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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.
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