Treasure Island
The Man of the Island
ROM the of the hill, which was here and stony, a of was and and through the trees. My in that direction, and I saw a with great the of a pine. What it was, or man or monkey, I in no wise tell. It dark and shaggy; more I not. But the terror of this new me to a stand.
I was now, it seemed, cut off upon sides; me the murderers, me this nondescript. And I to the that I to those I not. Silver himself appeared less terrible in with this of the woods, and I on my heel, and looking me over my shoulder, to my steps in the direction of the boats.
Instantly the reappeared, and making a wide circuit, to me off. I was tired, at any rate; but had I been as fresh as when I rose, I see it was in for me to in speed with such an adversary. From to the like a deer, on two legs, but any man that I had seen, almost as it ran. Yet a man it was, I no longer be in about that.
I to what I had of cannibals. I was an of calling for help. But the that he was a man, wild, had me, and my of Silver to in proportion. I still, therefore, and about for some method of escape; and as I was so thinking, the of my pistol into my mind. As soon as I I was not defenceless, again in my and I set my for this man of the and walked him.
He was by this time another tree trunk; but he must have been me closely, for as soon as I to move in his direction he and took a step to meet me. Then he hesitated, back, came again, and at last, to my wonder and confusion, himself on his and out his hands in supplication.
At that I once more stopped.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Ben Gunn,” he answered, and his voice and awkward, like a lock. “I’m Ben Gunn, I am; and I haven’t spoke with a Christian these three years.”
I now see that he was a white man like myself and that his were pleasing. His skin, it was exposed, was by the sun; his were black, and his looked in so dark a face. Of all the beggar-men that I had or fancied, he was the for raggedness. He was with of old ship’s and old sea-cloth, and this was all together by a of the most and fastenings, buttons, of stick, and of gaskin. About his he 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 the word, and I it for a of common among the buccaneers, in which the is put with a little and and left on some and island.
“Marooned three years agone,” he continued, “and on since then, and berries, and oysters. Wherever a man is, says I, a man can do for himself. But, mate, my is for Christian diet. You mightn’t to have a piece of about you, now? No? Well, many’s the long night I’ve of cheese—toasted, mostly—and up again, and here I were.”
“If I can again,” said I, “you shall have by the stone.”
All this time he had been the of my jacket, my hands, looking at my boots, and generally, in the of his speech, a in the presence of a creature. But at my last he up into a of slyness.
“If you can again, says you?” he repeated. “Why, now, who’s to 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, pleased apparently. “Well, now, Jim, I’ve that as you’d be to of. Now, for instance, you wouldn’t think I had had a 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, boy, and off my that fast, as you couldn’t tell one word from another. And here’s what it come to, Jim, and it with chuck-farthen on the grave-stones! That’s what it with, but it further’n that; and so my mother told me, and the whole, she did, the woman! But it were Providence that put me here. I’ve it all out in this here island, and I’m on piety. You don’t catch me so much, but just a for luck, of course, the I have. I’m I’ll be good, and I see the way to. And, Jim”—looking all him and his voice to a whisper—“I’m rich.”
I now sure that the had gone in his solitude, and I I must have the in my face, for he the hotly: “Rich! Rich! I says. And I’ll tell you what: I’ll make a man of you, Jim. Ah, Jim, you’ll your stars, you will, you was the that me!”
And at this there came a over his face, and he his upon my hand and a my eyes.
“Now, Jim, you tell me true: that ain’t Flint’s ship?” he asked.
At this I had a happy inspiration. I to that I had 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; luck for the 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 me by the wrist, and at that he give it 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 my mind up in a moment, and by way of answer told him the whole of our and the in which we ourselves. He me with the interest, and when I had done he me on the head.
“You’re a good lad, Jim,” he said; “and you’re all in a 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 would prove a liberal-minded one in case of help—him being in a hitch, as you remark?”
I told him the was the most of men.
“Aye, but you see,” returned Ben Gunn, “I didn’t me a gate to keep, and a of clothes, and such; that’s not my mark, Jim. What I is, would he be likely to come to the of, say one thousand 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 of the others, we should want you to help work the home.”
“Ah,” said he, “so you would.” And he very much relieved.
“Now, I’ll tell you what,” he on. “So much I’ll tell you, and no more. I were in Flint’s ship when he the treasure; he and six along—six seamen. They was on a week, and us off and on in the old Walrus. One day up the signal, and here come Flint by himself in a little boat, and his done up in a scarf. The sun was up, and 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 us make out. It was battle, murder, and death, leastways—him against six. Billy Bones was the mate; Long John, he was quartermaster; and they asked him where the was. ‘Ah,’ says he, ‘you can go ashore, if you like, and stay,’ he says; ‘but as for the ship, she’ll up for more, by thunder!’ That’s what he said.
“Well, I was in another ship three years back, and we this island. ‘Boys,’ said I, ‘here’s Flint’s treasure; let’s land and it.’ The cap’n was at that, but my were all of a mind and landed. Twelve days they looked for it, and every day they had the word for me, until one all hands aboard. ‘As for you, Benjamin Gunn,’ says they, ‘here’s a musket,’ they says, ‘and a spade, and pick-axe. You can here and 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 the mast? No, says you. Nor I weren’t, neither, I says.”
And with that he and me hard.
“Just you mention them to your squire, Jim,” he on. “Nor he weren’t, neither—that’s the words. Three years he were the man of this island, light and dark, 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 me again in the most 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 more confidence—a sight, mind that—in a gen’leman than in these gen’leman of fortune, having been one hisself.”
“Well,” I said, “I don’t one word that you’ve been saying. But that’s neither here there; for how am I to on board?”
“Ah,” said he, “that’s the hitch, for sure. Well, there’s my boat, that I with my two hands. I keep her under the white rock. If the come to the worst, we might try that after dark. Hi!” he out. “What’s that?”
For just then, although the sun had still an hour or two to run, all the of the and to the of a cannon.
“They have to fight!” I cried. “Follow me.”
And I to the anchorage, my terrors all forgotten, while close at my the man in his easily and lightly.
“Left, left,” says he; “keep to your left hand, Jim! Under the trees with you! Theer’s where I killed my goat. They don’t come here now; they’re all on them for the of Benjamin Gunn. Ah! And there’s the cetemery”—cemetery, he must have meant. “You see the mounds? I come here and prayed, and thens, when I maybe a Sunday would be about doo. It weren’t a chapel, but it more like; and then, says you, Ben Gunn was short-handed—no chapling, so much as a Bible and a flag, you says.”
So he talking as I ran, neither any answer.
The cannon-shot was after a by a of small arms.
Another pause, and then, not a of a mile in of me, I the Union Jack in the air above a wood.
