When I came on deck the next morning, the island looked completely different from what I had imagined.
The wind had died away completely, but we had sailed a great distance during the night. Now the Hispaniola was lying still, about half a mile southeast of the island’s low eastern shore.
The land was covered almost everywhere by dull grey woods.
Here and there, patches of yellow sand broke through the lower areas, and tall pine trees rose above the rest of the forest, standing alone or in groups.
But overall, the island looked lifeless and gloomy.
The hills rose sharply above the trees, their peaks made of bare stone.
Every hill had a strange shape, but the strangest of all was the Spy-glass.
It was the highest point on the island, standing several hundred feet above the others.
Its sides climbed almost straight upward, then ended suddenly at the top, like a stone platform built to hold a statue.
The Hispaniola rolled heavily in the ocean waves.
The ropes pulled and snapped against the blocks, the rudder swung back and forth, and the whole ship creaked, groaned, and jumped like a noisy factory.
I had to hold tightly onto the backstay.
The world spun before my eyes.
I was a decent sailor when the ship was moving, but I had never been able to handle being tossed around while standing still like a bottle floating in water.
It was even worse that morning because I had an empty stomach.
Maybe it was the sickness.
Maybe it was the sight of the island itself.
The grey forests, the lonely stone peaks, and the waves crashing against the rocky shore all made me feel uneasy.
The sun was shining brightly.
Sea birds were flying everywhere, calling out as they searched for food.
Anyone would have thought we should be happy after spending so long at sea.
But the moment I saw Treasure Island, my heart sank.
From that first glance, I hated the place.
We had a miserable morning ahead of us.
There was no wind at all, so we had to lower the boats, fill them with men, and pull the ship several miles around the island until we reached the narrow entrance leading to the harbor behind Skeleton Island.
I volunteered to join one of the boats, even though I had no real reason to be there.
The heat was unbearable, and the men complained loudly as they worked.
Anderson was in charge of my boat, but instead of controlling the crew, he complained just as much as everyone else.
“Well,” he said angrily, “this won’t last forever.”
I thought that was a terrible sign.
Until that day, the men had worked quickly and willingly.
But the sight of the island had changed them.
Their discipline was beginning to disappear.
During the entire journey into the harbor, Long John stood beside the helmsman and guided the ship.
He knew the passage perfectly.
Even though the sailor measuring the depth found more water than the chart showed, John never hesitated.
“The tide has carved this channel out,” he explained.
“It’s almost as if someone dug it with a shovel.”
We dropped anchor exactly where the chart showed us.
We were about one-third of a mile from each shore, with the mainland on one side and Skeleton Island on the other.
The bottom was smooth sand.
When the anchor hit the water, hundreds of birds exploded from the trees, flying around and screaming.
But within a minute, they settled again, and the harbor became completely silent.
The place was surrounded by land and hidden deep inside the forest.
Trees grew right down to the water’s edge.
The shores were mostly flat, while hills stood around us in the distance like the walls of a huge natural theater.
Two small rivers—or more accurately, two swampy streams—flowed into this quiet pool.
The plants around the shore had a strange, almost poisonous brightness.
From the ship, we could not see the house or the wooden fort because they were completely hidden among the trees.
Without the map beside the cabin, we might have believed we were the first people ever to anchor there.
There was not even the slightest breeze.
The only sound was the distant roar of waves crashing along the outer beaches and against the rocks.
A strange, unpleasant smell hung over the harbor.
It smelled of wet leaves and rotting trees.
I noticed Dr. Livesey sniffing the air carefully.
He looked like someone testing whether food had gone bad.
“I know nothing about treasure,” he said, “but I’ll bet my wig there’s disease waiting for us here.”
The men’s behavior had been worrying in the boats.
Once they returned to the ship, it became even worse.
They gathered in groups on the deck, whispering and complaining.
Every order was met with angry looks and was followed slowly and unwillingly.
Even the honest sailors seemed affected by the mood.
No one wanted to support anyone else.
It was clear that a mutiny was hanging over us like a storm cloud.
And we were not the only ones who noticed the danger.
Long John Silver was also aware of it.
He moved from group to group, giving advice and trying to calm everyone down.
No one could have acted more carefully.
He was friendly to every man.
Whenever an order was given, Silver immediately hurried forward on his crutch and answered cheerfully.
“Aye, aye, sir!”
When there was nothing else to do, he sang one sailor’s song after another, as if trying to hide the anger spreading among the crew.
Of all the dark things about that dark afternoon, Long John’s obvious worry frightened me the most.
We held a meeting inside the cabin.
“Sir,” Captain Smollett said, “if I give another order, this whole ship may explode into chaos.”
“The men are already answering me rudely.”
“If I challenge them, they may attack us immediately.”
“But if I say nothing, Silver will realize we know something is wrong, and everything will be ruined.”
“We only have one man who can help us now.”
“Who is that?” asked the squire.
“Silver,” replied the captain.
“He wants to stop this trouble as much as we do.”
“This is only a quarrel for now. If he gets the chance, he can probably calm them down.”
“My plan is to let the men go ashore for the afternoon.”
“If they all leave, we take control of the ship.”
“If none of them leave, we defend the cabin and prepare for the worst.”
“But if some go and some stay, Silver will bring the others back as quiet as lambs.”
Everyone agreed.
Loaded pistols were given to the men we trusted.
Hunter, Joyce, and Redruth were told about the situation.
They accepted the news with more courage and less surprise than we expected.
Then the captain went onto the deck.
“My lads,” he called, “we have all had a long and exhausting day.”
“A little time ashore will do nobody harm.”
“The boats are ready.”
“Anyone who wants to go may spend the afternoon on land.”
“I’ll fire a gun half an hour before sunset.”
The foolish sailors seemed to think they would discover treasure the moment they stepped onto the island.
Their bad moods disappeared instantly.
They cheered so loudly that the sound echoed from the distant hills and sent the birds flying into the air again.
The captain wisely disappeared immediately.
He left Silver to organize the landing party.
I think that was the right choice.
If the captain had remained on deck, he could no longer pretend he did not understand what was happening.
The truth was obvious.
Silver was the real leader, and the crew followed him.
The honest sailors among them were not very strong-minded men.
Or perhaps the truth was simpler.
Almost everyone had been influenced by the troublemakers.
Some were more willing than others to join a rebellion.
A few men were still decent enough that they could not be pushed into murder.
There was a great difference between being lazy and avoiding work, and actually stealing a ship and killing innocent people.
At last, the groups were arranged.
Six men would remain on board.
The other thirteen, including Silver, would go ashore.
That was when my first foolish idea came to me—the idea that would later help save our lives.
If Silver left only six men behind, our group could not capture the ship.
And if only six remained, they did not really need my help at that moment.
So I decided to go ashore.
Before anyone could notice, I climbed over the side and hid inside the front part of the nearest boat.
Almost immediately, the boat pushed away from the ship.
No one noticed me.
Only the sailor at the front whispered:
“Is that you, Jim? Keep your head down.”
But Silver, sitting in another boat, saw me.
He looked across sharply.
“Is that Jim?” he shouted.
From that moment, I began to regret my decision.
Jim Escapes Into the Island
The boats raced toward the shore.
The boat I was in had started earlier.
It was lighter and had better rowers, so it quickly moved far ahead of Silver’s boat.
When we reached the trees along the beach, the bow struck the shore.
I grabbed a branch, swung myself out, and disappeared into the nearest bushes.
Silver and the others were still about a hundred yards behind.
“Jim! Jim!” I heard Silver calling.
But I ignored him.
I jumped, crawled, pushed through branches, and ran straight ahead until I could run no farther.