Treasure Island
The Black Spot Again
THE of had some time, when one of them re-entered the house, and with a of the same salute, which had in my an air, for a moment’s of the torch. Silver agreed, and this retired again, us together in the dark.
“There’s a coming, Jim,” said Silver, who had by this time a and familiar tone.
I to the nearest me and looked out. The of the great fire had so themselves out and now so low and that I why these a torch. About half-way the to the stockade, they were in a group; one the light, another was on his in their midst, and I saw the of an open knife in his hand with in the moon and torchlight. The were all stooping, as though the of this last. I just make out that he had a book as well as a knife in his hand, and was still how anything so had come in their when the rose once more to his and the whole party to move together the house.
“Here they come,” said I; and I returned to my position, for it my that they should me them.
“Well, let ’em come, lad—let ’em come,” said Silver cheerily. “I’ve still a in my locker.”
The door opened, and the five men, together just inside, pushed one of their number forward. In any other it would have been to see his slow advance, as he set each foot, but his closed right hand in of him.
“Step up, lad,” Silver. “I won’t eat you. Hand it over, lubber. I know the rules, I do; I won’t a depytation.”
Thus encouraged, the more briskly, and having passed something to Silver, from hand to hand, yet more again to his companions.
The sea-cook looked at what had been him.
“The black spot! I so,” he observed. “Where might you have got the paper? Why, hillo! Look here, now; this ain’t lucky! You’ve gone and cut this out of a Bible. What fool’s cut a Bible?”
“Ah, there!” said Morgan. “There! Wot did I say? No good’ll come o’ that, I said.”
“Well, you’ve about it now, among you,” Silver. “You’ll all now, I reckon. What soft-headed had a Bible?”
“It was Dick,” said one.
“Dick, was it? Then Dick can to prayers,” said Silver. “He’s his slice of luck, has Dick, and you may to that.”
But here the long man with the yellow in.
“Belay that talk, John Silver,” he said. “This has you the black spot in full council, as in bound; just you turn it over, as in bound, and see what’s there. Then you can talk.”
“Thanky, George,” the sea-cook. “You always was for business, and has the by heart, George, as I’m pleased to see. Well, what is it, anyway? Ah! ‘Deposed’—that’s it, is it? Very wrote, to be sure; like print, I swear. Your hand o’ write, George? Why, you was gettin’ a leadin’ man in this here crew. You’ll be cap’n next, I shouldn’t wonder. Just me with that again, will you? This pipe don’t draw.”
“Come, now,” said George, “you don’t this no more. You’re a man, by your account; but you’re over now, and you’ll maybe step off that and help vote.”
“I you said you the rules,” returned Silver contemptuously. “Leastways, if you don’t, I do; and I wait here—and I’m still your cap’n, mind—till you with your and I reply; in the meantime, your black spot ain’t a biscuit. After that, we’ll see.”
“Oh,” George, “you don’t be under no of apprehension; we’re all square, we are. First, you’ve a of this cruise—you’ll be a man to say no to that. Second, you let the enemy out o’ this here for nothing. Why did they want out? I dunno, but it’s plain they wanted it. Third, you wouldn’t let us go at them upon the march. Oh, we see through you, John Silver; you want to play booty, that’s what’s with you. And then, fourth, there’s this here boy.”
“Is that all?” asked Silver quietly.
“Enough, too,” George. “We’ll all and sun-dry for your bungling.”
“Well now, look here, I’ll answer these four p’ints; one after another I’ll answer ’em. I a o’ this cruise, did I? Well now, you all know what I wanted, and you all know if that had been done that we’d ’a been the Hispaniola this night as was, every man of us alive, and fit, and full of good plum-duff, and the in the of her, by thunder! Well, who me? Who my hand, as was the cap’n? Who me the black spot the day we and this dance? Ah, it’s a dance—I’m with you there—and looks like a in a rope’s end at Execution Dock by London town, it does. But who done it? Why, it was Anderson, and Hands, and you, George Merry! And you’re the last above of that same crew; and you have the Davy Jones’s to up and for cap’n over me—you, that the of us! By the powers! But this the yarn to nothing.”
Silver paused, and I see by the of George and his late that these had not been said in vain.
“That’s for number one,” the accused, the from his brow, for he had been talking with a that the house. “Why, I give you my word, I’m to speak to you. You’ve neither memory, and I it to where your mothers was that let you come to sea. Sea! Gentlemen o’ fortune! I reckon tailors is your trade.”
“Go on, John,” said Morgan. “Speak up to the others.”
“Ah, the others!” returned John. “They’re a lot, ain’t they? You say this is bungled. Ah! By gum, if you how it’s bungled, you would see! We’re that near the that my neck’s with on it. You’ve ’em, maybe, in chains, about ’em, p’inting ’em out as they go with the tide. ‘Who’s that?’ says one. ‘That! Why, that’s John Silver. I him well,’ says another. And you can the a-jangle as you go about and for the other buoy. Now, that’s about where we are, every mother’s son of us, thanks to him, and Hands, and Anderson, and other ruination of you. And if you want to know about number four, and that boy, why, my timbers, isn’t he a hostage? Are we a-going to waste a hostage? No, not us; he might be our last chance, and I shouldn’t wonder. Kill that boy? Not me, mates! And number three? Ah, well, there’s a to say to number three. Maybe you don’t count it nothing to have a college doctor to see you every day—you, John, with your broke—or you, George Merry, that had the upon you not six hours agone, and has your the colour of to this same moment on the clock? And maybe, perhaps, you didn’t know there was a either? But there is, and not so long till then; and we’ll see who’ll be to have a when it comes to that. And as for number two, and why I a bargain—well, you came on your to me to make it—on your you came, you was that downhearted—and you’d have too if I hadn’t—but that’s a trifle! You look there—that’s why!”
And he upon the a paper that I recognized—none other than the on yellow paper, with the three red crosses, that I had in the at the of the captain’s chest. Why the doctor had it to him was more than I fancy.
But if it were to me, the of the was to the mutineers. They upon it like cats upon a mouse. It from hand to hand, one it from another; and by the and the and the with which they their examination, you would have thought, not only they were the very gold, but were at sea with it, besides, in safety.
“Yes,” said one, “that’s Flint, sure enough. J. F., and a score below, with a to it; so he done ever.”
“Mighty pretty,” said George. “But how are we to away with it, and us no ship.”
Silver up, and supporting himself with a hand against the wall: “Now I give you warning, George,” he cried. “One more word of your sauce, and I’ll call you and you. How? Why, how do I know? You had ought to tell me that—you and the rest, that me my schooner, with your interference, you! But not you, you can’t; you hain’t got the of a cockroach. But you can speak, and shall, George Merry, you may to that.”
“That’s enow,” said the old man Morgan.
“Fair! I reckon so,” said the sea-cook. “You the ship; I the treasure. Who’s the man at that? And now I resign, by thunder! Elect you to be your cap’n now; I’m done with it.”
“Silver!” they cried. “Barbecue forever! Barbecue for cap’n!”
“So that’s the toon, is it?” the cook. “George, I reckon you’ll have to wait another turn, friend; and lucky for you as I’m not a man. But that was my way. And now, shipmates, this black spot? ’Tain’t much good now, is it? Dick’s his luck and his Bible, and that’s about all.”
“It’ll do to the book on still, won’t it?” Dick, who was at the he had upon himself.
“A Bible with a cut out!” returned Silver derisively. “Not it. It don’t no more’n a ballad-book.”
“Don’t it, though?” Dick with a of joy. “Well, I reckon that’s having too.”
“Here, Jim—here’s a cur’osity for you,” said Silver, and he me the paper.
It was around about the size of a piece. One was blank, for it had been the last leaf; the other a or two of Revelation—these among the rest, which home upon my mind: “Without are dogs and murderers.” The printed had been with ash, which already to come off and my fingers; on the blank had been with the same material the one word “Depposed.” I have that me at this moment, but not a of now a single scratch, such as a man might make with his thumb-nail.
That was the end of the night’s business. Soon after, with a drink all round, we to sleep, and the of Silver’s was to put George Merry up for and him with death if he should prove unfaithful.
It was long I close an eye, and I had for in the man I had that afternoon, in my own most position, and above all, in the game that I saw Silver now upon—keeping the together with one hand and with the other after every means, possible and impossible, to make his peace and save his life. He himself slept peacefully and aloud, yet my was for him, as he was, to think on the dark that and the that him.
