Treasure Island Classic Narration

Author: Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)
Excerpt taken from PART THREE: My Shore Adventure
How My Shore Adventure Began
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-colored 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 coloring 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.