The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06 — John Shaqi
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06Stevenson, Robert Louis
General
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 06
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
When I came again to myself, the monster had pulled himself together, his
crutch under his arm, his hat upon his head. Just before him Tom lay
motionless upon the sward; but the murderer minded him not a whit,
cleansing his blood-stained knife the while upon a wisp of grass.
Everything else was unchanged, the sun still shining mercilessly on the
steaming marsh and the tall pinnacle of the mountain, and I could scarce
persuade myself that murder had been actually done, and a human life
cruelly cut short, a moment since, before my eyes.
But now John put his hand into his pocket, brought out a whistle, and
blew upon it several modulated blasts, that rang far across the heated
air. I could not tell, of course, the meaning of the signal; but it
instantly awoke my fears. More men would be coming. I might be
discovered. They had already slain two of the honest people; after Tom
and Alan, might not I come next?
Instantly I began to extricate myself and crawl back again, with what
speed and silence I could manage, to the more open portion of the wood.
As I did so, I could hear hails coming and going between the old
buccaneer and his comrades, and this sound of danger lent me wings. As
soon as I was clear of the thicket, I ran as I never ran before, scarce
minding the direction of my flight, so long as it led me from the
murderers; and as I ran, fear grew and grew upon me, until it turned into
a kind of frenzy.
Indeed, could any one be more entirely lost than I? When the gun fired,
how should I dare to go down to the boats among those fiends, still
smoking from their crime? Would not the first of them who saw me wring my
neck like a snipe's? Would not my absence itself be an evidence to them
of my alarm, and therefore of my fatal knowledge? It was all over, I
thought. Good-bye to the _Hispaniola_; good-bye to the squire, the
doctor, and the captain! There was nothing left for me but death by
starvation, or death by the hands of the mutineers.
All this while, as I say, I was still running, and, without taking any
notice, I had drawn near to the foot of the little hill with the two
peaks, and had got into a part of the island where the live-oaks grew
more widely apart, and seemed more like forest-trees in their bearing and
dimensions. Mingled with these were a few scattered pines, some fifty,
some nearer seventy, feet high. The air, too, smelt more freshly than
down beside the marsh.
And here a fresh alarm brought me to a standstill with a thumping heart.
CHAPTER XV
THE MAN OF THE ISLAND
From the side of the hill, which was here steep and stony, a spout of
gravel was dislodged, and fell rattling and bounding through the trees.
My eyes turned instinctively in that direction, and I saw a figure leap
with great rapidity behind the trunk of a pine. What it was, whether bear
or man or monkey, I could in no wise tell. It seemed dark and shaggy;
more I knew not. But the terror of this new apparition brought me to a
stand.
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