The Spider's Web; Treasure Island

It's a web like a spider's web made a silken light and shadow spun by the moon in my room back night. It's a web made to catch it me hold it tight till I awaken as if to tell me dreams all right. This is Ursula Drobick welcoming you to the spider's web and our special presentation of the classic adventure story Treasure Island by Robert Lewis Stevenson and published by Charles Scribner's Sons Incorporated New York. Treasure Island is a thrilling tale which brings us sailing across the seas with young Jim Hawkins and a crew of bloodthirsty buccaneers in a search for buried treasure. In our last episode, our narrator Jim Hawkins recalls hiding in the apple barrel long enough to hear the pirates claim that a few honest hands still remain on board. Soon after land is sighted and while the men prepare to anchor,

Jim is able to slip out of the apple barrel and inform the doctor, squire and captain of the planned mutiny. They decide to feign total ignorance of the plot until they can launch a surprise attack on silver in the pirates. With their arrival at Treasure Island, the crew grows more and more hostile and the captain suggests shore leave for those who wish to go. On impulse, Jim hides in one of the boats being rode ashore and when spotted by long John silver, he sets off to explore the island on his own. Our readers, Murray Biggs, Peter Johnson and Bill Cavanagh's I was so pleased it hadn't given the slip to long John that I began to enjoy myself and

look around me with some interest on the strange land that I was in. I had crossed a marshy tract full of willows, bull rushes and odd outlandish swampy trees and had now come out upon the skirts of an open piece of underlating sandy country about a mile long, dotted with a few plines and a great number of contorted trees not unlike the oak in growth but pale in the foliage like willows. On the far side of the open stood one of the hills with two quaint, craggy peaks shining vividly in the sun. I now felt for the first time the joy of exploration. The aisle was uninhabited, my shipmates I'd left behind and nothing lived in front of me but dumb brooks and fowls. I turned hither and hither among the trees. Here and there were flower implants unknown to me. Then I came to a long thicket of these oak-like trees.

Live or evergreen oaks I heard afterwards there should be called, which grew low along the sand like brambles. The boughs curiously twisted, the foliage compact like thatch. The thicket stretched down from the top of one of the sandy nose, spreading and growing tour as it went until it reached the margin of the broad, reedy fin, through which the nearest to the little rivers soaked its way into the anchor reach. The marsh was steaming in the strong sun and the outline of the spyglass trembled through the haze. All at once they began to go a sort of bustle among the burrishes. A wild duck flew up with a quack, another followed, and soon over the whole surface of the marsh a great cloud of birds hung screaming and circling in the air. I judged at once that some of my shipmates must be drawing near along the borders of the fin. Nor was I deceived. For soon I heard the very distant and low tones of a human voice,

which as I continued to give ear, grew steadily louder and nearer. This put me in a great fear, and I crawled under cover of the nearest live oak and squatted there, harkening, as silent as a mouse. Another voice answered, and then the first voice, which I now recognise to be silvers, once more took up the story and ran on for a long while in a stream only known again interrupted by the other. By the sun there must have been talking earnestly and almost fiercely, but no distinct word came to my hearing. At last the speakers seemed to have paused and perhaps to have sat down for not only did they cease to join in nearer, but the birds themselves began to grow more quiet and to settle again to their places in the swamp. And now I began to feel that I was neglecting my business. That since I'd been so foolhardy as to come ashore with these desparados, the least I could do was to overhear them at their councils, and that my plain and obvious duty was to draw as close as I could manage

under the favourable ambush of the crouching trees. I could tell the direction of the speakers pretty exactly, not only by the sound of their voices, but by the behaviour of the few birds that still hung in alarm about the heads of the intruders. Crawling on all fours I made steadily but slowly to well seem. Till at last, raising my head to an aperture among the leaves, I could see clear down into a little green del beside the marsh, closely set about with trees, where long-drawn silver and another of the crews stood face to face in conversation. The sound and beat fall down upon me. Silver had thrown his hat beside him on the ground, and his great smooth, bland, fray-soul shining with heat was lifted to the other man and a kind of appeal. It's because I think gold dust of you, gold dust, and you may lay to that. If I hadn't took to you like pitch, do you think I'd have been here a warning of you?

All's up. You can't make nermend. It's to save your neck that I'm speaking. And if one of the wildens knew it, where'd I be, Tom? Now tell me where'd I be. Silver said the other man, and I observed he was not only red in the face, but spoke as horses a crow, and his voice shook to like a tort rope. Silver, you're old, and you're honest, or has the name for it, and you have money too, which lots of poor sailors hasn't. And you brave, or I'm a stuc. And when you tell me, you'll let yourself be led away with that kind of a mess of swabs, not you. As sure as God sees me, I'd soon lose my hand. If I'd turn again, my duty. All of a sudden, he was interrupted by a noise. I had found one of the honest hands. Well, here at that same moment, came news of another.

Flour away out in the marsh. There arose all of a sudden. The sound like the cry of anger. And then one horrid, long drawn scream. The rocks of the spyglass re-echoed at a score at times. The whole trooper, marsh birds rose again, darkening heaven with a simultaneous roar. And long after that death yell was still ringing in my brain, silence had re-established its empire. Tom had leapt at the sound like a horse at the spur, but Silver hadn't winked an eye. He stood what he was, resting lightly on his couch, watching his companion like a snake about to spring. John! Hands off! Cryed Silver, leaping back a yard as it seemed to me with the speed and security of a train gymnast. It's off if you like John Silver. It's a black conscience that can make you fear to me.

But in heaven's name, tell me, what was that? That returned Silver, smiling away, but whereier than ever. His eye a near pinpoint in his big face, but gleaming like a crumb of glass. That! Oh, I reckon that'll be Alan. Alan, then rest his soul for a true seaman. And that's for you, John Silver. Long you've been a mate of mine. But you're a mate of mine, no more. If I die like a dog, I'll die in my duty. You've killed Alan, have you? Tell me too if you can. But I defies you. And with that, this brave fellow turned his back directly on the cook and set off walking for the beach. But he was not destined to go far. With a cry, John seized the branch of a tree, whipped the crutch out of his armpit and sent that uncouth missile hurtling through the air. It's time for a time, point-former, stand with stunning violence right between the shoulders in the middle of his back.

His hands flew up, he gave a sort of gas and fell. Whether he were injured much or little, none could ever tell. Like enough, to judge from the sound, his back was broken on the spot. But he had no time given him to recover. Silver, had jarl as a monkey, even without leg or crutch, was on the top of him next moment, and had twice buried his knife up to the hilt in that defenseless body. From my place of ambush, I could hear him pantalown as he struck the blows. 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 couldn't tell, of course, the meaning of the signal, but it instantly awoke my fears. More men would become, 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 call 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 net me wings. As soon as I was clear of the fear, I ran as I never ran before. Scares mind in the direction of my flight, so long as it led me from the murderous. As I ran, the fear grew and grew upon me until it turned into a kind of frenzy. Indeed, could anyone 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? It was all over, I thought. Goodbye to the Hispaniola, goodbye 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 as well as I say, I'm still running. Without taking any notice, I had drawn near to the foot of the little hill with the two peaks, and I'd gotten to a part of the island where the live oaks grew more widely apart

and seen more like forest trees in their bearing of dimensions. Ingle the things where a few scattered parts, some of the fifties, I'm near a 70 feet high. The air too snelt more freshly than down beside the marsh. And here, a fresh alarm brought me to a standstill with a thumping heart. From the side of the hill which was here steep and stony, a spout of gravel was dislodged and fell wrackling and bound in 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 with a 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. I was now it seemed cut off upon both sides. Behind me the murderers, before me this lurking nondescript, and immediately I began to prefer the dangers that I knew to those I knew not. Silver himself appeared less terrible in contrast with this creature of the woods,

and I turned on my heel and looking sharply behind me over my shoulder began to retrace my steps in the direction of the boats. Instantly the figure reappeared and making a wide circuit began to hit me off. I was tired at any rate, but had I been as fresh as when I rose, I could see it was in vain for me to contend in speed with such an adversary. From trunk to trunk the creature flitted like a deer, running man-like on two legs, but unlike any man that I'd ever seen, stooping almost double as it ran. Yet a man it was, I could no longer be in doubt about that. I began to recall what I'd heard of cannibals. I was within an ace of calling for help. But the mere fact that he was a man, however wild, had somewhat reassured me that my fear of silver began to revive in proportion. I stood still therefore, and cast about for some method of escape, and as I was so thinking, the recollection of my pistol flashed into my mind. As soon as I remembered I was not defenseless,

courage glowed again in my heart, and I set my face resolutely for this man of the island, and walked briskly towards him. He was concealed by this time behind another tree trunk. But he must have been watching me closely. For as soon as I began to move in his direction, he reappeared and took a step to meet me. Then he hesitated, drew back, came forward again, and at last to my wonder-unconfusion threw him soven his knees and held out his clasped hands in suffocation. At that, I once more stopped. Who are you? Ben Gunn. He answered, and his voice sounded horse and awkward like a rusty lock. I'm poor Ben Gunn, I am, and I haven't spoke with a Christian of these three years. I could now see that he was a white man like myself, and that his features were even pleasing. His skin, wherever it was exposed, was burnt by the sun. Even his lips were black, and his fair eyes looked quite startling in

so darker face. Of all the beggar men that I had seen or fancied, he was the chief a raggedness. He was clothed with tatters of old ships, canvas, and old sea cloth, and this extraordinary patchwork was all held together by a system of the most various and incongruous fastnings, brass buttons, bits of sticker, loops of tarry gaskin. About his waist, he wore an old brass buckle leather belt, which was the one thing solid in his whole accoutrement. Three years? Were you shipwrecked? No, mate. Maroon! I'd heard the word, and I knew it stood for a horrible kind of punishment, common enough among the buccaneers, in which the offenderies put a shore with a little powder and shot, and left behind on some desolate and distant island. Marooned three years ago and lived on goats since then, and berries and oysters. Wherever a man is says I, a man can do for himself. But mate, my heart is sore for Christian diet. Ah, you mightn't happen to have

a piece of cheese about here now. No. Oh, well, minnish the long night, I've dreamed of cheese toasted mostly, and woke up again, and here I were. If ever I can get aboard again, you shall have cheese by the stove. Oh, all this time, you've been feeling the stuff of my jacket, smooth in my hands, looking at my boots, and generally in the intervals of his speech, showing a childish pleasure in the presence of a fellow creature. But in my last words, he poked up into a kind of startled slinest. If ever you can get aboard again, says you? Well, now who's to hinder you? Not you, I know. And I'm right, he was. And now you, what do you call yourself, mate? Jim. Jim, eh? Hey, Jim. Well, now, Jim, I've lived that rough as you'd be ashamed to hear of. And now, for instance,

you wouldn't think I had a pious mother, but look at me. Well, no, not in particular. Oh, but I had remarkable pious, and I was a civil pious boy, and I could rattle off my catechism that fast, as you couldn't tell one word from another. And here's when it come to Jim, and it's begun with Chuck Farther on the blessed gravestones. And that's what it had begun with. But it went farther than that, and so my mother told me, and predicted the whole she did, the pious woman. But it was providence that put me here, and I've thought it all out in this here lonely island, and I'm back on piety, eh? You don't catch me tasting rum so much, but, oh, just a thimbleful luck, of course, the first chance I have, and I'm bound, I'll be good,

and I see the way to, and, eh, Jim, eh? I'm rich. I now felt sure that the poor fellow had gone crazy in his childhood, and I suppose I must have shown the feeling in my face for he repeated the statement hotly. Rich? Rich? I said, and I'll tell you what, I'll make a man of you, Jim. Jim, oh, you'll bless your stars, you will, you was the first that found me. And this, there came suddenly a lorry shadow over his face, and he tightened his grasp upon my head, and raised a forefinger threateningly before my eyes. Now, Jim, you tell me true, that ain't Flint's ship. At this, I had a happy inspiration. I began to believe that I had found an ally, and I answered him at once. It's not Flint's ship, at Flint's dead. But I'll tell you

true, as you ask me, there are some of Flint's hands aboard, worse luck for the rest of us. Not a man with one leg. Silver? Hey, silver, that's what his name. He's the cook, and a ringleader too. He was still holding me by the wrist, and at that he gave it quite a ring. Oh, if you were sent by Long John, I'm as good as pork, and I know it. But where was he, I suppose? I had made up my mind in a moment, and by way of answer, told him the whole story of our voyage and the predicament in which we found ourselves. He heard me with a keenest interest, and when I had done, he pattened me on the head. You're a good lad, Jim, and you're all in a clove, you chaintier. Well, you just put your trust in Ben Gunn. Ben Gunn's the man to do it. Would you think it likely now that your squire would prove a liberal-minded one in case of help? Him being in a clove hitch, as you remark.

I told him the squire was the most liberal of men. Ah, but you see, I didn't mean giving me a gate to keep and a suit of livery clothes, and such, that's not my mark, Jim. What I mean is, would he be likely to come down to the tune of saying you one thousand pounds out of money that is as good as a man's own already? I'm sure he would. As it was, all hands were to share. And a passage home? He had in with a local great shrewdness. Why, the squire is a gentle man. And besides, if we got rid of the others, we should want you to help work the vessel home. Ah, I saw your wood. And he seemed very much relieved. No, I'll tell you what. So much I'll tell you, and no more. I were in Flint's ship when he buried the treasure. He and six along, six strong

semen. They were a sure nigh on a week, and I standing off and on in the old waters. One fine day up went the signal, and here come Flint by himself in a little boat, and his head done up in a blue scarf. The sun was getting up, and mortal white he looked about the cut water. But there he was, mind, and the six all dead. Dead and buried. How he'd done it, not a man of borders could make out. It was battle, murder, and sudden deathless ways. Him against six. Billy Bones was the mate. Long journey, he was quarter master, and they asked him where the treasure was. Ah, says he. You can go ashore if you like and stay, he says. But as for the ship,

she'll beat up for more by thunder. That's what he said. Well, I was in another ship, three years back, and we sighted this island. Boy, as I said, his Flint's treasure. Let's land and find it. The captain was displeased at that, but me messmates were all of a mind and landed. Twelve days they looked for it, and every day they had a worse word from me, until one fine morning all hands went aboard. As for you, Benjamin Gunn says they, here's a musket, this is, and a spade, and a pickaxe, and you can stay here and find Flint's money for yourself, this is. Well, Jim, three years have I been here, and not a bite a Christian

diet from that day to this, but now you look here. You look at me, do I look like a man before the mast? No, says you. Nor I weren't neither, I says. And with that, he winked and pinched me hard. At just you mentioned them words to your squire, Jim, nor he weren't neither, but that's the words. Three years he was a man of this island, light and dark, fair and lean, and sometimes he would maybe think upon a prayer, says you, and sometimes he would maybe think of his old mother, so be as she's alive, he will say. But the most part of Gunn's time, this is what you'll say, the most part of his time, was took up with another matter, and then you'll give him a niff,

like I do. And he pinched me again in the most confidential man. And then you'll up, and you'll say this, Gunn is a good man, you'll say, and he puts a precious sight, more confidential, a precious sight. Mind that, in a gentleman born, then in these gentlemen of fortune, he haven't been one himself. Well, I don't understand one word that you've been saying, but that's neither him nor there, for how might it get on board? That's the hitch, for sure. Well, there's my boat, that I made with me two hands. I keep her under the white rock. If the worst come to the worst, we might try that after dark. What's that? For just them, although the sun had still an hour or two to run, all the echoes of the island awoke and bellow to the thunder of a cannon. They've become to fight,

follow me, and I'll begin to run towards the anchorage. My terrors all forgotten. While close at my side, the marooned man in his goat skins trotted easily and lightly. Left, left, left. I keep to your left hand, mate, Jim. Yes, under the trees with you. Oh, there's where I killed my first goat. They don't come down here now. They're all mastheaded on their mountains for the fear of Benjamin Gunn. Oh, and there's the settimer here. Cemetery, he must defend. You see the mounds. I come here and pray, now and then, when I thought maybe a Sunday would be about to do, and it weren't quite a chapel, but it seemed more solemn like, and then says, yeah, Ben Gunn was short-handed, no chaplain, nor so much as a Bible and a flag, he says. So he kept talking as I ran, neither expecting nor receiving any answer. The cannon shot was followed after a considerable interval by a volley of small arms.

Another pause, and then, not a quarter of a mile in front of me. I beheld a union jack flutter in the air above a wood. This is Ursula Drobic, thanking you for joining us on The Spider's Web, and our eighth reading of Treasure Island by Robert Lewis Stevenson, published by Charles Scribner's Sons Incorporated New York. Our readers for this episode were Murray Biggs, Bill Cappness, and Peter Johnson. The music was composed and arranged by Reginald Hesché, with performances by Anno Bryan, Catherine Mason, and Laurel Sharp. The synthesizer was programmed by Mark Gov.

It's a web made to catch a dream, hold it tight till I awaken, as if to tell me dreams all right. This program was produced and directed by George Murensi, with production assistance by Lee Ellen Marvin, an additional research by Amy Zonderman. The engineer was Miles Siegel. The Spider's Web is produced in the studios of WGBH Radio in Boston, and is distributed with funds provided by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting by NPR National Public Radio.