Treasure Island. Robert Louis Stevenson

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      Titel: Treasure Island

      von Scott Hemphill, L. M. Montgomery, L. Frank Baum, John Milton, René Descartes, Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy, Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Unknown, Norman F. Joly, Norman Coombs, David Slowinski, Mark Twain, Henry David Thoreau, Stephen Crane, John Goodwin, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Winn Schwartau, Odd De Presno, Sir Walter Scott, Jules Verne, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, United States. Central Intelligence Agency, United States, Canada, Willa Sibert Cather, Anthony Hope, Edwin Abbott Abbott, Charles Dickens, Frederick Douglass, William Shakespeare, Bruce Sterling, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Jane Austen, Thomas Hardy, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Gene Stratton-Porter, Richard McGowan, Frances Hodgson Burnett, United States. Bureau of the Census, Electronic Frontier Foundation, Robert Louis Stevenson

      ISBN 978-3-7429-0113-2

      Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

      Es ist ohne vorherige schriftliche Erlaubnis nicht gestattet, dieses Werk im Ganzen oder in Teilen zu vervielfältigen oder zu veröffentlichen.

      TREASURE ISLAND

      by Robert Louis Stevenson

      Contents

       TREASURE ISLAND

PART ONE 1 2 3 4 5 6 PART TWO 7 8 9 10 11 12 PART THREE 13 14 15 PART FOUR 16 17 18 19 20 21 PART FIVE 22 23 24 25 26 27 PART SIX 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

THE OLD BUCCANEER THE OLD SEA-DOG AT THE ADMIRAL BENBOW BLACK DOG APPEARS AND DISAPPEARS THE BLACK SPOT THE SEA-CHEST THE LAST OF THE BLIND MAN THE CAPTAIN'S PAPERS THE SEA-COOK I GO TO BRISTOL AT THE SIGN OF THE SPY-GLASS POWDER AND ARMS THE VOYAGE WHAT I HEARD IN THE APPLE BARREL COUNCIL OF WAR MY SHORE ADVENTURE HOW MY SHORE ADVENTURE BEGAN THE FIRST BLOW THE MAN OF THE ISLAND THE STOCKADE HOW THE SHIP WAS ABANDONED THE JOLLY-BOAT'S LAST TRIP END OF THE FIRST DAY'S FIGHTING THE GARRISON IN THE STOCKADE SILVER'S EMBASSY THE ATTACK MY SEA ADVENTURE HOW MY SEA ADVENTURE BEGAN THE EBB-TIDE RUNS THE CRUISE OF THE CORACLE I STRIKE THE JOLLY ROGER ISRAEL HANDS "PIECES OF EIGHT" CAPTAIN SILVER IN THE ENEMY'S CAMP THE BLACK SPOT AGAIN ON PAROLE FLINT'S POINTER THE VOICE AMONG THE TREES THE FALL OF A CHIEFTAIN AND LAST

      TREASURE ISLAND

      To S.L.O., an American gentleman in accordance with whose classic taste the following narrative has been designed, it is now, in return for numerous delightful hours, and with the kindest wishes, dedicated by his affectionate friend, the author.

      TREASURE ISLAND

      PART ONE—The Old Buccaneer

      1

      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 shoulder of his soiled blue coat, his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails, and the sabre cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid white. I remember him looking round the cover and whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so often afterwards:

      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 did 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