Treasure Island. Роберт Льюис Стивенсон
I was holding.
It was a long, difficult business, for the coins were of all countries and sizes – doubloons, and louis-d’ors, and guineas, and pieces of eight, and I know not what besides, all shaken together at random. The guineas, too, were about the scarcest, and it was with these only that my mother knew how to make her count.
When we were about half way through, I suddenly put my hand upon her arm; for I had heard in the silent, frosty air, a sound that brought my heart into my mouth – the tap-tapping of the blind man’s stick upon the frozen road. It drew nearer and nearer, while we sat holding our breath. Then it struck sharp on the inn door, and then we could hear the handle being turned, and the bolt rattling as the wretched being tried to enter; and then there was a long time of silence both within and without. At last the tapping recommenced, and, to our indescribable joy and gratitude, died slowly away again until it ceased to be heard.
‘Mother,’ said I, ‘take the whole and let’s be going’; for I was sure the bolted door must have seemed suspicious, and would bring the whole hornet’s nest about our ears; though how thankful I was that I had bolted it, none could tell who had never met that terrible blind man.
But my mother, frightened as she was, would not consent to take a fraction more than was due to her, and was obstinately unwilling to be content with less. It was not yet seven, she said, by a long way; she knew her rights and she would have them; and she was still arguing with me, when a little low whistle sounded a good way off upon the hill. That was enough, and more than enough, for both of us.
‘I’ll take what I have,’ she said, jumping to her feet.
‘And I’ll take this to square the count,’ said I, picking up the oilskin packet.
Next moment we were both groping downstairs, leaving the candle by the empty chest; and the next we had opened the door and were in full retreat. We had not started a moment too soon. The fog was rapidly dispersing; already the moon shone quite clear on the high ground on either side; and it was only in the exact bottom of the dell and round the tavern door that a thin veil still hung unbroken to conceal the first steps of our escape. Far less than half-way to the hamlet, very little beyond the bottom of the hill, we must come forth into the moonlight. Nor was this all; for the sound of several footsteps running came already to our ears, and as we looked back in their direction, a light tossing to and fro and still rapidly advancing, showed that one of the newcomers carried a lantern.
‘My dear,’ said my mother suddenly, ‘take the money and run on. I am going to faint.’
This was certainly the end for both of us, I thought. How I cursed the cowardice of the neighbours; how I blamed my poor mother for her honesty and her greed, for her past fool-hardiness and present weakness! We were just at the little bridge, by good fortune; and I helped her, tottering as she was, to the edge of the bank, where, sure enough, she gave a sigh and fell on my shoulder. I do not know how I found the strength to do it all, and I am afraid it was roughly done; but I managed to drag her down the bank and a little way under the arch. Farther I could not move her, for the bridge was too low to let me do more than crawl below it. So there we had to stay – my mother almost entirely exposed, and both of us within earshot of the inn.
CHAPTER 5 The Last of the Blind Man
My curiosity, in a sense, was stronger than my fear; for I could not remain where I was, but crept back to the bank again, whence, sheltering my head behind a bush of broom, I might command the road before our door. I was scarcely in position ere my enemies began to arrive, seven or eight of them, running hard, their feet beating out of time along the road, and the man with the lantern some paces in front. Three men ran together, hand in hand; and I made out, even through the mist, that the middle man of this trio was the blind beggar. The next moment his voice showed me that I was right.
‘Down with the door!’ he cried.
‘Ay, ay, sir!’ answered two or three; and a rush was made upon the ‘Admiral Benbow’, the lantern-bearer following; and then I could see them pause, and hear speeches passed in a lower key, as if they were surprised to find the door open. But the pause was brief, for the blind man again issued his commands. His voice sounded louder and higher, as if he was afire with eagerness and rage.
‘In, in, in!’ he shouted, and cursed them for their delay.
Four or five of them obeyed at once, two remaining on the road with the formidable beggar. There was a pause, then a cry of surprise, and then a voice shouting from the house:
‘Bill’s dead!’
But the blind man swore at them again for their delay.
‘Search him, some of you shirking lubbers, and the rest of you aloft and get the chest,’ he cried.
I could hear their feet rattling up our old stairs, so that the house must have shook with it. Promptly afterwards, fresh sounds of astonishment arose; the window of the captain’s room was thrown open with a slam and a jingle of broken glass; and a man leaned out into the moonlight, head and shoulders, and addressed the blind beggar on the road below him.
‘Pew,’ he cried, ‘they’ve been before us. Someone’s turned the chest out alow and aloft.’
‘Is it there?’ roared Pew.
‘The money’s there.’
The blind man cursed the money.
‘Flint’s fist, I mean,’ he cried.
‘We don’t see it here, nohow,’ returned the man.
‘Here, you below there, is it on Bill?’ cried the blind man again.
At that, another fellow, probably him who had remained below to search the captain’s body, came to the door of the inn. ‘Bill’s been overhauled a’ready,’ said he, ‘nothin’ left.’
‘It’s these people of the inn – it’s that boy. I wish I had put his eyes out!’ cried the blind man, Pew. ‘They were here no time ago – they had the door bolted when I tried it. Scatter, lads, and find ’em.’
‘Sure enough, they left their glim here,’ said the fellow from the window.
‘Scatter and find ’em! Rout the house out!’ reiterated Pew, striking with his stick upon the road.
Then there followed a great to-do through all our old inn, heavy feet pounding to and fro, furniture thrown over, doors kicked in, until the very rocks re-echoed, and the men came out again, one after another, on the road, and declared that we were nowhere to be found. And just then the same whistle that had alarmed my mother and myself over the dead captain’s money was once more clearly audible through the night, but this time twice repeated. I had thought it to be the blind man’s trumpet, so to speak, summoning his crew to the assault; but I now found that it was a signal from the hillside towards the hamlet, and, from its effect upon the buccaneers, a signal to warn them of approaching danger.
‘There’s Dirk again,’ said one. ‘Twice! We’ll have to budge, mates.’
‘Budge, you skulk!’ cried Pew. ‘Dirk was a fool and a coward from the first – you wouldn’t mind him. They must be close by; they can’t be far; you have your hands on it. Scatter and look for them, dogs! Oh, shiver my soul,’ he cried, ‘if I had eyes!’
This appeal seemed to produce some effect, for two of the fellows began to look here and there among the lumber, but halfheartedly, I thought, and with half an eye to their own danger all the time, while the rest stood irresolute on the road.
‘You have your hands on thousands, you fools, and you hang a leg! You’d be as rich as kings if you could find it, and you know it’s here, and you stand there malingering. There wasn’t one of you dared face Bill, and I did it – a blind man! And I’m to lose my chance for you! I’m to be a poor, crawling beggar, sponging for rum, when I might be rolling in a coach! If you