I remember him as if it were yesterday as he came plodding to the inn door 50 "Pew!" he cried, "they've been before us" 51 "Now, Morgan," said Long John, very sternly, "you never clapped your eyes on that Black Dog before, did you, now?" 82 It was something to see him get on with his cooking like someone safe ashore 83 They had the gun, by this time, slewed around upon the swivel 178 In a moment the four pirates had swarmed up the mound and were upon us 179 Quick as thought, I sprang into the mizzen shrouds 210 Nearly every variety of money in the world must have found a place in that collection 211 _To_ LLOYD OSBOURNE An American Gentleman In accordance with whose classic taste The following narrative has been designed It is now, in return for numerous delightful hours And with the kindest wishes, dedicated By his affectionate friend _THE AUTHOR_ [Illustration] PART I THE OLD BUCCANEER CHAPTER I AT THE "ADMIRAL BENBOW" Squire Trelawney, Doctor Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, I take up my pen in the year of grace 17--, and go back to the time when my father kept the "Admiral Benbow" Inn, and the brown old seaman, with the saber cut, first took up his lodging under our roof. [Illustration: _I remember him as if it were yesterday as he came plodding to the inn door_ (Page 3)] I remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn door, his sea-chest following behind him in a hand-barrow; a tall, strong, heavy, nut-brown man; his tarry pig-tail falling over the shoulders of his soiled blue coat; his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails, and the saber cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid white. I remember him looking round the cove and whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so often afterwards: "Fifteen men on the dead man's chest, Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!" in the high, old tottering voice that seemed to have been tuned and broken at the capstan bars. Then he rapped on the door with a bit of stick like a handspike that he carried, and when my father appeared, called roughly for a glass of rum. This, when it was brought to him, he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste, and still looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard.