Island Nights' EntertainmentsStevenson, Robert Louis
General
Island Nights' Entertainments
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Islands of the Pacific -- Fiction; Short stories
As long as I was on the path I walked hard, but when I came to the
black beach I had to run. For the tide was now nearly flowed; and to
get through with my powder dry between the surf and the steep hill,
took all the quickness I possessed. As it was, even, the wash caught me
to the knees, and I came near falling on a stone. All this time the
hurry I was in, and the free air and smell of the sea, kept my spirits
lively; but when I was once in the bush and began to climb the path I
took it easier. The fearsomeness of the wood had been a good bit rubbed
off for me by Master Case’s banjo-strings and graven images, yet I
thought it was a dreary walk, and guessed, when the disciples went up
there, they must be badly scared. The light of the lantern, striking
among all these trunks and forked branches and twisted rope-ends of
lianas, made the whole place, or all that you could see of it, a kind
of a puzzle of turning shadows. They came to meet you, solid and quick
like giants, and then span off and vanished; they hove up over your
head like clubs, and flew away into the night like birds. The floor of
the bush glimmered with dead wood, the way the match-box used to shine
after you had struck a lucifer. Big, cold drops fell on me from the
branches overhead like sweat. There was no wind to mention; only a
little icy breath of a land-breeze that stirred nothing; and the harps
were silent.
The first landfall I made was when I got through the bush of wild
cocoanuts, and came in view of the bogies on the wall. Mighty queer
they looked by the shining of the lantern, with their painted faces and
shell eyes, and their clothes and their hair hanging. One after another
I pulled them all up and piled them in a bundle on the cellar roof, so
as they might go to glory with the rest. Then I chose a place behind
one of the big stones at the entrance, buried my powder and the two
shells, and arranged my match along the passage. And then I had a look
at the smoking head, just for good-bye. It was doing fine.
“Cheer up,” says I. “You’re booked.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account