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Treasure Island (Bantam Classics)

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Treasure Island (Bantam Classics) Cover

ISBN13: 9780553212495
ISBN10: 0553212494
Condition: Standard
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Excerpt

Chapter One

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 over-riding 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 such like 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 the 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 Two

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 hilltops 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.

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parkerwharram, March 29, 2012 (view all comments by parkerwharram)
Treasure Island by Robert Stevenson is a wonderfully refreshing novel for readers both young and old. This adventure story was first published in Scotland in the year 1883. The plot of this book is an exciting adventure tale of seeking a pirate’s buried treasure. Anyone who is looking to live vicariously through a great adventure should read this novel. I know I was looking a thrilling read when I picked up this book and I was certainly not disappointed.
The setting of Treasure Island occurs during the eighteenth century near Bristol, England and the mythical Treasure Island is off the coast of Spanish America in the Caribbean Sea. The novel is written in a first person point of view from the character Jim Hawkins, the narrator and protagonist. Jim is a young boy who informs the reader of his emotions and thoughts throughout the novel.
The novel starts with an old pirate by the name of Billy Bones appearing and then dying at Jim’s family inn. In his death he leaves behind an old sea chest in which Jim discovers a map that leads to a buried treasure on an island out at sea. Quickly a ship, captain and crew is put together and the exciting quest for wealth begins! From here on out the name of the game is nail biting adventure, continuous excitement with not even one dull page.
Stevenson uses many tactics to produce this adventurous mood for his novel. First of which is the action filled plot full of death, violence, exotic locations, pirates and of course a pursuit race for hidden treasure. The exhilarating plot is only the baseline for creating the adventurous feel of the novel. Low diction is used by the pirates, “’You ain’t a-going to let me inside, cap’n?’ complained Long John.” (189). The low diction adds an authenticity to the novel, helping the reader to imagine how the pirates would actually talk. The more realistic the pirate is the more scary and intimidating he is. The setting is also a key contributor to the adventurous feel, “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.” (132). By having the island be exotic and dangerous the reader feels the fright and anxiety that Jim is going through. Treasure Island is strikingly unusual and this mysteriousness adds yet another layer to the adventurous feel.
A first person point of view is crucial to the adventurous mood of the novel. By reading Jim’s feelings and thoughts the audience can relate to his emotions and understand his situation better. Take for example this quote, “This put me in great fear, and I crawled under cover of the nearest live oak, and squatted there, hearkening, as silent as a mouse.” (133). Instead of only reading a simple plot advancement of crawling under a tree, the audience is able to see inside Jim’s head and truly observe his emotion of fear. Although third person omniscient would give the same insight, there is a subtle advantage of first person point of view. That is the connection between the reader and the narrating protagonist. The use of first person is more personal, as if the speaker is talking to the reader directly and by one hundred and thirty three pages into the novel this connection is fairly strong. When Jim is in a tough situation the reader feels fear for his safety. Jim’s emotions turn into the audience’s emotions, bringing the reader closer to the thrill of the adventure. Overall, the novel over achieves its goal of having an adventurous feel. Stevenson does a fabulous job of using plot, low diction, setting, first person point of view and a variety of others to keep his readers excited and thrilled throughout his adventure story novel.
On a whole, Treasure Island is the number one book to grab off the self if an adventure story is called for in the recipe. From page one until the end I was hooked due to the numerous techniques that Stevenson included in order to ensure an adventurous feel for his novel. This is honestly my new favorite book because of the way the writing infused emotions of excitement and fear into me. Thanks to the incredible action heavy plot, low diction of the pirates, the mysterious setting and first person point of view from a young kid, this adventure story soars above all others. I would suggest this book over any other to anyone wishing to delight themselves in the magical world of adventure.
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kirichan1921, August 9, 2008 (view all comments by kirichan1921)
This is a great book for adventure lovers!!
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(9 of 17 readers found this comment helpful)
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Product Details

ISBN:
9780553212495
Author:
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Publisher:
Bantam Books
Location:
New York :
Subject:
Literary
Subject:
Fiction
Subject:
Classics
Subject:
Action & Adventure
Subject:
Novels and novellas
Subject:
American fiction (fictional works by one author)
Subject:
Adventure and adventurers
Subject:
British and irish
Subject:
Buried treasure
Subject:
Pirates
Subject:
Juvenile
Subject:
Literature-A to Z
Subject:
fiction;adventure;pirates;classic;classics;novel;literature;19th century;children s;treasure;children;young adult;historical fiction;children s literature;british;ya;england;sea;british literature;children s fiction;english literature;juvenile;ships;class
Subject:
fiction;adventure;pirates;classic;classics;novel;literature;19th century;children s;treasure;children;young adult;historical fiction;children s literature;british;ya;england;sea;british literature;children s fiction;english literature;juvenile;ships;class
Subject:
fiction;adventure;pirates;classic;classics;novel;literature;19th century;children s;treasure;children;young adult;historical fiction;children s literature;british;ya;england;sea;british literature;children s fiction;english literature;juvenile;ships;class
Copyright:
Edition Description:
Mass market paperback
Series:
Bantam Classics
Series Volume:
no. 103
Publication Date:
19820531
Binding:
MASS MARKET
Grade Level:
General/trade
Language:
English
Pages:
224
Dimensions:
6.87x4.14x.49 in. .25 lbs.

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Treasure Island (Bantam Classics) Used Mass Market
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Product details 224 pages Bantam Books - English 9780553212495 Reviews:
"Synopsis" by , Piracy and adventure on the high seas provide a striking contrast between the evil of Long John Silver and the good of young Jim Hawkins.
"Synopsis" by , Masterfully crafted, Treasure Island is a stunning yarn of piracy on the fiery tropic seas — an unforgettable tale of treachery that embroils a host of legendary swashbucklers, from honest young Jim Hawkins to sinister, two-timing Israel Hands, to evil incarnate, blind Pew. But above all, Treasure Island is a complex study of good and evil, as embodied by that hero-villain, Long John Silver: the merry unscrupulous buccaneer-rogue whose greedy quest for gold cannot help but win the heart of every soul who ever longed for romance, treasure, and adventure. Since its publication in 1883, Treasure Island has provided an enduring literary model for such eminent writers as Anthony Hope, Graham Greene, and Jorge Luis Borges. As David Daiches wrote: "Robert Louis Stevenson transformed the Victorian boys' adventure into a classic of its kind."
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