Treasure Island
Israel Hands
THE wind, us to a desire, now into the west. We so much the from the north-east of the to the mouth of the North Inlet. Only, as we had no power to and not beach her till the had a good farther, time on our hands. The told me how to the ship to; after a good many I succeeded, and we sat in over another meal.
“Cap’n,” said he at length with that same smile, “here’s my old shipmate, O’Brien; s’pose you was to him overboard. I ain’t partic’lar as a rule, and I don’t take no for settling his hash, but I don’t reckon him now, do you?”
“I’m not 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 on, blinking. “There’s a power of men been killed in this Hispaniola—a o’ and gone since you and me took ship to Bristol. I 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 as can read and figure, and to put it straight, do you take it as a man is 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 may be us.”
“Ah!” says he. “Well, that’s unfort’nate—appears as if killing parties was a waste of time. Howsomever, don’t reckon for much, by what I’ve seen. I’ll it with the sperrits, Jim. And now, you’ve spoke up free, and I’ll take it if you’d step into that there and me a—well, a—shiver my timbers! I can’t the name on ’t; well, you me a bottle of wine, Jim—this here brandy’s too for my head.”
Now, the coxswain’s to be unnatural, and as for the of his to brandy, I it. The whole was a pretext. He wanted me to the deck—so much was plain; but with what purpose I in no way imagine. His met mine; they to and fro, up and down, now with a look to the sky, now with a upon the O’Brien. All the time he and his out in the most guilty, embarrassed manner, so that a child have told that he was on some deception. I was with my answer, however, for I saw where my and that with a so I easily my to the end.
“Some wine?” I said. “Far better. Will you have white or red?”
“Well, I reckon it’s about the same to me, shipmate,” he replied; “so it’s strong, and of it, what’s the odds?”
“All right,” I answered. “I’ll you port, Mr. Hands. But I’ll have to for it.”
With that I the with all the noise I could, off my shoes, ran along the gallery, the ladder, and my out of the companion. I he would not to see me there, yet I took every possible, and the of my proved too true.
He had from his position to his hands and knees, and though his leg him when he moved—for I him a groan—yet it was at a good, that he himself across the deck. In a minute he had the port and picked, out of a of rope, a long knife, or a dirk, to the with blood. He looked upon it for a moment, his under jaw, the point upon his hand, and then, it in the of his jacket, again into his old place against the bulwark.
This was all that I to know. Israel move about, he was now armed, and if he had been at so much trouble to of me, it was plain that I was meant to be the victim. What he would do afterwards—whether he would try to right across the from North Inlet to the among the or he would fire Long Tom, that his own might come to help him—was, of course, more than I say.
Yet I sure that I trust him in one point, since in that our jumped together, and that was in the of the schooner. We to have her safe enough, in a place, and so that, when the time came, she be got off again with as little and as might be; and until that was done I that my life would be spared.
While I was thus the over in my mind, I had not been with my body. I had to the cabin, once more into my shoes, and my hand at on a bottle of wine, and now, with this for an excuse, I my reappearance on the deck.
Hands as I had left him, all together in a and with his as though he were too weak to the light. He looked up, however, at my coming, the off the bottle like a man who had done the same thing often, and took a good swig, with his toast of “Here’s luck!” Then he for a little, and then, out a of tobacco, me to cut him a quid.
“Cut me a o’ that,” says he, “for I haven’t no knife and 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 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 me just now about the dead. You’ve your trust; you’ve in and and blood; there’s a man you killed at your this moment, and you ask me why! For God’s mercy, Mr. Hands, that’s why.”
I spoke with a little heat, of the he had in his pocket and designed, in his thoughts, to end me with. He, for his part, took a great of the and spoke with the most solemnity.
“For thirty years,” he said, “I’ve the and good and bad, and worse, weather and foul, out, going, and what not. Well, now I tell you, I good come o’ yet. Him as is my fancy; men don’t bite; them’s my views—amen, so be it. And now, you look here,” he added, his tone, “we’ve had about of this foolery. The tide’s good by now. You just take my orders, Cap’n Hawkins, and we’ll sail in and be done with it.”
All told, we had two miles to run; but the was delicate, the entrance to this northern was not only narrow and shoal, but east and west, so that the must be to be got in. I think I was a good, subaltern, and I am very sure that Hands was an excellent pilot, for we about and about and in, the banks, with a and a that were a to behold.
Scarcely had we passed the the land closed around us. The of North Inlet were as as those of the southern anchorage, but the space was longer and and more like, what in truth it was, the of a river. Right us, at the southern end, we saw the of a ship in the last of dilapidation. It had been a great of three but had so long to the of the weather that it was about with great of seaweed, and on the of it had taken and now thick with flowers. It was a sad sight, but it us that the was calm.
“Now,” said Hands, “look there; there’s a for to beach a ship in. Fine sand, a cat’s paw, trees all around of it, and flowers a-blowing like a on that old ship.”
“And once beached,” I inquired, “how shall we her off again?”
“Why, so,” he replied: “you take a line there on the other at low water, take a turn about one of them big pines; it back, take a turn around the capstan, and to for the tide. Come high water, all hands take a upon the line, and off she comes as sweet as natur’. And now, boy, you by. We’re near the now, and she’s too much way on her. Starboard a little—so—steady—starboard—larboard a little—steady—steady!”
So he his commands, which I obeyed, till, all of a sudden, he cried, “Now, my hearty, luff!” And I put the hard up, and the Hispaniola and ran on for the low, shore.
The of these last had with the watch I had hitherto, enough, upon the coxswain. Even then I was still so much interested, waiting for the ship to touch, that I had the that over my and over the and the wide the bows. I might have without a for my life had not a upon me and me turn my head. Perhaps I had a or his moving with the of my eye; it was an like a cat’s; but, sure enough, when I looked round, there was Hands, already half-way me, with the in his right hand.
We must have out when our met, but while mine was the of terror, his was a of like a bully’s. At the same instant, he himself and I the bows. As I did so, I let go of the tiller, which to leeward, and I think this saved my life, for it Hands across the and stopped him, for the moment, dead.
Before he recover, I was safe out of the where he had me trapped, with all the to about. Just of the main-mast I stopped, a pistol from my pocket, took a aim, though he had already and was once more directly after me, and the trigger. The fell, but there neither sound; the was with sea-water. I 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 sheep this butcher.
Wounded as he was, it was how fast he move, his over his face, and his itself as red as a red with his and fury. I had no time to try my other pistol, much inclination, for I was sure it would be useless. One thing I saw plainly: I must not him, or he would me into the bows, as a moment since he had so nearly me in the stern. Once so caught, and nine or ten of the blood-stained would be my last on this of eternity. I my against the main-mast, which was of a bigness, and waited, every nerve upon the stretch.
Seeing that I meant to dodge, he also paused; and a moment or two passed in on his part and movements upon mine. It was such a game as I had often played at home about the of Black Hill Cove, but before, you may be sure, with such a as now. Still, as I say, it was a boy’s game, and I I my own at it against an with a thigh. Indeed my had to so high that I allowed myself a on what would be the end of the affair, and while I saw that I it out for long, I saw no of any escape.
Well, while thus, the Hispaniola struck, staggered, ground for an in the sand, and then, as a blow, over to the port till the at an of forty-five and about a of water into the and lay, in a pool, the and bulwark.
We were of us in a second, and of us rolled, almost together, into the scuppers, the red-cap, with his arms still spread out, after us. So near were we, indeed, that my came against the coxswain’s with a that my teeth rattle. Blow and all, I was the again, for Hands had got with the body. The of the ship had the no place for on; I had to some new way of escape, and that upon the instant, for my was almost me. Quick as thought, I into the shrouds, up hand over hand, and did not a till I was seated on the cross-trees.
I had been saved by being prompt; the had not a me as I my flight; and there Israel Hands with his mouth open and his to mine, a perfect of and disappointment.
Now that I had a moment to myself, I no time in the of my pistol, and then, having one for service, and to make sure, I to the of the other and recharge it from the beginning.
My new Hands all of a heap; he to see the going against him, and after an hesitation, he also himself into the shrouds, and with the in his teeth, slowly and to mount. It cost him no end of time and to his leg him, and I had my he was much more than a third of the way up. Then, with a pistol in either hand, I him.
“One more step, Mr. Hands,” said I, “and I’ll your out! Dead men don’t bite, you know,” I added with a chuckle.
He stopped instantly. I see by the of his that he was trying to think, and the was so slow and that, in my new-found security, I laughed aloud. At last, with a or two, he spoke, his still the same of perplexity. In order to speak he had to take the from his mouth, but in all else he unmoved.
“Jim,” says he, “I reckon we’re fouled, you and me, and we’ll have to 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 to a ship’s like you, Jim.”
I was in his and away, as as a upon a wall, when, all in a breath, his right hand over his shoulder. Something sang like an through the air; I a and then a pang, and there I was by the to the mast. In the pain and of the moment—I can say it was by my own volition, and I am sure it was without a aim—both my pistols off, and out of my hands. They did not alone; with a cry, the his upon the and into the water.
