Treasure Island

XVI. Narrative Continued by the Doctor: How the Ship Was Abandoned XVII. Narrative Continued by the Doctor: The Jolly-boat’s Last Trip XVIII. Narrative Continued by the Doctor: End of the First Day’s Fighting XIX. Narrative Resumed by Jim Hawkins: The Garrison in the Stockade XX. Silver’s Embassy XXI. The Attack XXII. How I Began My Sea Adventure XXIII. The Ebb-tide Runs XXIV. The Cruise of the Coracle XXV. I Strike the Jolly Roger XXVI. Israel Hands XXVII. “Pieces of Eight” XXVIII. In the Enemy’s Camp XXIX. The Black Spot Again XXX. On Parole XXXI. The Treasure-hunt—Flint’s Pointer XXXII. The Treasure-hunt—The Voice Among the Trees XXXIII. The Fall of a Chieftain XXXIV. And Last TREASURE ISLAND To S.L.O., an American gentleman in accordance with whose classic taste the following narrative has been designed, it is now, in return for numerous delightful hours, and with the kindest wishes, dedicated by his affectionate friend, the author. TO THE HESITATING PURCHASER If sailor tales to sailor tunes, Storm and adventure, heat and cold, If schooners, islands, and maroons, And buccaneers, and buried gold, And all the old romance, retold Exactly in the ancient way, Can please, as me they pleased of old, The wiser youngsters of today: —So be it, and fall on! If not, If studious youth no longer crave, His ancient appetites forgot, Kingston, or Ballantyne the brave, Or Cooper of the wood and wave: So be it, also! And may I And all my pirates share the grave Where these and their creations lie! TREASURE ISLAND I The Old Sea-dog at the “Admiral Benbow” quire 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 shoulder of his soiled blue