Остров сокровищ

I Strike the Jolly Roger

           Itoccurredtometherewasnotimetolose,anddodgingtheboomasitoncemorelurchedacrossthedeck,Islippedaftanddownthecompanionstairsintothecabin.

           Itwassuchasceneofconfusionasyoucanhardlyfancy.Allthelockfastplaceshadbeenbrokenopeninquestofthechart.Thefloorwasthickwithmudwhereruffianshadsatdowntodrinkorconsultafterwadinginthemarshesroundtheircamp.Thebulkheads,allpaintedinclearwhiteandbeadedroundwithgilt,boreapatternofdirtyhands.Dozensofemptybottlesclinkedtogetherincornerstotherollingoftheship.Oneofthedoctor’smedicalbookslayopenonthetable,halfoftheleavesguttedout,Isuppose,forpipelights.Inthemidstofallthisthelampstillcastasmokyglow,obscureandbrownasumber.

           Iwentintothecellar;allthebarrelsweregone,andofthebottlesamostsurprisingnumberhadbeendrunkoutandthrownaway.Certainly,sincethemutinybegan,notamanofthemcouldeverhavebeensober.

           Foragingabout,Ifoundabottlewithsomebrandyleft,forHands;andformyselfIroutedoutsomebiscuit,somepickledfruits,agreatbunchofraisins,andapieceofcheese.WiththeseIcameondeck,putdownmyownstockbehindtherudderheadandwelloutofthecoxswain’sreach,wentforwardtothewater-breaker,andhadagooddeepdrinkofwater,andthen,andnottillthen,gaveHandsthebrandy.

           Hemusthavedrunkagillbeforehetookthebottlefromhismouth.

           "Aye,"saidhe,"bythunder,butIwantedsomeo’that!"

           Ihadsatdownalreadyinmyowncornerandbeguntoeat.

           "Muchhurt?"Iaskedhim.

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