Остров сокровищ / Treasure Island

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I remember him. He came to the inn door, a tall, strong, heavy man. When my father appeared, that man called roughly for a glass of rum.

“I’ll stay here a bit,” said he, “I’m a plain man; rum and bacon and eggs is what I want. You may call me captain.” He threw down three or four gold pieces.

He seemed like a skipper. He was a very silent man. All day he hung round the cove or upon the cliffs with a brass telescope; all evening he sat in a corner and drank rum and water. Mostly he did not speak. Every day when he came back from his walk, he asked if any seamen went by along the road. He took me aside one day and promised me a silver fourpenny [2] every month if I only ‘keep my eye open [3] for a seaman with one leg’ and let him know the moment he appeared.

How that personage haunted my dreams! On stormy nights I saw him in a thousand forms, and with a thousand diabolical expressions.

Sometimes the captain was sitting and singing his wicked, old, wild sea-songs. His stories frightened people worst of all. Dreadful stories about storms at sea, and wild places. But I really believe his presence did us good [4]. There were young men who admired him, calling him a ‘true sea-dog’.

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