Chapter Chapter 13 · XIII. How I Began My Shore Adventure

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 ceased, 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 sand-break 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 anyone

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 the 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 forever.”

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 each 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 hilltops

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 someone 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 everyone. If an order were given, John would be on his crutch

in an instant, with the cheeriest “Aye, aye, 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 may go ashore for the

afternoon. I’ll fire a gun half an hour before sundown.”

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

faraway 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

fore-sheets 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.