The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
At least, and at last, I was off the sea, nor had I returned thence
empty-handed. There lay the schooner, clear at last from buccaneers and
ready for our own men to board and get to sea again. I had nothing nearer
my fancy than to get home to the stockade and boast of my achievements.
Possibly I might be blamed a bit for my truantry, but the recapture of
the _Hispaniola_ was a clenching answer, and I hoped that even Captain
Smollett would confess I had not lost my time.
So thinking, and in famous spirits, I began to set my face homeward for
the block-house and my companions. I remembered that the most easterly of
the rivers which drain into Captain Kidd's anchorage ran from the
two-peaked hill upon my left; and I bent my course in that direction that
I might pass the stream while it was small. The wood was pretty open, and
keeping along the lower spurs, I had soon turned the corner of that hill,
and not long after waded to the mid-calf across the water-course.
This brought me near to where I had encountered Ben Gunn, the maroon; and
I walked more circumspectly, keeping an eye on every side. The dusk had
come nigh hand completely, and, as I opened out the cleft between the two
peaks, I became aware of a wavering glow against the sky, where, as I
judged, the man of the island was cooking his supper before a roaring
fire. And yet I wondered, in my heart, that he should show himself so
careless. For if I could see this radiance, might it not reach the eyes
of Silver himself where he camped upon the shore among the marshes?
Gradually the night fell blacker; it was all I could do to guide myself
even roughly towards my destination; the double hill behind me and the
Spy-glass on my right hand loomed faint and fainter; the stars were few
and pale; and in the low ground where I wandered I kept tripping among
bushes and rolling into sandy pits.
Suddenly a kind of brightness fell about me. I looked up; a pale glimmer
of moonbeams had alighted on the summit of the Spy-glass, and soon after
I saw something broad and silvery moving low down behind the trees, and
knew the moon had risen.
With this to help me, I passed rapidly over what remained to me of my
journey; and, sometimes walking, sometimes running, impatiently drew near
to the stockade. Yet, as I began to thread the grove that lies before it,
I was not so thoughtless but that I slackened my pace and went a trifle
warily. It would have been a poor end of my adventures to get shot down
by my own party in mistake.
The moon was climbing higher and higher; its light began to fall here and
there in masses through the more open districts of the wood; and right in
front of me a glow of a different colour appeared among the trees. It was
red and hot, and now and again it was a little darkened--as it were the
embers of a bonfire smouldering.
For the life of me, I could not think what it might be.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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