dismantled; and the parson and his daughter took lodgings
for a month or so, on very much reduced terms, at Will's inn. Now, what
with the inn, and the mill, and the old miller's savings, our friend was
a man of substance; and besides that he had a name for good temper and
shrewdness, which make a capital portion in marriage; and so it was
currently gossiped, among their ill-wishers, that the parson and his
daughter had not chosen their temporary lodging with their eyes shut.
Will was about the last man in the world to be cajoled or frightened into
marriage. You had only to look into his eyes, limpid and still like pools
of water, and yet with a sort of clear light that seemed to come from
within, and you would understand at once that here was one who knew his
own mind, and would stand to it immovably. Marjory herself was no
weakling by her looks, with strong, steady eyes and a resolute and quiet
bearing. It might be a question whether she was not Will's match in
steadfastness, after all, or which of them would rule the roast in
marriage. But Marjory had never given it a thought, and accompanied her
father with the most unshaken innocence and unconcern.
The season was still so early that Will's customers were few and far
between; but the lilacs were already flowering, and the weather was so
mild that the party took dinner under the trellis, with the noise of the
river in their ears and the woods ringing about them with the songs of
birds. Will soon began to take a particular pleasure in these dinners.
The parson was rather a dull companion, with a habit of dozing at table;
but nothing rude or cruel ever fell from his lips. And as for the
parson's daughter, she suited her surroundings with the best grace
imaginable; and whatever she said seemed so pat and pretty that Will
conceived a great idea of her talents. He could see her face, as she
leaned forward, against a background of rising pine-woods; her eyes shone
peaceably; the light lay around her hair like a kerchief; something that
was hardly a smile rippled her pale cheeks, and Will could not contain
himself from gazing on her in an agreeable dismay. She looked, even in
her quietest moments, so complete in herself, and so quick with life down
to her finger-tips and the very skirts of her dress, that the remainder
of created things became no more than a blot by comparison; and if Will
glanced away from her to her surroundings, the trees looked inanimate and
senseless, the clouds hung in heaven like dead things, and even the
mountain tops were disenchanted. The whole valley could not compare in
looks with this one girl.
Will was always observant in the society of his fellow-creatures; but his
observation became almost painfully eager in the case of Marjory. He
listened to all she uttered, and read her eyes, at the same time, for the
unspoken commentary. Many kind, simple, and sincere speeches found an
echo in his heart. He became conscious of a soul beautifully poised upon
itself, nothing doubting, nothing desiring, clothed in peace. It was not
possible to separate her thoughts from her appearance. The turn of her
wrist, the still sound of her voice, the light in her eyes, the lines of
her body, fell in tune with her grave and gentle words, like the
accompaniment that sustains and harmonises the voice of the singer. Her
influence was one thing, not to be divided or discussed, only to be felt
with gratitude and joy. To Will, her presence recalled something of his
childhood, and the thought of her took its place in his mind beside that
of dawn, of running water, and of the earliest violets and lilacs. It is
the property of things seen for the first time, or for the first time
after long, like the flowers in spring, to reawaken in us the sharp edge
of sense and that impression of mystic strangeness which otherwise passes
out of life with the coming of years; but the sight of a loved face is
what renews a man's character from the fountain upwards.
One day after dinner Will took a stroll among the firs; a grave beatitude
possessed him from top to toe, and he kept smiling to himself and the
landscape as he went. The river ran between the stepping-stones with a
pretty wimple; a bird sang loudly in the wood; the hill-tops looked
immeasurably high, and, as he glanced at them from time to time, seemed
to contemplate his movements with a beneficent but awful curiosity. His
way took him to the eminence which overlooked the plain; and there he sat
down upon a stone, and fell into deep and pleasant thought. The plain lay
abroad with its cities and silver river; everything was asleep, except a
great eddy of birds which kept rising and falling and going round and
round in the blue air. He repeated Marjory's name aloud, and the sound of
it gratified his ear. He shut his eyes, and her image sprang up before
him, quietly luminous and attended with good thoughts. The river might
run for ever; the birds fly higher and higher till they touched the
stars. He saw it was empty bustle after all; for here, without stirring a
foot, waiting patiently in his own narrow valley, he also had attained
the better sunlight.
The next day Will made a sort of declaration across the dinner-table,
while the parson was filling his pipe.
"Miss Marjory," he said, "I never knew any one I liked so well as you. I
am mostly a cold, unkindly sort of man; not from want of heart, but out
of strangeness in my way of thinking; and people seem far away from me.
'Tis as if there were a circle round me, which kept every one out but
you; I can hear the others talking and laughing; but you come quite
close.--Maybe this is disagreeable to you?" he asked.
Marjory made no answer.
"Speak up, girl," said the parson.
"Nay, now," returned Will, "I wouldn't press her, parson. I feel
tongue-tied myself, who am not used to it; and she's a woman, and little
more than a child, when all is said. But for my part, as far as I can
understand what people mean by it, I fancy I must be what they call in
love. I do not wish to be held as committing myself; for I may be wrong;
but that is how I believe things are with me. And if Miss Marjory should
feel any otherwise on her part, mayhap she would be so kind as shake her
head."
Marjory was silent, and gave no sign that she had heard.
"How is that, parson?" asked Will.
"The girl must speak," replied the parson, laying down his pipe.--"Here's
our neighbour, who says he loves you, Madge. Do you love him, ay or no?"
"I think I do," said Marjory faintly.
"Well then, that's all that could be wished!" cried Will heartily. And he
took her hand across the table and held it a moment in both of his with
great satisfaction.
"You must marry," observed the parson, replacing his pipe in his mouth.
"Is that the right thing to do, think you?" demanded Will.
"It is indispensable," said the parson.
"Very well," replied the wooer.
Two or three days passed away with great delight to Will, although a
bystander might scarce have found it out. He continued to take his meals
opposite Marjory, and to talk with her and gaze upon her in her father's
presence; but he made no attempt to see her alone, nor in any other way
changed his conduct towards her from what it had been since the
beginning. Perhaps the girl was a little disappointed, and perhaps not
unjustly; and yet if it had been enough to be always in the thoughts of
another person, and so pervade and alter his whole life, she might have
been thoroughly contented. For she was never out of Will's mind for an
instant. He sat over the stream, and watched the dust of the eddy, and
the poised fish, and straining weeds; he wandered out alone into the
purple even, with all the blackbirds piping round him in the wood; he
rose early in the morning, and saw the sky turn from grey to gold, and
the light leap upon the hill-tops; and all the while he kept wondering if
he had never seen such things before, or how it was that they should look
so different now. The sound of his own mill-wheel, or of the wind among
the trees, confounded and charmed his heart. The most enchanting
thoughts presented themselves unbidden in his mind. He was so happy that
he could not sleep at night, and so restless that he could hardly sit
still out of her company. And yet it seemed as if he avoided her rather
than sought her out.
One day, as he was coming home from a ramble, Will found Marjory in the
garden picking flowers, and, as he came up with her, slackened his pace
and continued walking by her side.
"You like flowers?" he said.
"Indeed I love them dearly," she replied. "Do you?"
"Why, no," said he, "not so much. They are a very small affair when all
is done. I can fancy people caring for them greatly, but not doing as you
are just now."
"How?" she asked, pausing and looking up at him.
"Plucking them," said he. "They are a deal better off where they are, and
look a deal prettier, if you go to that."
"I wish to have them for my own," she answered, "to carry them near my
heart, and keep them in my room. They tempt me when they grow here; they
seem to say, 'Come and do something with us'; but once I have cut them
and put them by, the charm is laid, and I can look at them with quite an
easy heart."
"You wish to possess them," replied Will, "in order to think no more
about them. It's a bit like killing the goose with the golden eggs. It's
a bit like what I wished to do when I was a boy. Because I had a fancy
for looking out over the plain, I wished to go down there--where I
couldn't look out over it any longer. Was not that fine reasoning? Dear,
dear, if they only thought of it, all the world would do like me; and you
would let your flowers alone, just as I stay up here in the mountains."
Suddenly he broke off sharp. "By the Lord!" he cried. And when she asked
him what was wrong, he turned the question off, and walked away into the
house with rather a humorous expression of face.
He was silent at table; and after the night had fallen and the stars had
come out overhead, he walked up and down for hours in the courtyard and
garden with an uneven pace. There was still a light in the window of
Marjory's room: one little oblong patch of orange in a world of dark blue
hills and silver starlight. Will's mind ran a great deal on the window;
but his thoughts were not very lover-like.
"There she is in her room," he thought, "and there are the stars
overhead:--a blessing upon both!" Both were good influences in his life;
both soothed and braced him in his profound contentment with the world.
And what more should he desire with either? The fat young man and his
counsels were so present to his mind that he threw back his head and,
putting his hands before his mouth, shouted aloud to the populous
heavens. Whether from the position of his head or the sudden strain of
the exertion, he seemed to see a momentary shock among the stars, and a
diffusion of frosty light pass from one to another along the sky. At the
same instant, a corner of the blind was lifted and lowered again at once.
He laughed a loud ho-ho! "One and another!" thought Will. "The stars
tremble, and the blind goes up. Why, before Heaven, what a great magician
I must be! Now if I were only a fool, should not I be in a pretty way?"
And he went off to bed, chuckling to himself: "If I were only a fool!"
The next morning, pretty early, he saw her once more in the garden, and
sought her out.
"I have been thinking about getting married," he began abruptly; "and
after having turned it all over, I have made up my mind it's not worth
while."
She turned upon him for a single moment; but his radiant, kindly
appearance would, under the circumstances, have disconcerted an angel,
and she looked down again upon the ground in silence. He could see her
tremble.
"I hope you don't mind," he went on, a little taken aback. "You ought
not. I have turned it all over, and upon my soul there's nothing in it.
We should never be one whit nearer than we are just now, and, if I am a
wise man, nothing like so happy."
"It is unnecessary to go round about with me," she said. "I very well
remember that you refused to commit yourself; and now that I see you were
mistaken, and in reality have never cared for me, I can only feel sad
that I have been so far misled."
"I ask your pardon," said Will stoutly; "you do not understand my
meaning. As to whether I have ever loved you or not, I must leave that to
others. But for one thing, my feeling is not changed; and for another,
you may make it your boast that you have made my whole life and character
something different from what they were. I mean what I say; no less. I do
not think getting married is worth while. I would rather you went on
living with your father, so that I could walk over and see you once, or
maybe twice a week, as people go to church, and then we should both be
all the happier between whiles. That's my notion. But I'll marry you if
you will," he added.
"Do you know that you are insulting me?" she broke out.
"Not I, Marjory," said he; "if there is anything in a clear conscience,
not I. I offer all my heart's best affection; you can take it or want it,
though I suspect it's beyond either your power or mine to change what has
once been done, and set me fancy-free. I'll marry you, if you like; but I
tell you again and again, it's not worth while, and we had best stay
friends. Though I am a quiet man, I have noticed a heap of things in my
life. Trust in me, and take things as I propose; or, if you don't like
that, say the word, and I'll marry you out of hand."
There was a considerable pause, and Will, who began to feel uneasy, began
to grow angry in consequence.
"It seems you are too proud to say your mind," he said. "Believe me
that's a pity. A clean shrift makes simple living. Can a man be more
downright or honourable to a woman than I have been? I have said my say,
and given you your choice. Do you want me to marry you? or will you take
my friendship, as I think best? or have you had enough of me for good?
Speak out for the dear God's sake! You know your father told you a girl
should speak her mind in these affairs."
She seemed to recover herself at that, turned without a word, walked
rapidly through the garden, and disappeared into the house, leaving Will
in some confusion as to the result. He walked up and down the garden,
whistling softly to himself. Sometimes he stopped and contemplated the
sky and hill-tops; sometimes he went down to the tail of the weir and sat
there, looking foolishly in the water. All this dubiety and perturbation
was so foreign to his nature and the life which he had resolutely chosen
for himself, that he began to regret Marjory's arrival. "After all," he
thought, "I was as happy as a man need be. I could come down here and
watch my fishes all day long if I wanted: I was as settled and contented
as my old mill."
Marjory came down to dinner, looking very trim and quiet; and no sooner
were all three at table than she made her father a speech, with her eyes
fixed upon her plate, but showing no other sign of embarrassment or
distress.
"Father," she began, "Mr. Will and I have been talking things over. We
see that we have each made a mistake about our feelings, and he has
agreed, at my request, to give up all idea of marriage, and be no more
than my very good friend, as in the past. You see, there is no shadow of
a quarrel, and indeed I hope we shall see a great deal of him in the
future, for his visits will always be welcome in our house. Of course,
father, you will know best, but perhaps we should do better to leave Mr.
Will's house for the present. I believe, after what has passed, we should
hardly be agreeable inmates for some days."
Will, who had commanded himself with difficulty from the first, broke out
upon this into an inarticulate noise, and raised one hand with an
appearance of real dismay, as if he were about to interfere and
contradict. But she checked him at once, looking up at him with a swift
glance and an angry flush upon her cheek.
"You will perhaps have the good grace," she said, "to let me explain
these matters for myself."
Will was put entirely out of countenance by her expression and the ring
of her voice. He held his peace, concluding that there were some things
about this girl beyond his comprehension--in which he was exactly right.
The poor parson was quite crestfallen. He tried to prove that this was no
more than a true lovers' tiff, which would pass off before night; and
when he was dislodged from that position, he went on to argue that where
there was no quarrel there could be no call for a separation; for the
good man liked both his entertainment and his host. It was curious to see
how the girl managed them, saying little all the time, and that very
quietly, and yet twisting them round her finger and insensibly leading
them wherever she would by feminine tact and generalship. It scarcely
seemed to have been her doing--it seemed as if things had merely so
fallen out--that she and her father took their departure that same
afternoon in a farm-cart, and went farther down the valley, to wait,
until their own house was ready for them, in another hamlet. But Will had
been observing closely, and was well aware of her dexterity and
resolution. When he found himself alone he had a great many curious
matters to turn over in his mind. He was very sad and solitary, to begin
with. All the interest had gone out of his life, and he might look up at
the stars as long as he pleased, he somehow failed to find support or
consolation. And then he was in such a turmoil of spirit about Marjory.
He had been puzzled and irritated at her behaviour, and yet he could not
keep himself from admiring it. He thought he recognised a fine, perverse
angel in that still soul which he had never hitherto suspected; and
though he saw it was an influence that would fit but ill with his own
life of artificial calm, he could not keep himself from ardently desiring
to possess it. Like a man who has lived among shadows and now meets the
sun, he was both pained and delighted.
As the days went forward he passed from one extreme to another; now
pluming himself on the strength of his determination, now despising his
timid and silly caution. The former was, perhaps, the true thought of his
heart, and represented the regular tenor of the man's reflections; but
the latter burst forth from time to time with an unruly violence, and
then he would forget all consideration, and go up and down his house and
garden or walk among the fir-woods like one who is beside himself with
remorse. To equable, steady-minded Will, this state of matters was
intolerable; and he determined, at whatever cost, to bring it to an end.
So, one warm summer afternoon, he put on his best clothes, took a thorn
switch in his hand, and set out down the valley by the river. As soon as
he had taken his determination, he had regained at a bound his customary
peace of heart, and he enjoyed the bright weather and the variety of the
scene without any admixture of alarm or unpleasant eagerness. It was
nearly the same to him how the matter turned out. If she accepted him he
would have to marry her this time, which perhaps was all for the best. If
she refused him, he would have done his utmost, and might follow his own
way in the future with an untroubled conscience. He hoped, on the whole,
she would refuse him; and then, again, as he saw the brown roof which
sheltered her, peeping through some willows at an angle of the stream, he
was half inclined to reverse the wish, and more than half-ashamed of
himself for this infirmity of purpose.
Marjory seemed glad to see him, and gave him her hand without affectation
or delay.
"I have been thinking about this marriage," he began.
"So have I," she answered. "And I respect you more and more for a very
wise man. You understood me better than I understood myself; and I am now
quite certain that things are all for the best as they are."
"At the same time----" ventured Will.
"You must be tired," she interrupted. "Take a seat and let me fetch you a
glass of wine. The afternoon is so warm; and I wish you not to be
displeased with your visit. You must come quite often; once a week, if
you can spare the time; I am always so glad to see my friends."
"Oh, very well," thought Will to himself. "It appears I was right after
all." And he paid a very agreeable visit, walked home again in capital
spirits, and gave himself no further concern about the matter.
For nearly three years Will and Marjory continued on these terms, seeing
each other once or twice a week without any word of love between them;
and for all that time I believe Will was nearly as happy as a man can be.
He rather stinted himself the pleasure of seeing her; and he would often
walk half-way over to the parsonage, and then back again, as if to whet
his appetite. Indeed, there was one corner of the road, whence he could
see the church-spire wedged into a crevice of the valley between sloping
fir-woods, with a triangular snatch of plain by way of background, which
he greatly affected as a place to sit and moralise in before returning
homewards; and the peasants got so much into the habit of finding him
there in the twilight that they gave it the name of "Will o' the Mill's
Corner."
At the end of the three years Marjory played him a sad trick by suddenly
marrying somebody else. Will kept his countenance bravely, and merely
remarked that, for as little as he knew of women, he had acted very
prudently in not marrying her himself three years before. She plainly
knew very little of her own mind, and, in spite of a deceptive manner,
was as fickle and flighty as the rest of them. He had to congratulate
himself on an escape, he said, and would take a higher opinion of his own
wisdom in consequence. But at heart he was reasonably displeased, moped a
good deal for a month or two, and fell away in flesh, to the astonishment
of his serving-lads.
It was perhaps a year after this marriage that Will was awakened late
one night by the sound of a horse galloping on the road, followed by
precipitate knocking at the inn-door. He opened his window and saw a
farm-servant, mounted and holding a led horse by the bridle, who told him
to make what haste he could and go along with him; for Marjory was dying,
and had sent urgently to fetch him to her bedside. Will was no horseman,
and made so little speed upon the way that the poor young wife was very
near her end before he arrived. But they had some minutes' talk in
private, and he was present and wept very bitterly while she breathed her
last.
DEATH
Year after year went away into nothing, with great explosions and
outcries in the cities on the plain: red revolt springing up and being
suppressed in blood, battle swaying hither and thither, patient
astronomers in observatory towers picking out and christening new stars,
plays being performed in lighted theatres, people being carried into
hospital on stretchers, and all the usual turmoil and agitation of men's
lives in crowded centres. Up in Will's valley only the winds and seasons
made an epoch; the fish hung in the swift stream, the birds circled
overhead, the pine-tops rustled underneath the stars, the tall hills
stood over all; and Will went to and fro, minding his wayside inn, until
the snow began to thicken on his head. His heart was young and vigorous;
and if his pulses kept a sober time, they still beat strong and steady in
his wrists. He carried a ruddy stain on either cheek, like a ripe apple;
he stooped a little, but his step was still firm; and his sinewy hands
were reached out to all men with a friendly pressure. His face was
covered with those wrinkles which are got in open air, and which, rightly
looked at, are no more than a sort of permanent sunburning; such wrinkles
heighten the stupidity of stupid faces; but to a person like Will, with
his clear eyes and smiling mouth, only give another charm by testifying
to a simple and easy life. His talk was full of wise sayings. He had a
taste for other people; and other people had a taste for him. When the
valley was full of tourists in the season, there were merry nights in
Will's arbour; and his views, which seemed whimsical to his neighbours,
were often enough admired by learned people out of towns and colleges.
Indeed, he had a very noble old age, and grew daily better known; so that
his fame was heard of in the cities of the plain; and young men who had
been summer travellers spoke together in cafés of Will o' the Mill and
his rough philosophy. Many and many an invitation, you may be sure, he
had; but nothing could tempt him from his upland valley. He would shake
his head and smile over his tobacco-pipe with a deal of meaning. "You
come too late," he would answer. "I am a dead man now: I have lived and
died already. Fifty years ago you would have brought my heart into my
mouth; and now you do not even tempt me. But that is the object of long
living, that man should cease to care about life." And again: "There is
only one difference between a long life and a good dinner: that, in the
dinner, the sweets come last." Or once more: "When I was a boy I was a
bit puzzled, and hardly knew whether it was myself or the world that was
curious and worth looking into. Now, I know it is myself, and stick to
that."
He never showed any symptom of frailty, but kept stalwart and firm to the
last; but they say he grew less talkative towards the end, and would
listen to other people by the hour in an amused and sympathetic silence.
Only, when he did speak, it was more to the point and more charged with
old experience. He drank a bottle of wine gladly; above all, at sunset on
the hill-top or quite late at night under the stars in the arbour. The
sight of something attractive and unattainable seasoned his enjoyment, he
would say; and he professed he had lived long enough to admire a candle
all the more when he could compare it with a planet.
One night, in his seventy-second year, he awoke in bed in such uneasiness
of body and mind that he arose and dressed himself and went out to
meditate in the arbour. It was pitch dark, without a star; the river was
swollen, and the wet woods and meadows loaded the air with perfume. It
had thundered during the day, and it promised more thunder for the
morrow. A murky, stifling night for a man of seventy-two! Whether it was
the weather or the wakefulness, or some little touch of fever in his old
limbs, Will's mind was besieged by tumultuous and crying memories. His
boyhood, the night with the fat young man, the death of his adopted
parents, the summer days with Marjory, and many of those small
circumstances, which seem nothing to another, and are yet the very gist
of a man's own life to himself--things seen, words heard, looks
misconstrued--arose from their forgotten corners and usurped his
attention. The dead themselves were with him, not merely taking part in
this thin show of memory that defiled before his brain, but revisiting
his bodily senses as they do in profound and vivid dreams. The fat young
man leaned his elbows on the table opposite; Marjory came and went with
an apronful of flowers between the garden and the arbour; he could hear
the old parson knocking out his pipe or blowing his resonant nose. The
tide of his consciousness ebbed and flowed: he was sometimes half-asleep
and drowned in his recollections of the past: and sometimes he was broad
awake, wondering at himself. But about the middle of the night he was
startled by the voice of the dead miller calling to him out of the house
as he used to do on the arrival of custom. The hallucination was so
perfect that Will sprang from his seat and stood listening for the
summons to be repeated; and as he listened he became conscious of another
noise besides the brawling of the river and the ringing in his feverish
ears. It was like the stir of horses and the creaking of harness, as
though a carriage with an impatient team had been brought up upon the
road before the courtyard gate. At such an hour, upon this rough and
dangerous pass, the supposition was no better than absurd; and Will
dismissed it from his mind, and resumed his seat upon the arbour chair;
and sleep closed over him again like running water. He was once again
awakened by the dead miller's call, thinner and more spectral than
before; and once again he heard the noise of an equipage upon the road.
And so thrice and four times, the same dream, or the same fancy,
presented itself to his senses: until at length, smiling to himself as
when one humours a nervous child, he proceeded towards the gate to set
his uncertainty at rest.
From the arbour to the gate was no great distance, and yet it took Will
some time; it seemed as if the dead thickened around him in the court,
and crossed his path at every step. For, first, he was suddenly surprised
by an overpowering sweetness of heliotropes; it was as if his garden had
been planted with this flower from end to end, and the hot, damp night
had drawn forth all their perfumes in a breath. Now the heliotrope had
been Marjory's favourite flower, and since her death not one of them had
ever been planted in Will's ground.
"I must be going crazy," he thought. "Poor Marjory and her heliotropes!"
And with that he raised his eyes towards the window that had once been
hers. If he had been bewildered before, he was now almost terrified; for
there was a light in the room; the window was an orange oblong as of
yore; and the corner of the blind was lifted and let fall as on the night
when he stood and shouted to the stars in his perplexity. The illusion
only endured an instant; but it left him somewhat unmanned, rubbing his
eyes and staring at the outline of the house and the black night behind
it. While he thus stood, and it seemed as if he must have stood there
quite a long time, there came a renewal of the noises on the road: and he
turned in time to meet a stranger, who was advancing to meet him across
the court. There was something like the outline of a great carriage
discernible on the road behind the stranger, and, above that, a few black
pine-tops, like so many plumes.
"Master Will?" asked the new-comer, in brief military fashion.
"That same, sir," answered Will. "Can I do anything to serve you?"
"I have heard you much spoken of, Master Will," returned the other; "much
spoken of, and well. And though I have both hands full of business, I
wish to drink a bottle of wine with you in your arbour. Before I go, I
shall introduce myself."
Will led the way to the trellis, and got a lamp lighted and a bottle
uncorked. He was not altogether unused to such complimentary interviews,
and hoped little enough from this one, being schooled by many
disappointments. A sort of cloud had settled on his wits and prevented
him from remembering the strangeness of the hour. He moved like a person
in his sleep; and it seemed as if the lamp caught fire and the bottle
came uncorked with the facility of thought. Still, he had some curiosity
about the appearance of his visitor, and tried in vain to turn the light
into his face; either he handled the lamp clumsily, or there was a
dimness over his eyes; but he could make out little more than a shadow at
table with him. He stared and stared at this shadow, as he wiped out the
glasses, and began to feel cold and strange about the heart. The silence
weighed upon him, for he could hear nothing now, not even the river, but
the drumming of his own arteries in his ears.
"Here's to you," said the stranger roughly.
"Here is my service, sir," replied Will, sipping his wine, which somehow
tasted oddly.
"I understand you are a very positive fellow," pursued the stranger.
Will made answer with a smile of some satisfaction and a little nod.
"So am I," continued the other; "and it is the delight of my heart to
tramp on people's corns. I will have nobody positive but myself; not one.
I have crossed the whims, in my time, of kings and generals and great
artists. And what would you say," he went on, "if I had come up here on
purpose to cross yours?"
Will had it on his tongue to make a sharp rejoinder; but the politeness
of an old innkeeper prevailed; and he held his peace and made answer with
a civil gesture of the hand.
"I have," said the stranger. "And if I did not hold you in a particular
esteem, I should make no words about the matter. It appears you pride
yourself on staying where you are. You mean to stick by your inn. Now I
mean you shall come for a turn with me in my barouche; and before this
bottle's empty, so you shall."
"That would be an odd thing, to be sure," replied Will, with a chuckle.
"Why, sir, I have grown here like an old oak-tree; the devil himself
could hardly root me up: and for all I perceive you are a very
entertaining old gentleman, I would wager you another bottle you lose
your pains with me."
The dimness of Will's eyesight had been increasing all this while; but he
was somehow conscious of a sharp and chilling scrutiny which irritated
and yet overmastered him.
"You need not think," he broke out suddenly, in an explosive, febrile
manner that startled and alarmed himself, "that I am a stay-at-home
because I fear anything under God. God knows I am tired enough of it all;
and when the time comes for a longer journey than ever you dream of, I
reckon I shall find myself prepared."
The stranger emptied his glass and pushed it away from him. He looked
down for a little, and then, leaning over the table, tapped Will three
times upon the forearm with a single finger. "The time has come!" he said
solemnly.
An ugly thrill spread from the spot he touched. The tones of his voice
were dull and startling, and echoed strangely in Will's heart.
"I beg your pardon," he said, with some discomposure. "What do you mean?"
"Look at me, and you will find your eyesight swim. Raise your hand; it is
dead-heavy. This is your last bottle of wine, Master Will, and your last
night upon the earth."
"You are a doctor?" quavered Will.
"The best that ever was," replied the other; "for I cure both mind and
body with the same prescription. I take away all pain and I forgive all
sins; and where my patients have gone wrong in life, I smooth out all
complications and set them free again upon their feet."
"I have no need of you," said Will.
"A time comes for all men, Master Will," replied the doctor, "when the
helm is taken out of their hands. For you, because you were prudent and
quiet, it has been long of coming, and you have had long to discipline
yourself for its reception. You have seen what is to be seen about your
mill; you have sat close all your days like a hare in its form; but now
that is at an end; and," added the doctor, getting on his feet, "you must
arise and come with me."
"You are a strange physician," said Will, looking steadfastly upon his
guest.
"I am a natural law," he replied, "and people call me Death."
"Why did you not tell me so at first?" cried Will. "I have been waiting
for you these many years. Give me your hand, and welcome."
"Lean upon my arm," said the stranger, "for already your strength abates.
Lean on me as heavily as you need; for though I am old, I am very strong.
It is but three steps to my carriage, and there all your trouble ends.
Why, Will," he added, "I have been yearning for you as if you were my own
son; and of all the men that ever I came for in my long days, I have come
for you most gladly. I am caustic, and sometimes offend people at first
sight; but I am a good friend at heart to such as you."
"Since Marjory was taken," returned Will, "I declare before God you were
the only friend I had to look for."
So the pair went arm-in-arm across the courtyard.
One of the servants awoke about this time and heard the noise of horses
pawing before he dropped asleep again; all down the valley that night
there was a rushing as of a smooth and steady wind descending towards the
plain; and when the world rose next morning, sure enough Will o' the Mill
had gone at last upon his travels.
THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD
THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD
CHAPTER I
BY THE DYING MOUNTEBANK
They had sent for the doctor from Bourron before six. About eight some
villagers came round for the performance, and were told how matters
stood. It seemed a liberty for a mountebank to fall ill like real people,
and they made off again in dudgeon. By ten Madame Tentaillon was gravely
alarmed, and had sent down the street for Doctor Desprez.
The Doctor was at work over his manuscripts in one corner of the little
dining-room, and his wife was asleep over the fire in another, when the
messenger arrived.
"_Sapristi!_" said the Doctor, "you should have sent for me before. It
was a case for hurry." And he followed the messenger as he was, in his
slippers and skull-cap.
The inn was not thirty yards away, but the messenger did not stop there;
he went in at one door and out by another into the court, and then led
the way, by a flight of steps beside the stable, to the loft where the
mountebank lay sick. If Doctor Desprez were to live a thousand years, he
would never forget his arrival in that room; for not only was the scene
picturesque, but the moment made a date in his existence. We reckon our
lives, I hardly know why, from the date of our first sorry appearance in
society, as if from a first humiliation; for no actor can come upon the
stage with a worse grace. Not to go further back, which would be judged
too curious, there are subsequently many moving and decisive accidents in
the lives of all, which would make as logical a period as this of birth.
And here, for instance, Doctor Desprez, a man past forty, who had made
what is called a failure in life, and was moreover married, found
himself at a new point of departure when he opened the door of the loft
above Tentaillon's stable.
It was a large place, lighted only by a single candle set upon the floor.
The mountebank lay on his back upon a pallet; a large man with a Quixotic
nose inflamed with drinking. Madame Tentaillon stooped over him, applying
a hot water and mustard embrocation to his feet; and on a chair close by
sat a little fellow of eleven or twelve, with his feet dangling. These
three were the only occupants except the shadows. But the shadows were a
company in themselves; the extent of the room exaggerated them to a
gigantic size, and from the low position of the candle the light struck
upwards and produced deformed foreshortenings. The mountebank's profile
was enlarged upon the wall in caricature, and it was strange to see his
nose shorten and lengthen as the flame was blown about by draughts. As
for Madame Tentaillon, her shadow was no more than a gross hump of
shoulders, with now and again a hemisphere of head. The chair-legs were
spindled out as long as stilts, and the boy sat perched a-top of them,
like a cloud, in the corner of the roof.
It was the boy who took the Doctor's fancy. He had a great arched skull,
the forehead and the hands of a musician, and a pair of haunting eyes. It
was not merely that these eyes were large, or steady, or the softest
ruddy brown. There was a look in them, besides, which thrilled the
Doctor, and made him half uneasy. He was sure he had seen such a look
before, and yet he could not remember how or where. It was as if this
boy, who was quite a stranger to him, had the eyes of an old friend or an
old enemy. And the boy would give him no peace; he seemed profoundly
indifferent to what was going on, or rather abstracted from it in a
superior contemplation, beating gently with his feet against the bars of
the chair, and holding his hands folded on his lap. But, for all that,
his eyes kept following the Doctor about the room with a thoughtful
fixity of gaze. Desprez could not tell whether he was fascinating the
boy, or the boy was fascinating him. He busied himself over the sick man,
he put questions, he felt the pulse, he jested, he grew a little hot and
swore: and still, whenever he looked round, there were the brown eyes
waiting for his with the same inquiring, melancholy gaze.
At last the Doctor hit on the solution at a leap. He remembered the look
now. The little fellow, although he was as straight as a dart, had the
eyes that go usually with a crooked back; he was not at all deformed, and
yet a deformed person seemed to be looking at you from below his brows.
The Doctor drew a long breath, he was so much relieved to find a theory
(for he loved theories) and to explain away his interest.
For all that, he despatched the invalid with unusual haste, and, still
kneeling with one knee on the floor, turned a little round and looked the
boy over at his leisure. The boy was not in the least put out, but looked
placidly back at the Doctor.
"Is this your father?" asked Desprez.
"Oh no," returned the boy; "my master."
"Are you fond of him?" continued the Doctor.
"No, sir," said the boy.
Madame Tentaillon and Desprez exchanged expressive glances.
"That is bad, my man," resumed the latter, with a shade of sternness.
"Every one should be fond of the dying, or conceal their sentiments; and
your master here is dying. If I have watched a bird a little while
stealing my cherries, I have a thought of disappointment when he flies
away over my garden wall, and I see him steer for the forest and vanish.
How much more a creature such as this, so strong, so astute, so richly
endowed with faculties! When I think that, in a few hours, the speech
will be silenced, the breath extinct, and even the shadow vanished from
the wall, I who never saw him, this lady who knew him only as a guest,
are touched with some affection."
The boy was silent for a little, and appeared to be reflecting.
"You did not know him," he replied at last. "He was a bad man."
"He is a little pagan," said the landlady. "For that matter, they are all
the same, these mountebanks, tumblers, artists, and what not. They have
no interior."
But the Doctor was still scrutinising the little pagan, his eyebrows
knotted and uplifted.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Jean-Marie," said the lad.
Desprez leaped upon him with one of his sudden flashes of excitement, and
felt his head all over from an ethnological point of view.
"Celtic, Celtic!" he said.
"Celtic!" cried Madame Tentaillon, who had perhaps confounded the word
with hydrocephalous. "Poor lad! is it dangerous?"
"That depends," returned the Doctor grimly. And then once more addressing
the boy: "And what do you do for your living, Jean-Marie?" he inquired.
"I tumble," was the answer.
"So! Tumble?" repeated Desprez. "Probably healthful. I hazard the guess,
Madame Tentaillon, that tumbling is a healthful way of life. And have you
never done anything else but tumble?"
"Before I learned that, I used to steal," answered Jean-Marie gravely.
"Upon my word!" cried the Doctor. "You are a nice little man for your
age.--Madame, when my _confrère_ comes from Bourron, you will communicate
my unfavourable opinion. I leave the case in his hands; but of course, on
any alarming symptom, above all if there should be a sign of rally, do
not hesitate to knock me up. I am a doctor no longer, I thank God; but I
have been one. Good-night, madame.--Good sleep to you, Jean-Marie."
CHAPTER II
MORNING TALK
Doctor Desprez always rose early. Before the smoke arose, before the
first cart rattled over the bridge to the day's labour in the fields, he
was to be found wandering in his garden. Now he would pick a bunch of
grapes; now he would eat a big pear under the trellis; now he would draw
all sorts of fancies on the path with the end of his cane; now he would
go down and watch the river running endlessly past the timber
landing-place at which he moored his boat. There was no time, he used to
say, for making theories like the early morning. "I rise earlier than any
one else in the village," he once boasted. "It is a fair consequence that
I know more and wish to do less with my knowledge."
The Doctor was a connoisseur of sunrises, and loved a good theatrical
effect to usher in the day. He had a theory of dew, by which he could
predict the weather. Indeed, most things served him to that end: the
sound of the bells from all the neighbouring villages, the smell of the
forest, the visits and the behaviour of both birds and fishes, the look
of the plants in his garden, the disposition of cloud, the colour of the
light, and last, although not least, the arsenal of meteorological
instruments in a louvre-boarded hutch upon the lawn. Ever since he had
settled at Gretz, he had been growing more and more into the local
meteorologist, the unpaid champion of the local climate. He thought at
first there was no place so healthful in the arrondissement. By the end
of the second year, he protested there was none so wholesome in the whole
department. And for some time before he met Jean-Marie he had been
prepared to challenge all France and the better part of Europe for a
rival to his chosen spot.
"Doctor," he would say--"doctor is a foul word. It should not be used to
ladies. It implies disease. I remark it, as a flaw in our civilisation,
that we have not the proper horror of disease. Now I, for my part, have
washed my hands of it; I have renounced my laureation; I am no doctor; I
am only a worshipper of the true goddess Hygieia. Ah! believe me, it is
she who has the cestus! And here, in this exiguous hamlet, has she placed
her shrine: here she dwells and lavishes her gifts; here I walk with her
in the early morning, and she shows me how strong she has made the
peasants, how fruitful she has made the fields, how the trees grow up
tall and comely under her eyes, and the fishes in the river become clean
and agile at her presence.--Rheumatism!" he would cry, on some malapert
interruption, "Oh, yes, I believe we do have a little rheumatism. That
could hardly be avoided, you know, on a river. And of course the place
stands a little low; and the meadows are marshy, there's no doubt. But,
my dear sir, look at Bourron! Bourron stands high. Bourron is close to
the forest; plenty of ozone there, you would say. Well, compared with
Gretz, Bourron is a perfect shambles."
The morning after he had been summoned to the dying mountebank, the
Doctor visited the wharf at the tail of his garden, and had a long look
at the running water. This he called prayer; but whether his adorations
were addressed to the goddess Hygieia or some more orthodox deity, never
plainly appeared. For he had uttered doubtful oracles, sometimes
declaring that a river was the type of bodily health, sometimes extolling
it as the great moral preacher, continually preaching peace, continuity,
and diligence to man's tormented spirits. After he had watched a mile or
so of the clear water running by before his eyes, seen a fish or two come
to the surface with a gleam of silver, and sufficiently admired the long
shadows of the trees falling half across the river from the opposite
bank, with patches of moving sunlight in between, he strolled once more
up the garden and through his house into the street, feeling cool and
renovated.
The sound of his feet upon the causeway began the business of the day;
for the village was still sound asleep. The church tower looked very airy
in the sunlight; a few birds that turned about it seemed to swim in an
atmosphere of more than usual rarity; and the Doctor, walking in long
transparent shadows, filled his lungs amply, and proclaimed himself well
contented with the morning.
On one of the posts before Tentaillon's carriage entry he espied a little
dark figure perched in a meditative attitude, and immediately recognised
Jean-Marie.
"Aha!" he said, stopping before him humorously, with a hand on either
knee. "So we rise early in the morning, do we? It appears to me that we
have all the vices of a philosopher."
The boy got to his feet and made a grave salutation.
"And how is our patient?" asked Desprez.
It appeared the patient was about the same.
"And why do you rise early in the morning?" he pursued.
Jean-Marie, after a long silence, professed that he hardly knew.
"You hardly know?" repeated Desprez. "We hardly know anything, my man,
until we try to learn. Interrogate your consciousness. Come, push me this
inquiry home. Do you like it?"
"Yes," said the boy slowly; "yes, I like it."
"And why do you like it?" continued the Doctor. "(We are now pursuing the
Socratic method.) Why do you like it?"
"It is quiet," answered Jean-Marie; "and I have nothing to do; and then I
feel as if I were good."
Doctor Desprez took a seat on the post at the opposite side. He was
beginning to take an interest in the talk, for the boy plainly thought
before he spoke, and tried to answer truly. "It appears you have a taste
for feeling good," said the Doctor. "Now, there you puzzle me extremely;
for I thought you said you were a thief; and the two are incompatible."
"Is it very bad to steal?" asked Jean-Marie.
"Such is the general opinion, little boy," replied the Doctor.
"No; but I mean as I stole," explained the other. "For I had no choice. I
think it is surely right to have bread; it must be right to have bread,
there comes so plain a want of it. And then they beat me cruelly if I
returned with nothing," he added. "I was not ignorant of right and wrong;
for before that I had been well taught by a priest, who was very kind to
me." (The Doctor made a horrible grimace at the word "priest.") "But it
seemed to me, when one had nothing to eat and was beaten, it was a
different affair. I would not have stolen for tartlets, I believe; but
any one would steal for baker's bread."
"And so I suppose," said the Doctor, with a rising sneer, "you prayed God
to forgive you, and explained the case to Him at length."
"Why, sir?" asked Jean-Marie. "I do not see."
"Your priest would see, however," retorted Desprez.
"Would he?" asked the boy, troubled for the first time. "I should have
thought God would have known."
"Eh?" snarled the Doctor.
"I should have thought God would have understood me," replied the other.
"You do not, I see; but then it was God that made me think so, was it
not?"
"Little boy, little boy," said Dr. Desprez, "I told you already you had
the vices of philosophy; if you display the virtues also, I must go. I am
a student of the blessed laws of health, an observer of plain and
temperate nature in her common walks; and I cannot preserve my equanimity
in presence of a monster. Do you understand?"
"No, sir," said the boy.
"I will make my meaning clear to you," replied the Doctor. "Look there at
the sky--behind the belfry first, where it is so light, and then up and
up, turning your chin back, right to the top of the dome, where it is
already as blue as at noon. Is not that a beautiful colour? Does it not
please the heart? We have seen it all our lives, until it has grown in
with our familiar thoughts. Now," changing his tone, "suppose that sky to
become suddenly of a live and fiery amber, like the colour of clear
coals, and growing scarlet towards the top--I do not say it would be any
the less beautiful; but would you like it as well?"
"I suppose not," answered Jean-Marie.
"Neither do I like you," returned the Doctor roughly. "I hate all odd
people, and you are the most curious little boy in all the world."
Jean-Marie seemed to ponder for a while, and then he raised his head
again and looked over at the Doctor with an air of candid inquiry. "But
are not you a very curious gentleman?" he asked.
The Doctor threw away his stick, bounded on the boy, clasped him to his
bosom, and kissed him on both cheeks. "Admirable, admirable imp!" he
cried. "What a morning, what an hour for a theorist of forty-two! No," he
continued, apostrophising heaven, "I did not know such boys existed; I
was ignorant they made them so; I had doubted of my race; and now! It is
like," he added, picking up his stick, "like a lovers' meeting. I have
bruised my favourite staff in that moment of enthusiasm. The injury,
however, is not grave." He caught the boy looking at him in obvious
wonder, embarrassment, and alarm. "Hullo!" said he, "why do you look at
me like that? Egad, I believe the boy despises me. Do you despise me,
boy?"
"Oh, no," replied Jean-Marie seriously; "only I do not understand."
"You must excuse me, sir," returned the Doctor, with gravity; "I am still
so young. Oh, hang him!" he added to himself. And he took his seat again
and observed the boy sardonically. "He has spoiled the quiet of my
morning," thought he. "I shall be nervous all day, and have a febricule
when I digest. Let me compose myself." And so he dismissed his
preoccupations by an effort of the will which he had long practised, and
let his soul roam abroad in the contemplation of the morning. He inhaled
the air, tasting it critically as a connoisseur tastes a vintage, and
prolonging the expiration with hygienic gusto. He counted the little
flecks of cloud along the sky. He followed the movements of the birds
round the church tower--making long sweeps, hanging poised, or turning
airy somersaults in fancy, and beating the wind with imaginary pinions.
And in this way he regained peace of mind and animal composure, conscious
of his limbs, conscious of the sight of his eyes, conscious that the air
had a cool taste, like a fruit, at the top of his throat; and at last, in
complete abstraction, he began to sing. The Doctor had but one
air--"Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre"; even with that he was on terms of
mere politeness; and his musical exploits were always reserved for
moments when he was alone and entirely happy.
He was recalled to earth rudely by a pained expression on the boy's face.
"What do you think of my singing?" he inquired, stopping in the middle of
a note; and then, after he had waited some little while and received no
answer, "What do you think of my singing?" he repeated imperiously.
"I do not like it," faltered Jean-Marie.
"Oh, come!" cried the Doctor. "Possibly you are a performer yourself?"
"I sing better than that," replied the boy.
The Doctor eyed him for some seconds in stupefaction. He was aware that
he was angry, and blushed for himself in consequence, which made him
angrier. "If this is how you address your master!" he said at last, with
a shrug and a flourish of his arms.
"I do not speak to him at all," returned the boy. "I do not like him."
"Then you like me?" snapped Doctor Desprez, with unusual eagerness.
"I do not know," answered Jean-Marie.
The Doctor rose. "I shall wish you a good-morning," he said. "You are too
much for me. Perhaps you have blood in your veins, perhaps celestial
ichor, or perhaps you circulate nothing more gross than respirable air;
but of one thing I am inexpugnably assured:--that you are no human being.
No, boy"--shaking his stick at him--"you are not a human being. Write,
write it in your memory--'I am not a human being--I have no pretension to
be a human being--I am a dive, a dream, an angel, an acrostic, an
illusion--what you please, but not a human being.' And so accept my
humble salutations and farewell!"
And with that the Doctor made off along the street in some emotion, and
the boy stood, mentally gaping, where he left him.
CHAPTER III
THE ADOPTION
Madame Desprez, who answered to the Christian name of Anastasie,
presented an agreeable type of her sex; exceedingly wholesome to look
upon, a stout _brune_, with cool smooth cheeks, steady, dark eyes, and
hands that neither art nor nature could improve. She was the sort of
person over whom adversity passes like a summer cloud; she might, in the
worst of conjunctions, knit her brows into one vertical furrow for a
moment, but the next it would be gone. She had much of the placidity of a
contented nun; with little of her piety, however; for Anastasie was of a
very mundane nature, fond of oysters and old wine, and somewhat bold
pleasantries, and devoted to her husband for her own sake rather than for
his. She was imperturbably good-natured, but had no idea of
self-sacrifice. To live in that pleasant old house, with a green garden
behind and bright flowers about the window, to eat and drink of the best,
to gossip with a neighbour for a quarter of an hour, never to wear stays
or a dress except when she went to Fontainebleau shopping, to be kept in
a continual supply of racy novels, and to be married to Dr. Desprez and
have no ground of jealousy, filled the cup of her nature to the brim.
Those who had known the Doctor in bachelor days, when he had aired quite
as many theories, but of a different order, attributed his present
philosophy to the study of Anastasie. It was her brute enjoyment that he
rationalised and perhaps vainly imitated.
Madame Desprez was an artist in the kitchen, and made coffee to a nicety.
She had a knack of tidiness, with which she had infected the Doctor;
everything was in its place; everything capable of polish shone
gloriously; and dust was a thing banished from her empire. Aline, their
single servant, had no other business in the world but to scour and
burnish. So Doctor Desprez lived in his house like a fatted calf, warmed
and cosseted to his heart's content.
The midday meal was excellent. There was a ripe melon, a fish from the
river in a memorable Béarnaise sauce, a fat fowl in a fricassee, and a
dish of asparagus, followed by some fruit. The Doctor drank half a bottle
_plus_ one glass, the wife half a bottle _minus_ the same quantity, which
was a marital privilege, of an excellent Côte-Rôtie, seven years old.
Then the coffee was brought, and a flask of Chartreuse for madame, for
the Doctor despised and distrusted such decoctions; and then Aline left
the wedded pair to the pleasures of memory and digestion.
"It is a very fortunate circumstance, my cherished one," observed the
Doctor--"this coffee is adorable--a very fortunate circumstance upon the
whole--Anastasie, I beseech you, go without that poison for to-day; only
one day, and you will feel the benefit, I pledge my reputation."
"What is this fortunate circumstance, my friend?" inquired Anastasie, not
heeding his protest, which was of daily recurrence.
"That we have no children, my beautiful," replied the Doctor. "I think of
it more and more as the years go on, and with more and more gratitude
towards the power that dispenses such afflictions. Your health, my
darling, my studious quiet, our little kitchen delicacies, how they would
all have suffered, how they would all have been sacrificed! And for what?
Children are the last word of human imperfection. Health flees before
their face. They cry, my dear; they put vexatious questions; they demand
to be fed, to be washed, to be educated, to have their noses blown; and
then, when the time comes, they break our hearts, as I break this piece
of sugar. A pair of professed egoists, like you and me, should avoid
offspring, like an infidelity."
"Indeed!" said she; and she laughed. "Now, that is like you--to take
credit for the thing you could not help."
"My dear," returned the Doctor solemnly, "we might have adopted."
"Never!" cried madame. "Never, Doctor, with my consent. If the child were
my own flesh and blood, I would not say no. But to take another person's
indiscretion on my shoulders, my dear friend, I have too much sense."
"Precisely," replied the Doctor. "We both had. And I am all the better
pleased with our wisdom, because--because----" He looked at her sharply.
"Because what?" she asked, with a faint premonition of danger.
"Because I have found the right person," said the Doctor firmly, "and
shall adopt him this afternoon."
Anastasie looked at him out of a mist. "You have lost your reason," she
said; and there was a clang in her voice that seemed to threaten trouble.
"Not so, my dear," he replied; "I retain its complete exercise. To the
proof: instead of attempting to cloak my inconsistency, I have, by way of
preparing you, thrown it into strong relief. You will there, I think,
recognise the philosopher who has the ecstasy to call you wife. The fact
is, I have been reckoning all this while without an accident. I never
thought to find a son of my own. Now, last night, I found one. Do not
unnecessarily alarm yourself, my dear; he is not a drop of blood to me
that I know. It is his mind, darling, his mind that calls me father."
"His mind!" she repeated, with a titter between scorn and hysterics. "His
mind, indeed! Henri, is this an idiotic pleasantry, or are you mad? His
mind! And what of my mind?"
"Truly," replied the Doctor, with a shrug, "you have your finger on the
hitch. He will be strikingly antipathetic to my ever beautiful Anastasie.
She will never understand him; he will never understand her. You married
the animal side of my nature, dear; and it is on the spiritual side that
I find my affinity for Jean-Marie. So much so, that, to be perfectly
frank, I stand in some awe of him myself. You will easily perceive that I
am announcing a calamity for you. Do not," he broke out in tones of real
solicitude--"do not give way to tears after a meal, Anastasie. You will
certainly give yourself a false digestion."
Anastasie controlled herself. "You know how willing I am to humour you,"
she said, "in all reasonable matters. But on this point----"
"My dear love," interrupted the Doctor, eager to prevent a refusal, "who
wished to leave Paris? Who made me give up cards, and the opera, and the
boulevard, and my social relations, and all that was my life before I
knew you? Have I been faithful? Have I been obedient? Have I not borne my
doom with cheerfulness? In all honesty, Anastasie, have I not a right to
a stipulation on my side? I have, and you know it. I stipulate my son."
Anastasie was aware of defeat; she struck her colours instantly. "You
will break my heart," she sighed.
"Not in the least," said he. "You will feel a trifling inconvenience for
a month, just as I did when I was first brought to this vile hamlet; then
your admirable sense and temper will prevail, and I see you already as
content as ever, and making your husband the happiest of men."
"You know I can refuse you nothing," she said, with a last flicker of
resistance; "nothing that will make you truly happier. But will this? Are
you sure, my husband? Last night, you say, you found him! He may be the
worst of humbugs."
"I think not," replied the Doctor. "But do not suppose me so unwary as to
adopt him out of hand. I am, I flatter myself, a finished man of the
world; I have had all possibilities in view; my plan is contrived to meet
them all. I take the lad as stable-boy. If he pilfer, if he grumble, if
he desire to change, I shall see I was mistaken; I shall recognise him
for no son of mine, and send him tramping."
"You will never do so when the time comes," said his wife; "I know your
good heart."
She reached out her hand to him, with a sigh; the Doctor smiled as he
took it and carried it to his lips; he had gained his point with greater
ease than he had dared to hope; for perhaps the twentieth time he had
proved the efficacy of his trusty argument, his Excalibur, the hint of a
return to Paris. Six months in the capital, for a man of the Doctor's
antecedents and relations, implied no less a calamity than total ruin.
Anastasie had saved the remainder of his fortune by keeping him strictly
in the country. The very name of Paris put her in a blue fear; and she
would have allowed her husband to keep a menagerie in the back-garden,
let alone adopting a stable-boy, rather than permit the question of
return to be discussed.
About four of the afternoon, the mountebank rendered up his ghost; he had
never been conscious since his seizure. Doctor Desprez was present at his
last passage, and declared the farce over. Then he took Jean-Marie by the
shoulder and led him out into the inn garden, where there was a
convenient bench beside the river. Here he sat him down and made the boy
place himself on his left.
"Jean-Marie," he said very gravely, "this world is exceedingly vast; and
even France, which is only a small corner of it, is a great place for a
little lad like you. Unfortunately it is full of eager, shouldering
people moving on; and there are very few bakers' shops for so many
eaters. Your master is dead; you are not fit to gain a living by
yourself; you do not wish to steal? No. Your situation then is
undesirable; it is, for the moment, critical. On the other hand, you
behold in me a man not old, though elderly, still enjoying the youth of
the heart and the intelligence; a man of instruction; easily situated in
this world's affairs; keeping a good table:--a man, neither as friend nor
host, to be despised. I offer you your food and clothes, and to teach you
lessons in the evening, which will be infinitely more to the purpose for
a lad of your stamp than those of all the priests in Europe. I propose
no wages, but if ever you take a thought to leave me, the door shall be
open, and I will give you a hundred francs to start the world upon. In
return, I have an old horse and chaise, which you would very speedily
learn to clean and keep in order. Do not hurry yourself to answer, and
take it or leave it as you judge aright. Only remember this, that I am no
sentimentalist or charitable person, but a man who lives rigorously to
himself; and that if I make the proposal, it is for my own ends--it is
because I perceive clearly an advantage to myself. And now, reflect."
"I shall be very glad. I do not see what else I can do. I thank you, sir,
most kindly, and I will try to be useful," said the boy.
"Thank you," said the Doctor warmly, rising at the same time and wiping
his brow, for he had suffered agonies while the thing hung in the wind. A
refusal, after the scene at noon, would have placed him in a ridiculous
light before Anastasie. "How hot and heavy is the evening, to be sure! I
have always had a fancy to be a fish in summer, Jean-Marie, here in the
Loing beside Gretz. I should lie under a water-lily and listen to the
bells, which must sound most delicately down below. That would be a
life--do you not think so too?"
"Yes," said Jean-Marie.
"Thank God you have imagination!" cried the Doctor, embracing the boy
with his usual effusive warmth, though it was a proceeding that seemed to
disconcert the sufferer almost as much as if he had been an English
schoolboy of the same age. "And now," he added, "I will take you to my
wife."
Madame Desprez sat in the dining-room in a cool wrapper. All the blinds
were down, and the tile floor had been recently sprinkled with water; her
eyes were half shut, but she affected to be reading a novel as they
entered. Though she was a bustling woman, she enjoyed repose
between-whiles and had a remarkable appetite for sleep.
The Doctor went through a solemn form of introduction, adding, for the
benefit of both parties, "You must try to like each other for my sake."
"He is very pretty," said Anastasie.--"Will you kiss me, my pretty little
fellow?"
The Doctor was furious, and dragged her into the passage. "Are you a
fool, Anastasie?" he said. "What is all this I hear about the tact of
women? Heaven knows, I have not met with it in my experience. You address
my little philosopher as if he were an infant. He must be spoken to with
more respect, I tell you; he must not be kissed and Georgy-porgy'd like
an ordinary child."
"I only did it to please you, I am sure," replied Anastasie; "but I will
try to do better."
The Doctor apologised for his warmth. "But I do wish him," he continued,
"to feel at home among us. And really your conduct was so idiotic, my
cherished one, and so utterly and distantly out of place, that a saint
might have been pardoned a little vehemence in disapproval. Do, do
try--if it is possible for a woman to understand young people--but of
course it is not, and I waste my breath. Hold your tongue as much as
possible at least, and observe my conduct narrowly; it will serve you for
a model."
Anastasie did as she was bidden, and considered the Doctor's behaviour.
She observed that he embraced the boy three times in the course of the
evening, and managed generally to confound and abash the little fellow
out of speech and appetite. But she had the true womanly heroism in
little affairs. Not only did she refrain from the cheap revenge of
exposing the Doctor's errors to himself, but she did her best to remove
their ill-effect on Jean-Marie. When Desprez went out for his last breath
of air before retiring for the night, she came over to the boy's side and
took his hand.
"You must not be surprised or frightened by my husband's manners," she
said. "He is the kindest of men, but so clever that he is sometimes
difficult to understand. You will soon grow used to him, and then you
will love him, for that nobody can help. As for me, you may be sure, I
shall try to make you happy, and will not bother you at all. I think we
should be excellent friends, you and I. I am not clever, but I am very
good-natured. Will you give me a kiss?"
He held up his face, and she took him in her arms and then began to cry.
The woman had spoken in complaisance; but she had warmed to her own
words, and tenderness followed. The Doctor, entering, found them enlaced:
he concluded that his wife was in fault; and he was just beginning, in an
awful voice, "Anastasie----," when she looked up at him, smiling, with an
upraised finger; and he held his peace, wondering, while she led the boy
to his attic.
CHAPTER IV
THE EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER
The installation of the adopted stable-boy was thus happily effected, and
the wheels of life continued to run smoothly in the Doctor's house.
Jean-Marie did his horse and carriage duty in the morning; sometimes
helped in the housework; sometimes walked abroad with the Doctor, to
drink wisdom from the fountainhead; and was introduced at night to the
sciences and the dead tongues. He retained his singular placidity of mind
and manner; he was rarely in fault; but he made only a very partial
progress in his studies, and remained much of a stranger in the family.
The Doctor was a pattern of regularity. All forenoon he worked on his
great book, the "Comparative Pharmacopoeia, or Historical Dictionary of
all Medicines," which as yet consisted principally of slips of paper and
pins. When finished, it was to fill many personable volumes, and to
combine antiquarian interest with professional utility. But the Doctor
was studious of literary graces and the picturesque; an anecdote, a touch
of manners, a moral qualification, or a sounding epithet was sure to be
preferred before a piece of science; a little more, and he would have
written the "Comparative Pharmacopoeia" in verse! The article "Mummia,"
for instance, was already complete, though the remainder of the work had
not progressed beyond the letter A. It was exceedingly copious and
entertaining, written with quaintness and colour, exact, erudite, a
literary article; but it would hardly have afforded guidance to a
practising physician of to-day. The feminine good sense of his wife had
led her to point this out with uncompromising sincerity; for the
Dictionary was duly read aloud to her, betwixt sleep and waking, as it
proceeded towards an infinitely distant completion; and the Doctor was a
little sore on the subject of mummies, and sometimes resented an allusion
with asperity.
After the midday meal and a proper period of digestion, he walked,
sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by Jean-Marie; for madame would
have preferred any hardship rather than walk.
She was, as I have said, a very busy person, continually occupied about
material comforts, and ready to drop asleep over a novel the instant she
was disengaged. This was the less objectionable, as she never snored or
grew distempered in complexion when she slept. On the contrary, she
looked the very picture of luxurious and appetising ease, and woke
without a start to the perfect possession of her faculties. I am afraid
she was greatly an animal, but she was a very nice animal to have about.
In this way she had little to do with Jean-Marie; but the sympathy which
had been established between them on the first night remained unbroken;
they held occasional conversations, mostly on household matters; to the
extreme disappointment of the Doctor, they occasionally sallied off
together to that temple of debasing, superstition, the village church;
madame and he, both in their Sunday's best, drove twice a month to
Fontainebleau and returned laden with purchases; and in short, although
the Doctor still continued to regard them as irreconcilably antipathetic,
their relation was as intimate, friendly, and confidential as their
natures suffered.
I fear, however, that in her heart of hearts madame kindly despised and
pitied the boy. She had no admiration for his class of virtues; she liked
a smart, polite, forward, roguish sort of boy, cap in hand, light of
foot, meeting the eye; she liked volubility, charm, a little vice--the
promise of a second Doctor Desprez. And it was her indefeasible belief
that Jean-Marie was dull. "Poor dear boy," she had said once, "how sad it
is that he should be so stupid!" She had never repeated that remark, for
the Doctor had raged like a wild bull, denouncing the brutal bluntness of
her mind, bemoaning his own fate to be so unequally mated with an ass,
and, what touched Anastasie more nearly, menacing the table china by the
fury of his gesticulations. But she adhered silently to her opinion; and
when Jean-Marie was sitting, stolid, blank, but not unhappy, over his
unfinished tasks, she would snatch her opportunity in the Doctor's
absence, go over to him, put her arms about his neck, lay her cheek to
his, and communicate her sympathy with his distress. "Do not mind," she
would say; "I, too, am not at all clever, and I can assure you that it
makes no difference in life."
The Doctor's view was naturally different. That gentleman never wearied
of the sound of his own voice, which was, to say the truth, agreeable
enough to hear. He now had a listener, who was not so cynically
indifferent as Anastasie, and who sometimes put him on his mettle by the
most relevant objections. Besides, was he not educating the boy? And
education, philosophers are agreed, is the most philosophical of duties.
What can be more heavenly to poor mankind than to have one's hobby grow
into a duty to the State? Then, indeed, do the ways of life become ways
of pleasantness. Never had the Doctor seen reason to be more content with
his endowments. Philosophy flowed smoothly from his lips. He was so agile
a dialectician that he could trace his nonsense, when challenged, back to
some root in sense, and prove it to be a sort of flower upon his system.
He slipped out of antinomies like a fish, and left his disciple
marvelling at the rabbi's depth.
Moreover, deep down in his heart the Doctor was disappointed with the
ill-success of his more formal education. A boy, chosen by so acute an
observer for his aptitude, and guided along the path of learning by so
philosophic an instructor, was bound, by the nature of the universe, to
make a more obvious and lasting advance. Now Jean-Marie was slow in all
things, impenetrable in others; and his power of forgetting was fully on
a level with his power to learn. Therefore the Doctor cherished his
peripatetic lectures, to which the boy attended, which he generally
appeared to enjoy, and by which he often profited.
Many and many were the talks they had together; and health and moderation
proved the subject of the Doctor's divagations. To these he lovingly
returned.
"I lead you," he would say, "by the green pastures. My system, my
beliefs, my medicines, are resumed in one phrase--to avoid excess.
Blessed nature, healthy, temperate nature, abhors and exterminates
excess. Human law, in this matter, imitates at a great distance her
provisions; and we must strive to supplement the efforts of the law. Yes,
boy, we must be a law to ourselves and for our neighbours--_lex
armata_--armed, emphatic, tyrannous law. If you see a crapulous human
ruin snuffing, dash from him his box! The judge, though in a way an
admission of disease, is less offensive to me than either the doctor or
the priest. Above all the doctor--the doctor and the purulent trash and
garbage of his pharmacopoeia! Pure air--from the neighbourhood of a
pinetum for the sake of the turpentine--unadulterated wine, and the
reflections of an unsophisticated spirit in the presence of the works of
nature--these, my boy, are the best medical appliances and the best
religious comforts. Devote yourself to these. Hark! there are the bells
of Bourron (the wind is in the north, it will be fair). How clear and
airy is the sound. The nerves are harmonised and quieted; the mind
attuned to silence; and observe how easily and regularly beats the heart!
Your unenlightened doctor would see nothing in these sensations; and yet
you yourself perceive they are a part of health. Did you remember your
cinchona this morning? Good. Cinchona also is a work of nature; it is,
after all, only the bark of a tree which we might gather for ourselves if
we lived in the locality. What a world is this! Though a professed
atheist, I delight to bear my testimony to the world. Look at the
gratuitous remedies and pleasures that surround our path! The river runs
by the garden end, our bath, our fish-pond, our natural system of
drainage. There is a well in the court which sends up sparkling water
from the earth's very heart, clean, cool, and, with a little wine, most
wholesome. The district is notorious for its salubrity; rheumatism is the
only prevalent complaint, and I myself have never had a touch of it. I
tell you--and my opinion is based upon the coldest, clearest processes of
reason--if I, if you, desired to leave this home of pleasures, it would
be the duty, it would be the privilege, of our best friend to prevent us
with a pistol bullet."
One beautiful June day they sat upon the hill outside the village. The
river, as blue as heaven, shone here and there among the foliage. The
indefatigable birds turned and flickered about Gretz church-tower. A
healthy wind blew from over the forest, and the sound of innumerable
thousands of tree-tops and innumerable millions on millions of green
leaves was abroad in the air, and filled the ear with something between
whispered speech and singing. It seemed as if every blade of grass must
hide a cigale; and the fields rang merrily with their music, jingling far
and near as with the sleigh-bells of the fairy queen. From their station
on the slope the eye embraced a large space of poplared plain upon the
one hand, the waving hill-tops of the forest on the other, and Gretz
itself in the middle, a handful of roofs. Under the bestriding arch of
the blue heavens, the place seemed dwindled to a toy. It seemed
incredible that people dwelt, and could find room to turn or air to
breathe, in such a corner of the world. The thought came home to the boy,
perhaps for the first time, and he gave it words.
"How small it looks!" he sighed.
"Ay," replied the Doctor, "small enough now. Yet it was once a walled
city; thriving, full of furred burgesses and men in armour, humming with
affairs;--with tall spires, for aught that I know, and portly towers
along the battlements. A thousand chimneys ceased smoking at the
curfew-bell. There were gibbets at the gate as thick as scarecrows. In
time of war, the assault swarmed against it with ladders, the arrows fell
like leaves, the defenders sallied hotly over the drawbridge, each side
uttered its cry as they plied their weapons. Do you know that the walls
extended as far as the Commanderie? Tradition so reports. Alas! what a
long way off is all this confusion--nothing left of it but my quiet words
spoken in your ear--and the town itself shrunk to the hamlet underneath
us! By-and-by came the English wars--you shall hear more of the English,
a stupid people, who sometimes blundered into good--and Gretz was taken,
sacked, and burned. It is the history of many towns; but Gretz never rose
again; it was never rebuilt; its ruins were a quarry to serve the growth
of rivals; and the stones of Gretz are now erect along the streets of
Nemours. It gratifies me that our old house was the first to rise after
the calamity; when the town had come to an end, it inaugurated the
hamlet."
"I, too, am glad of that," said Jean-Marie.
"It should be the temple of the humbler virtues," responded the Doctor
with a savoury gusto. "Perhaps one of the reasons why I love my little
hamlet as I do, is that we have a similar history, she and I. Have I told
you that I was once rich?"
"I do not think so," answered Jean-Marie. "I do not think I should have
forgotten. I am sorry you should have lost your fortune."
"Sorry?" cried the Doctor. "Why, I find I have scarce begun your
education after all. Listen to me! Would you rather live in the old Gretz
or in the new, free from the alarms of war, with the green country at the
door, without noise, passports, the exactions of the soldiery, or the
jangle of the curfew-bell to send us off to bed by sundown?"
"I suppose I should prefer the new," replied the boy.
"Precisely," returned the Doctor; "so do I. And in the same way, I prefer
my present moderate fortune to my former wealth. Golden mediocrity!
cried the adorable ancients; and I subscribe to their enthusiasm. Have I
not good wine, good food, good air, the fields and the forest for my
walk, a house, an admirable wife, a boy whom I protest I cherish like a
son? Now, if I were still rich, I should indubitably make my residence in
Paris--you know Paris--Paris and Paradise are not convertible terms. This
pleasant noise of the wind streaming among leaves changed into the
grinding Babel of the street, the stupid glare of plaster substituted for
this quiet pattern of greens and greys, the nerves shattered, the
digestion falsified--picture the fall! Already you perceive the
consequences: the mind is stimulated, the heart steps to a different
measure, and the man is himself no longer. I have passionately studied
myself--the true business of philosophy. I know my character as the
musician knows the ventages of his flute. Should I return to Paris, I
should ruin myself gambling; nay, I go further--I should break the heart
of my Anastasie with infidelities."
This was too much for Jean-Marie. That a place should so transform the
most excellent of men transcended his belief. Paris, he protested, was
even an agreeable place of residence. "Nor when I lived in that city did
I feel much difference," he pleaded.
"What!" cried the Doctor. "Did you not steal when you were there?"
But the boy could never be brought to see that he had done anything wrong
when he stole. Nor, indeed, did the Doctor think he had; but that
gentleman was never very scrupulous when in want of a retort.
"And now," he concluded, "do you begin to understand? My only friends
were those who ruined me. Gretz has been my academy, my sanatorium, my
heaven of innocent pleasures. If millions are offered me, I wave them
back: _Retro, Sathanas!_--Evil one, begone! Fix your mind on my example;
despise riches, avoid the debasing influence of cities. Hygiene--hygiene
and mediocrity of fortune--these be your watchwords during life!"
The Doctor's system of hygiene strikingly coincided with his tastes; and
his picture of the perfect life was a faithful description of the one he
was leading at the time. But it is easy to convince a boy, whom you
supply with all the facts for the discussion. And besides, there was one
thing admirable in the philosophy, and that was the enthusiasm of the
philosopher. There was never any one more vigorously determined to be
pleased; and if he was not a great logician, and so had no right to
convince the intellect, he was certainly something of a poet, and had a
fascination to seduce the heart. What he could not achieve in his
customary humour of a radiant admiration of himself and his
circumstances, he sometimes effected in his fits of gloom.
"Boy," he would say, "avoid me to-day. If I were superstitious, I should
even beg for an interest in your prayers. I am in the black fit; the evil
spirit of King Saul, the hag of the merchant Abudah, the personal devil
of the mediæval monk, is with me--is in me," tapping on his breast. "The
vices of my nature are now uppermost; innocent pleasures woo me in vain;
I long for Paris, for my wallowing in the mire. See," he would continue,
producing a handful of silver, "I denude myself, I am not to be trusted
with the price of a fare. Take it, keep it for me, squander it on
deleterious candy, throw it in the deepest of the river--I will
homologate your action. Save me from that part of myself which I disown.
If you see me falter, do not hesitate; if necessary, wreck the train! I
speak, of course, by a parable. Any extremity were better than for me to
reach Paris alive."
Doubtless the Doctor enjoyed these little scenes, as a variation in his
part; they represented the Byronic element in the somewhat artificial
poetry of his existence; but to the boy, though he was dimly aware of
their theatricality, they represented more. The Doctor made perhaps too
little, the boy possibly too much, of the reality and gravity of these
temptations.
One day a great light shone for Jean-Marie. "Could not riches be used
well?" he asked.
"In theory, yes," replied the Doctor. "But it is found in experience that
no one does so. All the world imagine they will be exceptional when they
grow wealthy; but possession is debasing, new desires spring up; and the
silly taste for ostentation eats out the heart of pleasure."
"Then you might be better if you had less," said the boy.
"Certainly not," replied the Doctor; but his voice quavered as he spoke.
"Why?" demanded pitiless innocence.
Doctor Desprez saw all the colours of the rainbow in a moment; the stable
universe appeared to be about capsizing with him. "Because," said
he--affecting deliberation after an obvious pause--"because I have formed
my life for my present income. It is not good for men of my years to be
violently dissevered from their habits."
That was a sharp brush. The Doctor breathed hard, and fell into
taciturnity for the afternoon. As for the boy, he was delighted with the
resolution of his doubts; even wondered that he had not foreseen the
obvious and conclusive answer. His faith in the Doctor was a stout piece
of goods. Desprez was inclined to be a sheet in the wind's eye after
dinner, especially after Rhone wine, his favourite weakness. He would
then remark on the warmth of his feeling for Anastasie, and with inflamed
cheeks and a loose, flustered smile, debate upon all sorts of topics, and
be feebly and indiscreetly witty. But the adopted stable-boy would not
permit himself to entertain a doubt that savoured of ingratitude. It is
quite true that a man may be a second father to you, and yet take too
much to drink; but the best natures are ever slow to accept such truths.
The Doctor thoroughly possessed his heart, but perhaps he exaggerated his
influence over his mind. Certainly Jean-Marie adopted some of his
master's opinions, but I have yet to learn that he ever surrendered one
of his own. Convictions existed in him by divine right; they were
virgin, unwrought, the brute metal of decision. He could add others
indeed, but he could not put away; neither did he care if they were
perfectly agreed among themselves; and his spiritual pleasures had
nothing to do with turning them over or justifying them in words. Words
were with him a mere accomplishment, like dancing. When he was by
himself, his pleasures were almost vegetable. He would slip into the
woods towards Achères, and sit in the mouth of a cave among grey birches.
His soul stared straight out of his eyes; he did not move or think;
sunlight, thin shadows moving in the wind, the edge of firs against the
sky, occupied and bound his faculties. He was pure unity, a spirit wholly
abstracted. A single mood filled him, to which all the objects of sense
contributed, as the colours of the spectrum merge and disappear in white
light.
So while the Doctor made himself drunk with words, the adopted stable-boy
bemused himself with silence.
CHAPTER V
TREASURE TROVE
The Doctor's carriage was a two-wheeled gig with a hood; a kind of vehicle
in much favour among country doctors. On how many roads has one not seen
it, a great way off between the poplars!--in how many village streets,
tied to a gate-post! This sort of chariot is affected--particularly at the
trot--by a kind of pitching movement to and fro across the axle, which
well entitles it to the style of a Noddy. The hood describes a
considerable arc against the landscape, with a solemnly absurd effect on
the contemplative pedestrian. To ride in such a carriage cannot be
numbered among the things that appertain to glory; but I have no doubt it
may be useful in liver complaint. Thence, perhaps, its wide popularity
among physicians.
One morning early, Jean-Marie led forth the Doctor's noddy, opened the
gate, and mounted to the driving-seat. The Doctor followed, arrayed from
top to toe in spotless linen, armed with an immense flesh-coloured
umbrella, and girt with a botanical case on a baldric; and the equipage
drove off smartly in a breeze of its own provocation. They were bound for
Franchard, to collect plants, with an eye to the "Comparative
Pharmacopoeia."
A little rattling on the open roads, and they came to the borders of the
forest and struck into an unfrequented track; the noddy yawed softly over
the sand, with an accompaniment of snapping twigs. There was a great,
green, softly murmuring cloud of congregated foliage overhead. In the
arcades of the forest the air retained the freshness of the night. The
athletic bearing of the trees, each carrying its leafy mountain, pleased
the mind like so many statues; and the lines of the trunk led the eye
admiringly upward to where the extreme leaves sparkled in a patch of
azure. Squirrels leaped in mid-air. It was a proper spot for a devotee of
the goddess Hygieia.
"Have you been to Franchard, Jean-Marie?" inquired the Doctor. "I fancy
not."
"Never," replied the boy.
"It is a ruin in a gorge," continued Desprez, adopting his expository
voice; "the ruin of a hermitage and chapel. History tells us much of
Franchard; how the recluse was often slain by robbers; how he lived on a
most insufficient diet; how he was expected to pass his days in prayer. A
letter is preserved, addressed to one of these solitaries by the superior
of his order, full of admirable hygienic advice; bidding him go from his
book to praying, and so back again, for variety's sake, and when he was
weary of both to stroll about his garden and observe the honey-bees. It
is to this day my own system. You must often have remarked me leaving the
'Pharmacopoeia'--often even in the middle of a phrase--to come forth
into the sun and air. I admire the writer of that letter from my heart;
he was a man of thought on the most important subjects. But, indeed, had
I lived in the Middle Ages (I am heartily glad that I did not) I should
have been an eremite myself--if I had not been a professed buffoon, that
is. These were the only philosophical lives yet open: laughter or prayer;
sneers, we might say, and tears. Until the sun of the Positive arose, the
wise man had to make his choice between these two."
"I have been a buffoon, of course," observed Jean-Marie.
"I cannot imagine you to have excelled in your profession," said the
doctor, admiring the boy's gravity. "Do you ever laugh?"
"Oh, yes," replied the other. "I laugh often. I am very fond of jokes."
"Singular being!" said Desprez. "But I divagate (I perceive in a thousand
ways that I grow old). Franchard was at length destroyed in the English
wars, the same that levelled Gretz. But--here is the point--the hermits
(for there were already more than one) had foreseen the danger and
carefully concealed the sacrificial vessels. These vessels were of
monstrous value, Jean-Marie--monstrous value--priceless, we may say;
exquisitely worked, of exquisite material. And now, mark me, they have
never been found. In the reign of Louis Quatorze some fellows were
digging hard by the ruins. Suddenly--tock!--the spade hit upon an
obstacle. Imagine the men looking one to another; imagine how their
hearts bounded, how their colour came and went. It was a coffer, and in
Franchard, the place of buried treasure! They tore it open like famished
beasts. Alas! it was not the treasure; only some priestly robes, which,
at the touch of the eating air, fell upon themselves and instantly wasted
into dust. The perspiration of these good fellows turned cold upon them,
Jean-Marie. I will pledge my reputation, if there was anything like a
cutting wind, one or other had a pneumonia for his trouble."
"I should like to have seen them turning into dust," said Jean-Marie.
"Otherwise, I should not have cared so greatly."
"You have no imagination," cried the Doctor. "Picture to yourself the
scene. Dwell on the idea--a great treasure lying in the earth for
centuries: the material for a giddy, copious, opulent existence not
employed; dresses and exquisite pictures unseen; the swiftest galloping
horses not stirring a hoof, arrested by a spell; women with the beautiful
faculty of smiles, not smiling; cards, dice, opera singing, orchestras,
castles, beautiful parks and gardens, big ships with a tower of
sailcloth, all lying unborn in a coffin--and the stupid trees growing
overhead in the sunlight, year after year. The thought drives one
frantic."
"It is only money," replied Jean-Marie. "It would do harm."
"Oh, come!" cried Desprez, "that is philosophy; it is all very fine, but
not to the point just now. And besides, it is not 'only money,' as you
call it; there are works of art in the question; the vessels were carved.
You speak like a child. You weary me exceedingly, quoting my words out of
all logical connection, like a parroquet."
"And at any rate, we have nothing to do with it," returned the boy
submissively.
They struck the Route Ronde at that moment; and the sudden change to the
rattling causeway combined, with the Doctor's irritation, to keep him
silent. The noddy jigged along; the trees went by, looking on silently,
as if they had something on their minds. The Quadrilateral was passed;
then came Franchard. They put up the horse at the little solitary inn,
and went forth strolling. The gorge was dyed deeply with heather; the
rocks and birches standing luminous in the sun. A great humming of bees
about the flowers disposed Jean-Marie to sleep, and he sat down against a
clump of heather, while the Doctor went briskly to and fro, with quick
turns, culling his simples.
The boy's head had fallen a little forward, his eyes were closed, his
fingers had fallen lax about his knees, when a sudden cry called him to
his feet. It was a strange sound, thin and brief; it fell dead, and
silence returned as though it had never been interrupted. He had not
recognised the Doctor's voice; but, as there was no one else in all the
valley, it was plainly the Doctor who had given utterance to the sound.
He looked right and left, and there was Desprez, standing in a niche
between two boulders, and looking round on his adopted son with a
countenance as white as paper.
"A viper!" cried Jean-Marie, running towards him. "A viper! You are
bitten!"
The Doctor came down heavily out of the cleft, and advanced in silence to
meet the boy, whom he took roughly by the shoulder.
"I have found it," he said, with a gasp.
"A plant?" asked Jean-Marie.
Desprez had a fit of unnatural gaiety, which the rocks took up and
mimicked. "A plant!" he repeated scornfully. "Well--yes--a plant. And
here," he added suddenly, showing his right hand, which he had hitherto
concealed behind his back--"here is one of the bulbs."
Jean-Marie saw a dirty platter, coated with earth.
"That?" said he. "It is a plate!"
"It is a coach and horses," cried the Doctor. "Boy," he continued,
growing warmer, "I plucked away a great pad of moss from between these
boulders, and disclosed a crevice; and when I looked in, what do you
suppose I saw? I saw a house in Paris with a court and garden, I saw my
wife shining with diamonds, I saw myself a deputy, I saw you--well, I--I
saw your future," he concluded, rather feebly. "I have just discovered
America," he added.
"But what is it?" asked the boy.
"The Treasure of Franchard," cried the Doctor; and, throwing his brown
straw hat upon the ground, he whooped like an Indian and sprang upon
Jean-Marie, whom he suffocated with embraces and bedewed with tears. Then
he flung himself down among the heather and once more laughed until the
valley rang.
But the boy had now an interest of his own, a boy's interest. No sooner
was he released from the Doctor's accolade than he ran to the boulders,
sprang into the niche, and, thrusting his hand into the crevice, drew
forth one after another, encrusted with the earth of ages, the flagons,
candlesticks, and patens of the hermitage of Franchard. A casket came
last, tightly shut and very heavy.
"Oh what fun!" he cried.
But when he looked back at the Doctor, who had followed close behind and
was silently observing, the words died from his lips. Desprez was once
more the colour of ashes; his lip worked and trembled; a sort of bestial
greed possessed him.
"This is childish," he said. "We lose precious time. Back to the inn,
harness the trap, and bring it to yon bank. Run for your life, and
remember--not one whisper. I stay here to watch."
Jean-Marie did as he was bid, though not without surprise. The noddy was
brought round to the spot indicated; and the two gradually transported
the treasure from its place of concealment to the boot below the
driving-seat. Once it was all stored the Doctor recovered his gaiety.
"I pay my grateful duties to the genius of this dell," he said. "Oh for a
live coal, a heifer, and a jar of country wine! I am in the vein for
sacrifice, for a superb libation. Well, and why not? We are at Franchard.
English pale ale is to be had--not classical, indeed, but excellent. Boy,
we shall drink ale."
"But I thought it was so unwholesome," said Jean-Marie, "and very dear
besides."
"Fiddle-de-dee!" exclaimed the Doctor gaily. "To the inn!"
And he stepped into the noddy, tossing his head with an elastic, youthful
air. The horse was turned, and in a few seconds they drew up beside the
palings of the inn garden.
"Here," said Desprez--"here, near the table, so that we may keep an eye
upon things."
They tied the horse, and entered the garden, the Doctor singing, now in
fantastic high notes, now producing deep reverberations from his chest.
He took a seat, rapped loudly on the table, assailed the waiter with
witticisms; and when the bottle of Bass was at length produced, far more
charged with gas than the most delirious champagne, he filled out a long
glassful of froth and pushed it over to Jean-Marie. "Drink," he said;
"drink deep."
"I would rather not," faltered the boy, true to his training.
"What?" thundered Desprez.
"I am afraid of it," said Jean-Marie: "my stomach----"
"Take it or leave it," interrupted Desprez fiercely: "but understand it
once for all--there is nothing so contemptible as a precisian."
Here was a new lesson! The boy sat bemused, looking at the glass but not
tasting it, while the Doctor emptied and refilled his own, at first with
clouded brow, but gradually yielding to the sun, the heady, prickling
beverage, and his own predisposition to be happy.
"Once in a way," he said at last, by way of a concession to the boy's
more rigorous attitude, "once in a way, and at so critical a moment, this
ale is a nectar for the gods. The habit, indeed, is debasing; wine, the
juice of the grape, is the true drink of the Frenchman, as I have often
had occasion to point out; and I do not know that I can blame you for
refusing this outlandish stimulant. You can have some wine and cakes. Is
the bottle empty? Well, we will not be proud; we will have pity on your
glass."
The beer being done, the Doctor chafed bitterly while Jean-Marie finished
his cakes. "I burn to be gone," he said, looking at his watch. "Good God,
how slow you eat!" And yet to eat slowly was his own particular
prescription, the main secret of longevity!
His martyrdom, however, reached an end at last; the pair resumed their
places in the buggy, and Desprez, leaning luxuriously back, announced his
intention of proceeding to Fontainebleau.
"To Fontainebleau?" repeated Jean-Marie.
"My words are always measured," said the Doctor. "On!"
The Doctor was driven through the glades of paradise; the air, the light,
the shining leaves, the very movements of the vehicle, seemed to fall in
tune with his golden meditations; with his head thrown back, he dreamed a
series of sunny visions, ale and pleasure dancing in his veins. At last
he spoke.
"I shall telegraph for Casimir," he said. "Good Casimir! a fellow of the
lower order of intelligence, Jean-Marie, distinctly not creative, not
poetic; and yet he will repay your study; his fortune is vast, and is
entirely due to his own exertions. He is the very fellow to help us to
dispose of our trinkets, find us a suitable house in Paris, and manage
the details of our installation. Admirable Casimir, one of my oldest
comrades! It was on his advice, I may add, that I invested my little
fortune in Turkish bonds; when we have added these spoils of the mediæval
Church to our stake in the Mahometan empire, little boy, we shall
positively roll among doubloons, positively roll!--Beautiful forest," he
cried, "farewell! Though called to other scenes, I will not forget thee.
Thy name is graven in my heart. Under the influence of prosperity I
become dithyrambic, Jean-Marie. Such is the impulse of the natural soul;
such was the constitution of primæval man. And I--well, I will not refuse
the credit--I have preserved my youth like a virginity; another, who
should have led the same snoozing, countrified existence for these years,
another had become rusty, become stereotype; but I, I praise my happy
constitution, retain the spring unbroken. Fresh opulence and a new sphere
of duties find me unabated in ardour and only more mature by knowledge.
For this prospective change, Jean-Marie--it may probably have shocked
you. Tell me now, did it not strike you as an inconsistency? Confess--it
is useless to dissemble--it pained you?"
"Yes," said the boy.
"You see," returned the Doctor, with sublime fatuity, "I read your
thoughts! Nor am I surprised--your education is not yet complete; the
higher duties of men have not been yet presented to you fully. A
hint--till we have leisure--must suffice. Now that I am once more in
possession of a modest competence; now that I have so long prepared
myself in silent meditation, it becomes my superior duty to proceed to
Paris. My scientific training, my undoubted command of language, mark me
out for the service of my country. Modesty in such a case would be a
snare. If sin were a philosophical expression, I should call it sinful. A
man must not deny his manifest abilities, for that is to evade his
obligations. I must be up and doing; I must be no skulker in life's
battle."
So he rattled on, copiously greasing the joint of his inconsistency with
words; while the boy listened silently, his eyes fixed on the horse, his
mind seething. It was all lost eloquence; no array of words could
unsettle a belief of Jean-Marie's; and he drove into Fontainebleau filled
with pity, horror, indignation, and despair.
In the town Jean-Marie was kept a fixture on the driving-seat, to guard
the treasure; while the Doctor, with a singular, slightly tipsy airiness
of manner, fluttered in and out of cafés, where he shook hands with
garrison officers, and mixed an absinthe with the nicety of old
experience; in and out of shops, from which he returned laden with costly
fruits, real turtle, a magnificent piece of silk for his wife, a
preposterous cane for himself, and a képi of the newest fashion for the
boy; in and out of the telegraph office, whence he despatched his
telegram, and where three hours later he received an answer promising a
visit on the morrow, and generally pervaded Fontainebleau with the first
fine aroma of his divine good-humour.
The sun was very low when they set forth again; the shadows of the forest
trees extended across the broad white road that led them home; the
penetrating odour of the evening wood had already arisen, like a cloud of
incense, from that broad field of tree-tops; and even in the streets of
the town, where the air had been baked all day between white walls, it
came in whiffs and pulses, like a distant music. Half-way home, the last
gold flicker vanished from a great oak upon the left; and when they came
forth beyond the borders of the wood, the plain was already sunken in
pearly greyness, and a great, pale moon came swinging skyward through the
filmy poplars.
The Doctor sang, the Doctor whistled, the Doctor talked. He spoke of the
woods, and the wars, and the deposition of dew; he brightened and babbled
of Paris; he soared into cloudy bombast on the glories of the political
arena. All was to be changed; as the day departed, it took with it the
vestiges of an outworn existence, and to-morrow's sun was to inaugurate
the new. "Enough," he cried, "of this life of maceration!" His wife
(still beautiful, or he was sadly partial) was to be no longer buried;
she should now shine before society. Jean-Marie would find the world at
his feet; the roads open to success, wealth, honour, and posthumous
renown. "And oh, by the way," said he, "for God's sake keep your tongue
quiet! You are, of course, a very silent fellow; it is a quality I gladly
recognise in you--silence, golden silence! But this is a matter of
gravity. No word must get abroad; none but the good Casimir is to be
trusted; we shall probably dispose of the vessels in England."
"But are they not even ours?" the boy said, almost with a sob--it was the
only time he had spoken.
"Ours in this sense, that they are nobody else's," replied the Doctor.
"But the State would have some claim. If they were stolen, for instance,
we should be unable to demand their restitution; we should have no title;
we should be unable even to communicate with the police. Such is the
monstrous condition of the law.[2] It is a mere instance of what remains
to be done, of the injustices that may yet be righted by an ardent,
active, and philosophical deputy."
Jean-Marie put his faith in Madame Desprez; and as they drove forward
down the road from Bourron, between the rustling poplars, he prayed in
his teeth, and whipped up the horse to an unusual speed. Surely, as soon
as they arrived, madame would assert her character, and bring this waking
nightmare to an end.
Their entrance into Gretz was heralded and accompanied by a most furious
barking; all the dogs in the village seemed to smell the treasure in the
noddy. But there was no one in the street, save three lounging
landscape-painters at Tentaillon's door. Jean-Marie opened the green gate
and led in the horse and carriage; and almost at the same moment
Madame Desprez came to the kitchen threshold with a lighted lantern; for
the moon was not yet high enough to clear the garden walls.
"Close the gates, Jean-Marie!" cried the Doctor, somewhat unsteadily
alighting.--"Anastasie, where is Aline?"
"She has gone to Montereau to see her parents," said madame.
"All is for the best!" exclaimed the Doctor fervently. "Here quick, come
near to me; I do not wish to speak too loud," he continued. "Darling, we
are wealthy!"
"Wealthy!" repeated the wife.
"I have found the treasure of Franchard," replied her husband, "See, here
are the first-fruits; a pine-apple, a dress for my ever-beautiful--it
will suit her--trust a husband's, trust a lover's taste! Embrace me,
darling! This grimy episode is over; the butterfly unfolds its painted
wings. To-morrow Casimir will come; in a week we may be in Paris--happy
at last! You shall have diamonds.--Jean-Marie, take it out of the boot,
with religious care, and bring it piece by piece into the dining-room. We
shall have plate at table! Darling, hasten and prepare this turtle; it
will be a whet--it will be an addition to our meagre ordinary. I myself
will proceed to the cellar. We shall have a bottle of that little
Beaujolais you like, and finish with the Hermitage; there are still three
bottles left. Worthy wine for a worthy occasion."
"But, my husband, you put me in a whirl," she cried. "I do not
comprehend."
"The turtle, my adored, the turtle!" cried the Doctor; and he pushed her
towards the kitchen, lantern and all.
Jean-Marie stood dumfoundered. He had pictured to himself a different
scene--a more immediate protest, and his hope began to dwindle on the
spot.
The Doctor was everywhere, a little doubtful on his legs, perhaps, and
now and then taking the wall with his shoulder; for it was long since he
had tasted absinthe, and he was even then reflecting that the absinthe
had been a misconception. Not that he regretted excess on such a
glorious day, but he made a mental memorandum to beware; he must not, a
second time, become the victim of a deleterious habit. He had his wine
out of the cellar in a twinkling; he arranged the sacrificial vessels,
some on the white table-cloth, some on the sideboard, still crusted with
historic earth. He was in and out of the kitchen, plying Anastasie with
vermouth, heating her with glimpses of the future, estimating their new
wealth at ever larger figures; and before they sat down to supper, the
lady's virtue had melted in the fire of his enthusiasm, her timidity had
disappeared; she, too, had begun to speak disparagingly of the life at
Gretz; and as she took her place and helped the soup, her eyes shone with
the glitter of prospective diamonds.
All through the meal she and the Doctor made and unmade fairy plans. They
bobbed and bowed and pledged each other. Their faces ran over with
smiles; their eyes scattered sparkles, as they projected the Doctor's
political honours and the lady's drawing-room ovations.
"But you will not be a Red!" cried Anastasie.
"I am Left Centre to the core," replied the Doctor.
"Madame Gastein will present us--we shall find ourselves forgotten," said
the lady.
"Never," protested the Doctor. "Beauty and talent leave a mark."
"I have positively forgotten how to dress," she sighed.
"Darling, you make me blush," cried he. "Yours has been a tragic
marriage!"
"But your success--to see you appreciated, honoured, your name in all the
papers, that will be more than pleasure--it will be heaven!" she cried.
"And once a week," said the Doctor, archly scanning the syllables, "once
a week--one good little game of baccarat?"
"Only once a week?" she questioned, threatening him with a finger.
"I swear it by my political honour," cried he.
"I spoil you," she said, and gave him her hand.
He covered it with kisses.
Jean-Marie escaped into the night. The moon swung high over Gretz. He
went down to the garden end and sat on the jetty. The river ran by with
eddies of oily silver, and a low monotonous song. Faint veils of mist
moved among the poplars on the farther side. The reeds were quietly
nodding. A hundred times already had the boy sat, on such a night, and
watched the streaming river with untroubled fancy. And this perhaps was
to be the last. He was to leave this familiar hamlet, this green,
rustling country, this bright and quiet stream; he was to pass into the
great city; his dear lady mistress was to move bedizened in saloons; his
good, garrulous, kind-hearted master to become a brawling deputy; and
both be lost for ever to Jean-Marie and their better selves. He knew his
own defects; he knew he must sink into less and less consideration in the
turmoil of a city life, sink more and more from the child into the
servant. And he began dimly to believe the Doctor's prophecies of evil.
He could see a change in both. His generous incredulity failed him for
this once; a child must have perceived that the Hermitage had completed
what the absinthe had begun. If this were the first day, what would be
the last? "If necessary, wreck the train," thought he, remembering the
Doctor's parable. He looked round on the delightful scene; he drank deep
of the charmed night-air, laden with the scent of hay. "If necessary,
wreck the train," he repeated. And he rose and returned to the house.
FOOTNOTE:
[2] Let it be so, for my tale!
CHAPTER VI
A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION, IN TWO PARTS
The next morning there was a most unusual outcry in the Doctor's house.
The last thing before going to bed, the Doctor had locked up some
valuables in the dining-room cupboard; and behold, when he rose again, as
he did about four o'clock, the cupboard had been broken open, and the
valuables in question had disappeared. Madame and Jean-Marie were
summoned from their rooms, and appeared in hasty toilets; they found the
Doctor raving, calling the heavens to witness and avenge his injury,
pacing the room barefooted, with the tails of his night-shirt flirting as
he turned.
"Gone!" he said; "the things are gone, the fortune gone! We are paupers
once more. Boy! what do you know of this? Speak up, sir, speak up. Do you
know of it? Where are they?" He had him by the arm, shaking him like a
bag, and the boy's words, if he had any, were jolted forth in
inarticulate murmurs. The Doctor, with a revulsion from his own violence,
set him down again. He observed Anastasie in tears. "Anastasie," he said,
in quite an altered voice, "compose yourself, command your feelings. I
would not have you give way to passion like the vulgar. This--this
trifling accident must be lived down.--Jean-Marie, bring me my smaller
medicine-chest. A gentle laxative is indicated."
And he dosed the family all round, leading the way himself with a double
quantity. The wretched Anastasie, who had never been ill in the whole
course of her existence, and whose soul recoiled from remedies, wept
floods of tears as she sipped, and shuddered, and protested, and then
was bullied and shouted at until she sipped again. As for Jean-Marie, he
took his portion down with stoicism.
"I have given him a less amount," observed the Doctor, "his youth
protecting him against emotion. And now that we have thus parried any
morbid consequences, let us reason."
"I am so cold," wailed Anastasie.
"Cold!" cried the Doctor. "I give thanks to God that I am made of fierier
material. Why, madam, a blow like this would set a frog into a
transpiration. If you are cold, you can retire; and, by the way, you
might throw me down my trousers. It is chilly for the legs."
"Oh no!" protested Anastasie; "I will stay with you."
"Nay, madam, you shall not suffer for your devotion," said the Doctor. "I
will myself fetch you a shawl." And he went upstairs and returned more
fully clad and with an armful of wraps for the shivering Anastasie. "And
now," he resumed, "to investigate this crime. Let us proceed by
induction. Anastasie, do you know anything that can help us?" Anastasie
knew nothing. "Or you, Jean-Marie?"
"Not I," replied the boy steadily.
"Good," returned the Doctor. "We shall now turn our attention to the
material evidences. (I was born to be a detective; I have the eye and the
systematic spirit.) First, violence has been employed. The door was
broken open; and it may be observed, in passing, that the lock was dear
indeed at what I paid for it: a crow to pluck with Master Goguelat.
Second, here is the instrument employed, one of our own table-knives, one
of our best, my dear; which seems to indicate no preparation on the part
of the gang--if gang it was. Thirdly, I observe that nothing has been
removed except the Franchard dishes and the casket; our own silver has
been minutely respected. This is wily; it shows intelligence, a knowledge
of the code, a desire to avoid legal consequences. I argue from this fact
that the gang numbers persons of respectability--outward, of course, and
merely outward, as the robbery proves. But I argue, second, that we must
have been observed at Franchard itself by some occult observer, and
dogged throughout the day with a skill and patience that I venture to
qualify as consummate. No ordinary man, no occasional criminal, would
have shown himself capable of this combination. We have in our
neighbourhood, it is far from improbable, a retired bandit of the highest
order of intelligence."
"Good heaven!" cried the horrified Anastasie. "Henri, how can you?"
"My cherished one, this is a process of induction," said the Doctor. "If
any of my steps are unsound, correct me. You are silent? Then do not, I
beseech you, be so vulgarly illogical as to revolt from my conclusion. We
have now arrived," he resumed, "at some idea of the composition of the
gang--for I incline to the hypothesis of more than one--and we now leave
this room, which can disclose no more, and turn our attention to the
court and garden. (Jean-Marie, I trust you are observantly following my
various steps; this is an excellent piece of education for you.) Come
with me to the door. No steps on the court; it is unfortunate our court
should be paved. On what small matters hang the destiny of these delicate
investigations! Hey! What have we here? I have led you to the very spot,"
he said, standing grandly backward and indicating the green gate. "An
escalade, as you can now see for yourselves, has taken place."
Sure enough, the green paint was in several places scratched and broken;
and one of the panels preserved the print of a nailed shoe. The foot had
slipped, however, and it was difficult to estimate the size of the shoe,
and impossible to distinguish the pattern of the nails.
"The whole robbery," concluded the Doctor, "step by step, has been
reconstituted. Inductive science can no further go."
"It is wonderful," said his wife. "You should indeed have been a
detective, Henri. I had no idea of your talents."
"My dear," replied Desprez condescendingly, "a man of scientific
imagination combines the lesser faculties; he is a detective just as he
is a publicist or a general; these are but local applications of his
special talent. But now," he continued, "would you have me go further?
Would you have me lay my finger on the culprits--or rather, for I cannot
promise quite so much, point out to you the very house where they
consort? It may be a satisfaction, at least it is all we are likely to
get, since we are denied the remedy of law. I reach the further stage in
this way. In order to fill my outline of the robbery, I require a man
likely to be in the forest idling, I require a man of education, I
require a man superior to considerations of morality. The three
requisites all centre in Tentaillon's boarders. They are painters,
therefore they are continually lounging in the forest. They are painters,
therefore they are not unlikely to have some smattering of education.
Lastly, because they are painters, they are probably immoral. And this I
prove in two ways. First, painting is an art which merely addresses the
eye; it does not in any particular exercise the moral sense. And second,
painting, in common with all the other arts, implies the dangerous
quality of imagination. A man of imagination is never moral; he outsoars
literal demarcations and reviews life under too many shifting lights to
rest content with the invidious distinctions of the law!"
"But you always say--at least, so I understood you"--said madame, "that
these lads display no imagination whatever."
"My dear, they displayed imagination, and of a very fantastic order too,"
returned the Doctor, "when they embraced their beggarly profession.
Besides--and this is an argument exactly suited to your intellectual
level--many of them are English and American. Where else should we expect
to find a thief?--And now you had better get your coffee. Because we have
lost a treasure, there is no reason for starving. For my part, I shall
break my fast with white wine. I feel unaccountably heated and thirsty
to-day. I can only attribute it to the shock of the discovery. And yet,
you will bear me out, I supported the emotion nobly."
The Doctor had now talked himself back into an admirable humour; and as
he sat in the arbour and slowly imbibed a large allowance of white wine
and picked a little bread and cheese with no very impetuous appetite, if
a third of his meditations ran upon the missing treasure, the other
two-thirds were more pleasingly busied in the retrospect of his detective
skill.
About eleven Casimir arrived; he had caught an early train to
Fontainebleau, and driven over, to save time; and now his cab was stabled
at Tentaillon's, and he remarked, studying his watch, that he could spare
an hour and a half. He was much the man of business, decisively spoken,
given to frowning in an intellectual manner. Anastasie's born brother, he
did not waste much sentiment on the lady, gave her an English family
kiss, and demanded a meal without delay.
"You can tell me your story while we eat," he observed. "Anything good
to-day, Stasie?"
He was promised something good. The trio sat down to table in the arbour,
Jean-Marie waiting as well as eating, and the Doctor recounted what had
happened in his richest narrative manner. Casimir heard it with
explosions of laughter.
"What a streak of luck for you, my good brother," he observed, when the
tale was over. "If you had gone to Paris, you would have played
dick-duck-drake with the whole consignment in three months. Your own
would have followed; and you would have come to me in a procession like
the last time. But I give you warning--Stasie may weep and Henri
ratiocinate--it will not serve you twice. Your next collapse will be
fatal. I thought I had told you so, Stasie? Hey? No sense?"
The Doctor winced and looked furtively at Jean-Marie; but the boy seemed
apathetic.
"And then again," broke out Casimir, "what children you are--vicious
children, my faith! How could you tell the value of this trash? It might
have been worth nothing, or next door."
"Pardon me," said the Doctor. "You have your usual flow of spirits, I
perceive, but even less than your usual deliberation. I am not entirely
ignorant of these matters."
"Not entirely ignorant of anything ever I heard of," interrupted Casimir,
bowing, and raising his glass with a sort of pert politeness.
"At least," resumed the Doctor, "I gave my mind to the subject--that you
may be willing to believe--and I estimated that our capital would be
doubled." And he described the nature of the find.
"My word of honour!" said Casimir, "I half believe you! But much would
depend on the quality of the gold."
"The quality, my dear Casimir, was----" And the Doctor, in default of
language, kissed his finger-tips.
"I would not take your word for it, my good friend," retorted the man of
business. "You are a man of very rosy views. But this robbery," he
continued--"this robbery is an odd thing. Of course I pass over your
nonsense about gangs and landscape-painters. For me, that is a dream. Who
was in the house last night?"
"None but ourselves," replied the Doctor.
"And this young gentleman?" asked Casimir, jerking a nod in the direction
of Jean-Marie.
"He too"--the Doctor bowed.
"Well; and, if it is a fair question, who is he?" pursued the
brother-in-law.
"Jean-Marie," answered the Doctor, "combines the functions of a son and
stable-boy. He began as the latter, but he rose rapidly to the more
honourable rank in our affections. He is, I may say, the greatest comfort
in our lives."
"Ha!" said Casimir. "And previous to becoming one of you?"
"Jean-Marie has lived a remarkable existence; his experience has been
eminently formative," replied Desprez. "If I had had to choose an
education for my son, I should have chosen such another. Beginning life
with mountebanks and thieves, passing onward to the society and
friendship of philosophers, he may be said to have skimmed the volume of
human life."
"Thieves?" repeated the brother-in-law, with a meditative air.
The Doctor could have bitten his tongue out. He foresaw what was coming,
and prepared his mind for a vigorous defence.
"Did you ever steal yourself?" asked Casimir, turning suddenly on
Jean-Marie, and for the first time employing a single eyeglass which hung
round his neck.
"Yes, sir," replied the boy, with a deep blush.
Casimir turned to the others with pursed lips, and nodded to them
meaningly. "Hey?" said he; "how is that?"
"Jean-Marie is a teller of the truth," returned the Doctor, throwing out
his bust.
"He has never told a lie," added madame. "He is the best of boys."
"Never told a lie, has he not?" reflected Casimir. "Strange, very
strange. Give me your attention, my young friend," he continued. "You
knew about this treasure?"
"He helped to bring it home," interposed the Doctor.
"Desprez, I ask you nothing but to hold your tongue," returned Casimir.
"I mean to question this stable-boy of yours; and if you are so certain
of his innocence, you can afford to let him answer for himself.--Now,
sir," he resumed, pointing his eyeglass straight at Jean-Marie. "You knew
it could be stolen with impunity? You knew you could not be prosecuted?
Come! Did you, or did you not?"
"I did," answered Jean-Marie, in a miserable whisper. He sat there
changing colour like a revolving pharos, twisting his fingers
hysterically, swallowing air, the picture of guilt.
"You knew where it was put?" resumed the inquisitor.
"Yes," from Jean-Marie.
"You say you have been a thief before," continued Casimir. "Now, how am I
to know that you are not one still? I suppose you could climb the green
gate?"
"Yes," still lower, from the culprit.
"Well, then, it was you who stole these things. You know it, and you dare
not deny it. Look me in the face! Raise your sneak's eyes, and answer!"
But in place of anything of that sort Jean-Marie broke into a dismal howl
and fled from the arbour. Anastasie, as she pursued to capture and
reassure the victim, found time to send one Parthian arrow--"Casimir, you
are a brute!"
"My brother," said Desprez, with the greatest dignity, "you take upon
yourself a licence----"
"Desprez," interrupted Casimir, "for Heaven's sake be a man of the world.
You telegraph me to leave my business and come down here on yours. I
come, I ask the business, you say, 'Find me this thief!' Well, I find
him; I say 'There he is!' You need not like it, but you have no manner of
right to take offence."
"Well," returned the Doctor, "I grant that; I will even thank you for
your mistaken zeal. But your hypothesis was so extravagantly
monstrous----"
"Look here," interrupted Casimir; "was it you or Stasie?"
"Certainly not," answered the Doctor.
"Very well; then it was the boy. Say no more about it," said the
brother-in-law, and he produced his cigar-case.
"I will say this much more," returned Desprez: "if that boy came and told
me so himself, I should not believe him; and if I did believe him, so
implicit is my trust, I should conclude that he had acted for the best."
"Well, well," said Casimir indulgently. "Have you a light? I must be
going. And by the way, I wish you would let me sell your Turks for you.
I always told you, it meant smash. I tell you so again. Indeed, it was
partly that which brought me down. You never acknowledge my letters--a
most unpardonable habit."
"My good brother," replied the Doctor blandly, "I have never denied your
ability in business; but I can perceive your limitations."
"Egad, my friend, I can return the compliment," observed the man of
business. "Your limitation is to be downright irrational."
"Observe the relative position," returned the Doctor, with a smile. "It
is your attitude to believe through thick and thin in one man's
judgment--your own. I follow the same opinion, but critically and with
open eyes. Which is the more irrational? I leave it to yourself."
"Oh, my dear fellow!" cried Casimir, "stick to your Turks, stick to your
stable-boy, go to the devil in general in your own way and be done with
it. But don't ratiocinate with me--I cannot bear it. And so, ta-ta. I
might as well have stayed away for any good I've done. Say good-bye from
me to Stasie, and to the sullen hang-dog of a stable-boy, if you insist
on it; I'm off."
And Casimir departed. The Doctor, that night, dissected his character
before Anastasie. "One thing, my beautiful," he said, "he has learned one
thing from his lifelong acquaintance with your husband: the word
_ratiocinate_. It shines in his vocabulary like a jewel in a muck-heap.
And, even so, he continually misapplies it. For you must have observed he
uses it as a sort of taunt, in the sense of _to ergotise_, implying, as
it were--the poor, dear fellow!--a vein of sophistry. As for his cruelty
to Jean-Marie, it must be forgiven him--it is not his nature, it is the
nature of his life. A man who deals with money, my dear, is a man lost."
With Jean-Marie the process of reconciliation had been somewhat slow. At
first he was inconsolable, insisted on leaving the family, went from
paroxysm to paroxysm of tears; and it was only after Anastasie had been
closeted for an hour with him, alone, that she came forth, sought out the
Doctor, and, with tears in her eyes, acquainted that gentleman with what
had passed.
"At first, my husband, he would hear of nothing," she said. "Imagine! if
he had left us! what would the treasure be to that? Horrible treasure, it
has brought all this about! At last, after he has sobbed his very heart
out, he agrees to stay on a condition--we are not to mention this matter,
this infamous suspicion, not even to mention the robbery. On that
agreement only, the poor, cruel boy will consent to remain among his
friends."
"But this inhibition," said the Doctor, "this embargo--it cannot possibly
apply to me?"
"To all of us," Anastasie assured him.
"My cherished one," Desprez protested, "you must have misunderstood. It
cannot apply to me. He would naturally come to me."
"Henri," she said, "it does; I swear to you it does."
"This is a painful, a very painful circumstance," the Doctor said,
looking a little black. "I cannot affect, Anastasie, to be anything but
justly wounded. I feel this--I feel it, my wife, acutely."
"I knew you would," she said. "But if you had seen his distress! We must
make allowances, we must sacrifice our feelings."
"I trust, my dear, you have never found me averse to sacrifices," said
the Doctor very stiffly.
"And you will let me go and tell him that you have agreed? It will be
like your noble nature," she cried.
So it would, he perceived--it would be like his noble nature! Up jumped
his spirits, triumphant at the thought. "Go, darling," he said nobly,
"reassure him. The subject is buried; more--I make an effort, I have
accustomed my will to these exertions--and it is forgotten."
A little after, but still with swollen eyes and looking mortally
sheepish, Jean-Marie reappeared and went ostentatiously about his
business. He was the only unhappy member of the party that sat down that
night to supper. As for the Doctor, he was radiant. He then sang the
requiem of the treasure:--
"This has been, on the whole, a most amusing episode," he said. "We are
not a penny the worse--nay, we are immensely gainers. Our philosophy has
been exercised; some of the turtle is still left--the most wholesome of
delicacies; I have my staff, Anastasie has her new dress, Jean-Marie is
the proud possessor of a fashionable képi. Besides, we had a glass of
Hermitage last night; the glow still suffuses my memory. I was growing
positively niggardly with that Hermitage, positively niggardly. Let me
take the hint: we had one bottle to celebrate the appearance of our
visionary fortune; let us have a second to console us for its
occultation. The third I hereby dedicate to Jean-Marie's wedding
breakfast."
CHAPTER VII
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ
The Doctor's house has not yet received the compliment of a description,
and it is now high time that the omission were supplied, for the house is
itself an actor in the story, and one whose part is nearly at an end. Two
stories in height, walls of a warm yellow, tiles of an ancient ruddy
brown diversified with moss and lichen, it stood with one wall to the
street in the angle of the Doctor's property. It was roomy, draughty, and
inconvenient. The large rafters were here and there engraven with rude
marks and patterns; the hand-rail of the stair was carved in countrified
arabesque; a stout timber pillar, which did duty to support the
dining-room roof, bore mysterious characters on its darker side, runes,
according to the Doctor; nor did he fail, when he ran over the legendary
history of the house and its possessors, to dwell upon the Scandinavian
scholar who had left them. Floors, doors, and rafters made a great
variety of angles; every room had a particular inclination; the gable had
tilted towards the garden, after the manner of a leaning tower, and one
of the former proprietors had buttressed the building from that side with
a great strut of wood, like the derrick of a crane. Altogether, it had
many marks of ruin; it was a house for the rats to desert; and nothing
but its excellent brightness--the window-glass polished and shining, the
paint well scoured, the brasses radiant, the very prop all wreathed about
with climbing flowers--nothing but its air of a well-tended, smiling
veteran, sitting, crutch and all, in the sunny corner of a garden, marked
it as a house for comfortable people to inhabit. In poor or idle
management it would soon have hurried into the blackguard stages of
decay. As it was, the whole family loved it, and the Doctor was never
better inspired than when he narrated its imaginary story and drew the
character of its successive masters, from the Hebrew merchant who had
re-edified its walls after the sack of the town, and past the mysterious
engraver of the runes, down to the long-headed, dirty-handed boor from
whom he had himself acquired it at a ruinous expense. As for any alarm
about its security, the idea had never presented itself. What had stood
four centuries might well endure a little longer.
Indeed, in this particular winter, after the finding and losing of the
treasure, the Desprez had an anxiety of a very different order, and one
which lay nearer their hearts. Jean-Marie was plainly not himself. He had
fits of hectic activity, when he made unusual exertions to please, spoke
more and faster, and redoubled in attention to his lessons. But these
were interrupted by spells of melancholia and brooding silence, when the
boy was little better than unbearable.
"Silence," the Doctor moralised--"you see, Anastasie, what comes of
silence. Had the boy properly unbosomed himself, the little
disappointment about the treasure, the little annoyance about Casimir's
incivility, would long ago have been forgotten. As it is, they prey upon
him like a disease. He loses flesh, his appetite is variable and, on the
whole, impaired. I keep him on the strictest regimen, I exhibit the most
powerful tonics; both in vain."
"Don't you think you drug him too much?" asked madame, with an
irrepressible shudder.
"Drug?" cried the Doctor; "I drug? Anastasie, you are mad!"
Time went on, and the boy's health still slowly declined. The Doctor
blamed the weather, which was cold and boisterous. He called in his
_confrère_ from Bourron, took a fancy for him, magnified his capacity,
and was pretty soon under treatment himself--it scarcely appeared for
what complaint. He and Jean-Marie had each medicine to take at different
periods of the day. The Doctor used to lie in wait for the exact moment,
watch in hand. "There is nothing like regularity," he would say, fill out
the doses, and dilate on the virtues of the draught; and if the boy
seemed none the better, the Doctor was not at all the worse.
Gunpowder Day, the boy was particularly low. It was scowling, squally
weather. Huge broken companies of cloud sailed swiftly overhead; raking
gleams of sunlight swept the village, and were followed by intervals of
darkness and white, flying rain. At times the wind lifted up its voice
and bellowed. The trees were all scourging themselves along the meadows,
the last leaves flying like dust.
The Doctor, between the boy and the weather, was in his element; he had a
theory to prove. He sat with his watch out and a barometer in front of
him, waiting for the squalls and noting their effect upon the human
pulse. "For the true philosopher," he remarked delightedly, "every fact
in nature is a toy." A letter came to him; but, as its arrival coincided
with the approach of another gust, he merely crammed it into his pocket,
gave the time to Jean-Marie, and the next moment they were both counting
their pulses as if for a wager.
At nightfall the wind rose into a tempest. It besieged the hamlet,
apparently from every side, as if with batteries of cannon; the houses
shook and groaned; live coals were blown upon the floor. The uproar and
terror of the night kept people long awake, sitting with pallid faces
giving ear.
It was twelve before the Desprez family retired. By half-past one, when
the storm was already somewhat past its height, the Doctor was awakened
from a troubled slumber, and sat up. A noise still rang in his ears, but
whether of this world or the world of dreams he was not certain. Another
clap of wind followed. It was accompanied by a sickening movement of the
whole house, and in the subsequent lull Desprez could hear the tiles
pouring like a cataract into the loft above his head. He plucked
Anastasie bodily out of bed.
"Run!" he cried, thrusting some wearing apparel into her hands; "the
house is falling! To the garden!"
She did not pause to be twice bidden; she was down the stair in an
instant. She had never before suspected herself of such activity. The
Doctor meanwhile, with the speed of a piece of pantomime business, and
undeterred by broken shins, proceeded to rout out Jean-Marie, tore Aline
from her virgin slumbers, seized her by the hand, and tumbled downstairs
and into the garden, with the girl tumbling behind him, still not half
awake.
The fugitives rendezvoused in the arbour by some common instinct. Then
came a bull's-eye flash of struggling moonshine, which disclosed their
four figures standing huddled from the wind in a raffle of flying
drapery, and not without a considerable need for more. At the humiliating
spectacle Anastasie clutched her night-dress desperately about her and
burst loudly into tears. The Doctor flew to console her; but she elbowed
him away. She suspected everybody of being the general public, and
thought the darkness was alive with eyes.
Another gleam and another violent gust arrived together; the house was
seen to rock on its foundation, and, just as the light was once more
eclipsed, a crash which triumphed over the shouting of the wind announced
its fall, and for a moment the whole garden was alive with skipping tiles
and brickbats. One such missile grazed the Doctor's ear; another
descended on the bare foot of Aline, who instantly made night hideous
with her shrieks.
By this time the hamlet was alarmed, lights flashed from the windows,
hails reached the party, and the Doctor answered, nobly contending
against Aline and the tempest. But this prospect of help only awakened
Anastasie to a more active stage of terror.
"Henri, people will be coming," she screamed in her husband's ear.
"I trust so," he replied.
"They cannot. I would rather die," she wailed.
"My dear," said the Doctor reprovingly, "you are excited. I gave you some
clothes. What have you done with them?"
"Oh, I don't know--I must have thrown them away! Where are they?" she
sobbed.
Desprez groped about in the darkness. "Admirable!" he remarked; "my grey
velveteen trousers! This will exactly meet your necessities."
"Give them to me!" she cried fiercely; but as soon as she had them in her
hands her mood appeared to alter--she stood silent for a moment, and then
pressed the garment back upon the Doctor. "Give it to Aline," she
said--"poor girl."
"Nonsense!" said the Doctor. "Aline does not know what she is about.
Aline is beside herself with terror; and, at any rate, she is a peasant.
Now, I am really concerned at this exposure for a person of your
housekeeping habits; my solicitude and your fantastic modesty both point
to the same remedy--the pantaloons." He held them ready.
"It is impossible. You do not understand," she said with dignity.
By this time rescue was at hand. It had been found impracticable to enter
by the street, for the gate was blocked with masonry, and the nodding
ruin still threatened further avalanches. But between the Doctor's garden
and the one on the right hand there was that very picturesque
contrivance--a common well; the door on the Desprez side had chanced to
be unbolted, and now, through the arched aperture, a man's bearded face
and an arm supporting a lantern were introduced into the world of windy
darkness, where Anastasie concealed her woes. The light struck here and
there among the tossing apple boughs, it glinted on the grass; but the
lantern and the glowing face became the centre of the world. Anastasie
crouched back from the intrusion.
"This way!" shouted the man. "Are you all safe?"
Aline, still screaming, ran to the new-comer, and was presently hauled
head-foremost through the wall.
"Now, Anastasie, come on; it is your turn," said the husband.
"I cannot," she replied.
"Are we all to die of exposure, madame?" thundered Doctor Desprez.
"You can go!" she cried. "Oh, go, go away! I can stay here; I am quite
warm."
The Doctor took her by the shoulders with an oath.
"Stop!" she screamed. "I will put them on."
She took the detested lendings in her hand once more; but her repulsion
was stronger than shame. "Never!" she cried, shuddering, and flung them
far away into the night.
Next moment the Doctor had whirled her to the well. The man was there,
and the lantern; Anastasie closed her eyes and appeared to herself to be
about to die. How she was transported through the arch she knew not; but
once on the other side she was received by the neighbour's wife, and
enveloped in a friendly blanket.
Beds were made ready for the two women, clothes of very various sizes for
the Doctor and Jean-Marie; and for the remainder of the night, while
madame dozed in and out on the borderland of hysterics, her husband sat
beside the fire and held forth to the admiring neighbours. He showed
them, at length, the causes of the accident; for years, he explained, the
fall had been impending; one sign had followed another: the joints had
opened, the plaster had cracked, the old walls bowed inward; last, not
three weeks ago, the cellar-door had begun to work with difficulty in its
grooves. "The cellar!" he said, gravely shaking his head over a glass of
mulled wine. "That reminds me of my poor vintages. By a manifest
providence the Hermitage was nearly at an end. One bottle--I lose but one
bottle of that incomparable wine. It had been set apart against
Jean-Marie's wedding. Well, I must lay down some more; it will be an
interest in life. I am, however, a man somewhat advanced in years. My
great work is now buried in the fall of my humble roof; it will never be
completed--my name will have been writ in water. And yet you find me
calm--I would say cheerful. Can your priest do more?"
By the first glimpse of day the party sallied forth from the fireside
into the street. The wind had fallen, but still charioted a world of
troubled clouds; the air bit like frost; and the party, as they stood
about the ruins in the rainy twilight of the morning, beat upon their
breasts and blew into their hands for warmth. The house had entirely
fallen, the walls outward, the roof in; it was a mere heap of rubbish,
with here and there a forlorn spear of broken rafter. A sentinel was
placed over the ruins to protect the property, and the party adjourned to
Tentaillon's to break their fast at the Doctor's expense. The bottle
circulated somewhat freely; and before they left the table it had begun
to snow.
For three days the snow continued to fall, and the ruins, covered with
tarpaulin and watched by sentries, were left undisturbed. The Desprez
meanwhile had taken up their abode at Tentaillon's. Madame spent her time
in the kitchen, concocting little delicacies, with the admiring aid of
Madame Tentaillon, or sitting by the fire in thoughtful abstraction. The
fall of the house affected her wonderfully little; that blow had been
parried by another; and in her mind she was continually fighting over
again the battle of the trousers. Had she done right? Had she done wrong?
And now she would applaud her determination; and anon, with a horrid
flush of unavailing penitence, she would regret the trousers. No juncture
in her life had so much exercised her judgment. In the meantime the
Doctor had become vastly pleased with his situation. Two of the summer
boarders still lingered behind the rest, prisoners for lack of a
remittance; they were both English, but one of them spoke French pretty
fluently, and was, besides, a humorous, agile-minded fellow, with whom
the Doctor could reason by the hour, secure of comprehension. Many were
the glasses they emptied, many the topics they discussed.
"Anastasie," the Doctor said on the third morning, "take an example from
your husband, from Jean-Marie! The excitement has done more for the boy
than all my tonics, he takes his turn as sentry with positive gusto. As
for me, you behold me. I have made friends with the Egyptians; and my
Pharaoh is, I swear it, a most agreeable companion. You alone are hipped.
About a house--a few dresses? What are they in comparison to the
'Pharmacopoeia'--the labour of years lying buried below stones and
sticks in this depressing hamlet? The snow falls; I shake it from my
cloak! Imitate me. Our income will be impaired, I grant it, since we must
rebuild; but moderation, patience, and philosophy will gather about the
hearth. In the meanwhile, the Tentaillons are obliging; the table, with
your additions, will pass; only the wine is execrable--well, I shall send
for some to-day. My Pharaoh will be gratified to drink a decent glass;
aha! and I shall see if he possesses that acme of organisation--a palate.
If he has a palate, he is perfect."
"Henri," she said, shaking her head, "you are a man; you cannot
understand my feelings; no woman could shake off the memory of so public
a humiliation."
The Doctor could not restrain a titter. "Pardon me, darling," he said;
"but really, to the philosophical intelligence, the incident appears so
small a trifle. You looked extremely well----"
"Henri!" she cried.
"Well, well, I will say no more," he replied. "Though, to be sure, if you
had consented to indue----_À propos_," he broke off, "and my trousers!
They are lying in the snow--my favourite trousers!" And he dashed in
quest of Jean-Marie.
Two hours afterwards the boy returned to the inn with a spade under one
arm and a curious sop of clothing under the other.
The Doctor ruefully took it in his hands. "They have been!" he said.
"Their tense is past. Excellent pantaloons, you are no more! Stay,
something in the pocket," and he produced a piece of paper. "A letter! ay,
now I mind me; it was received on the morning of the gale, when I was
absorbed in delicate investigations. It is still legible. From poor dear
Casimir! It is as well," he chuckled, "that I have educated him to
patience. Poor Casimir and his correspondence--his infinitesimal,
timorous, idiotic correspondence!"
He had by this time cautiously unfolded the wet letter; but, as he bent
himself to decipher the writing, a cloud descended on his brow.
"_Bigre!_" he cried, with a galvanic start.
And then the letter was whipped into the fire, and the Doctor's cap was
on his head in the turn of a hand.
"Ten minutes! I can catch it, if I run," he cried. "It is always late. I
go to Paris. I shall telegraph."
"Henri! what is wrong?" cried his wife.
"Ottoman Bonds!" came from the disappearing Doctor; and Anastasie and
Jean-Marie were left face to face with the wet trousers. Desprez had gone
to Paris, for the second time in seven years; he had gone to Paris with a
pair of wooden shoes, a knitted spencer, a black blouse, a country
nightcap, and twenty francs in his pocket. The fall of the house was but
a secondary marvel; the whole world might have fallen and scarce left his
family more petrified.
CHAPTER VIII
THE WAGES OF PHILOSOPHY
On the morning of the next day, the Doctor, a mere spectre of himself,
was brought back in the custody of Casimir. They found Anastasie and the
boy sitting together by the fire; and Desprez, who had exchanged his
toilette for a ready-made rig-out of poor materials, waved his hand as he
entered, and sank speechless on the nearest chair. Madame turned direct
to Casimir.
"What is wrong?" she cried.
"Well," replied Casimir, "what have I told you all along? It has come. It
is a clean shave this time; so you may as well bear up and make the best
of it. House down, too, eh? Bad luck, upon my soul!"
"Are we--are we--ruined?" she gasped.
The Doctor stretched out his arms to her. "Ruined," he replied, "you are
ruined by your sinister husband."
Casimir observed the consequent embrace through his eyeglass; then he
turned to Jean-Marie. "You hear?" he said. "They are ruined; no more
pickings, no more house, no more fat cutlets. It strikes me, my friend,
that you had best be packing; the present speculation is about worked
out." And he nodded to him meaningly.
"Never!" cried Desprez, springing up. "Jean-Marie, if you prefer to leave
me, now that I am poor, you can go; you shall receive your hundred
francs, if so much remains to me. But if you will consent to stay"--the
Doctor wept a little--"Casimir offers me a place--as clerk," he resumed.
"The emoluments are slender, but they will be enough for three. It is too
much already to have lost my fortune; must I lose my son?"
Jean-Marie sobbed bitterly, but without a word.
"I don't like boys who cry," observed Casimir. "This one is always
crying.--Here! you clear out of this for a little; I have business with
your master and mistress, and these domestic feelings may be settled
after I am gone. March!" and he held the door open.
Jean-Marie slunk out, like a detected thief.
By twelve they were all at table but Jean-Marie.
"Hey?" said Casimir. "Gone, you see. Took the hint at once."
"I do not, I confess," said Desprez, "I do not seek to excuse his
absence. It speaks a want of heart that disappoints me sorely."
"Want of manners," corrected Casimir. "Heart he never had. Why, Desprez,
for a clever fellow, you are the most gullible mortal in creation. Your
ignorance of human nature and human business is beyond belief. You are
swindled by heathen Turks, swindled by vagabond children, swindled right
and left, upstairs and downstairs. I think it must be your imagination. I
thank my stars I have none."
"Pardon me," replied Desprez, still humbly, but with a return of spirit
at sight of a distinction to be drawn; "pardon me, Casimir. You possess,
even to an eminent degree, the commercial imagination. It was the lack of
that in me--it appears it is my weak point--that has led to these
repeated shocks. By the commercial imagination the financier forecasts
the destiny of his investments, marks the falling house----"
"Egad," interrupted Casimir: "our friend the stable-boy appears to have
his share of it."
The Doctor was silenced; and the meal was continued and finished
principally to the tune of the brother-in-law's not very consolatory
conversation. He entirely ignored the two young English painters, turning
a blind eyeglass to their salutations, and continuing his remarks as if
he were alone in the bosom of his family; and with every second word he
ripped another stitch out of the air-balloon of Desprez' vanity. By the
time coffee was over the poor Doctor was as limp as a napkin.
"Let us go and see the ruins," said Casimir.
They strolled forth into the street. The fall of the house, like the loss
of a front tooth, had quite transformed the village. Through the gap the
eye commanded a great stretch of open snowy country, and the place shrank
in comparison. It was like a room with an open door. The sentinel stood
by the green gate, looking very red and cold, but he had a pleasant word
for the Doctor and his wealthy kinsman.
Casimir looked at the mound of ruins, he tried the quality of the
tarpaulin. "H'm," he said, "I hope the cellar arch has stood. If it has,
my good brother, I will give you a good price for the wines."
"We shall start digging to-morrow," said the sentry. "There is no more
fear of snow."
"My friend," returned Casimir sententiously, "you had better wait till
you get paid."
The Doctor winced, and began dragging his offensive brother-in-law
towards Tentaillon's. In the house there would be fewer auditors, and
these already in the secret of his fall.
"Hullo!" cried Casimir, "there goes the stable-boy with his luggage; no,
egad, he is taking it into the inn."
And sure enough, Jean-Marie was seen to cross the snowy street and enter
Tentaillon's, staggering under a large hamper.
The Doctor stopped with a sudden, wild hope.
"What can he have?" he said. "Let us go and see." And he hurried on.
"His luggage, to be sure," answered Casimir. "He is on the move--thanks
to the commercial imagination."
"I have not seen that hamper for--for ever so long," remarked the Doctor.
"Nor will you see it much longer," chuckled Casimir, "unless, indeed, we
interfere. And by the way, I insist on an examination."
"You will not require," said Desprez, positively with a sob; and, casting
a moist, triumphant glance at Casimir, he began to run.
"What the devil is up with him, I wonder?" Casimir reflected; and then,
curiosity taking the upper hand, he followed the Doctor's example and
took to his heels.
The hamper was so heavy and large, and Jean-Marie himself so little and
so weary, that it had taken him a great while to bundle it upstairs to
the Desprez' private room; and he had just set it down on the floor in
front of Anastasie, when the Doctor arrived, and was closely followed by
the man of business. Boy and hamper were both in a most sorry plight; for
the one had passed four months underground in a certain cave on the way
to Achères, and the other had run about five miles as hard as his legs
would carry him, half that distance under a staggering weight.
"Jean-Marie," cried the Doctor, in a voice that was only too seraphic to
be called hysterical, "is it----? It is!" he cried. "Oh, my son, my son!"
And he sat down upon the hamper and sobbed like a little child.
"You will not go to Paris now," said Jean-Marie sheepishly.
"Casimir," said Desprez, raising his wet face, "do you see that boy, that
angel boy? He is the thief; he took the treasure from a man unfit to be
entrusted with its use; he brings it back to me when I am sobered and
humbled. These, Casimir, are the Fruits of my Teaching, and this moment
is the Reward of my Life."
"_Tiens_," said Casimir.
END OF VOL. VI
* * * * *
PRINTED BY CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON, E.C.
