Treasure Island (Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth)

By Robert Louis Stevenson

One of the most beloved adventure stories of all time, “Treasure Island” is a swashbuckling tale of the search for hidden treasure. When an old sea captain by the name of Billy Bones dies at the Admiral Benbow Inn on the west coast of England during the mid-1700s, Jim Hawkins, the innkeeper’s son, and his mother discover a treasure map among his belongings. Jim shows the map to some local acquaintances, Dr. Livesey and Squire Trelawney and together they plan an expedition to find the treasure. Together they set sail aboard the “Hispaniola” led by Captain Smollett in search of Treasure Island. Amongst the crew are numerous former pirates, who are led to mutiny by “Long John” Silver, a one-legged Bristol tavern-keeper who has been hired as the ship’s cook. Written in the late 19th century, Robert Louis Stevenson’s “Treasure Island” dramatically depicts maritime life, rich with all its perils, in an adventure that investigates the nature of good and evil itself. This edition is illustrated by N. C. Wyeth and includes a biographical afterword.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Digireads.com Publishing
• Release date: Sep 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781420959604

Robert Louis Stevenson

Robert Lewis Balfour Stevenson was born on 13 November 1850, changing his second name to ‘Louis’ at the age of eighteen. He has always been loved and admired by countless readers and critics for ‘the excitement, the fierce joy, the delight in strangeness, the pleasure in deep and dark adventures’ found in his classic stories and, without doubt, he created some of the most horribly unforgettable characters in literature and, above all, Mr. Edward Hyde.

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TREASURE ISLAND

By ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

Illustrated by N. C. WYETH

Treasure Island

By Robert Louis Stevenson

Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth

Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-5959-8

eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-5960-4

This edition copyright © 2018. Digireads.com Publishing.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover Image: a detail of an illustration for Treasure Island by N. C. Wyeth which appeared in an edition published by Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York, 1911.

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CONTENTS

PREFACE

PART 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

PART 2

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

PART 3

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

PART 4

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

PART 5

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

PART 6

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

BIOGRAPHICAL AFTERWORD

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Preface

MY FIRST BOOK—TREASURE ISLAND

It was far, indeed, from being my first book, for I am not a novelist alone. But I am well aware that my paymaster, the great public, regards what else I have written with indifference, if not aversion. If it call upon me at all, it calls on me in the familiar and indelible character; and when I am asked to talk of my first book, no question in the world but what is meant is my first novel.

Sooner or later, somehow, anyhow, I was bound I was to write a novel. It seems vain to ask why. Men are born with various manias: from my earliest childhood it was mine to make a plaything of imaginary series of events; and as soon as I was able to write, I became a good friend to the paper-makers. Reams upon reams must have gone to the making of Rathillet, the Pentland Rising, the King’s Pardon (otherwise Park Whitehead), Edward Darren, A Country Dance, and a Vendetta in the West; and it is consolatory to remember that these reams are now all ashes, and have been received again into the soil. I have named but a few of my ill-fated efforts: only such, indeed, as came to a fair bulk ere they were desisted from; and even so they cover a long vista of years. Rathillet was attempted before fifteen, the Vendetta at twenty-nine, and the succession of defeats lasted unbroken till I was thirty-one. By that time I had written little books and little essays and short stories, and had got patted on the back and paid for them—though not enough to live upon. I had quite a reputation. I was the successful man. I passed my days in toil, the futility of which would sometimes make my cheek to burn,—that I should spend a man’s energy upon this business, and yet could not earn a livelihood; and still there shone ahead of me an unattained ideal. Although I had attempted the thing with vigour not less than ten or twelve times, I had not yet written a novel. All—all my pretty ones—had gone for a little, and then stopped inexorably, like a school-boy’s watch. I might be compared to a cricketer of many years’ standing who should never have made a run. Anybody can write a short story—a bad one, I mean—who has industry and paper and time enough; but not everyone may hope to write even a bad novel. It is the length that kills. The accepted novelist may take his novel up and put it down, spend days upon it in vain, and write not any more than he makes haste to blot. Not so the beginner. Human nature has certain rights; instinct—the instinct of self-preservation—forbids that any man (cheered and supported by the consciousness of no previous victory) should endure the miseries of unsuccessful literary toil beyond a period to be measured in weeks. There must be something for hope to feed upon. The beginner must have a slant of wind, a lucky vein must be running, he must be in one of those hours when the words come and the phrases balance of themselves—even to begin. And having begun, what a dread looking forward is that until the book shall be accomplished! For so long a time the slant is to continue unchanged, the vein to keep running; for so long a time you must hold at command the same quality of style; for so long a time your puppets are to be always vital, always consistent, always vigorous. I remember I used to look, in those days, upon every three-volume novel with a sort of veneration, as a feat—not possibly of literature—but at least of physical and moral endurance and the courage of Ajax.

In the fated year I came to live with my father and mother at Kinnaird, above Pitlochry. There I walked on the red moors and by the side of the golden burn. The rude, pure air of our mountains inspirited, if it did not inspire us; and my wife and I projected a joint volume of bogie stories, for which she wrote The Shadow on the Bed, and I turned out Thrawn Janet, and a first draft of the Merry Men. I love my native air, but it does not love me; and the end of this delightful period was a cold, a fly blister, and a migration, by Strathairdle and Glenshee, to the Castleton of Braemar. There it blew a good deal and rained in a proportion. My native air was more unkind than man’s ingratitude; and I must consent to pass a good deal of my time between four walls in a house lugubriously known as the late Miss McGregor’s cottage. And now admire the finger of predestination. There was a school-boy in the late Miss McGregor’s cottage, home for the holidays, and much in want of something craggy to break his mind upon. He had no thought of literature; it was the art of Raphael that received his fleeting suffrages, and with the aid of pen and ink and a shilling box of water-colours, he had soon turned one of the rooms into a picture-gallery. My more immediate duty towards the gallery was to be showman; but I would sometimes unbend a little, join the artist (so to speak) at the easel, and pass the afternoon with him in generous emulation, making coloured drawings. On one of these occasions I made the map of an island; it was elaborately and (I thought) beautifully coloured; the shape of it took my fancy beyond expression; it contained harbours that pleased me like sonnets; and with the unconsciousness of the predestined, I ticketed my performance Treasure Island. I am told there are people who do not care for maps, and find it hard to believe. The names, the shapes of the woodlands, the courses of the roads and rivers, the prehistoric footsteps of man still distinctly traceable up hill and down dale, the mills and the ruins, the ponds and the ferries, perhaps the Standing Stone or the Druidic Circle on the heath; here is an inexhaustible fund of interest for any man with eyes to see, or twopence worth of imagination to understand with. No child but must remember laying his head on the grass, staring into the infinitesimal forest, and seeing it grow populous with fairy armies. Somewhat in this way, as I pored upon my map of Treasure Island, the future characters of the book began to appear there visibly among imaginary woods; and their brown faces and bright weapons peeped out upon me from unexpected quarters, as they passed to and fro, fighting, and hunting treasure, on these few square inches of a flat projection. The next thing I knew, I had some paper before me and was writing out a list of chapters. How often have I done so, and the thing gone no farther! But there seemed elements of success about this enterprise. It was to be a story for boys; no need of psychology or fine writing; and I had a boy at hand to be touchstone. Women were excluded. I was unable to handle a brig (which the Hispaniola should have been), but I thought I could make shift to sail her as a schooner without public shame. And then I had an idea for John Silver from which I promised myself funds of entertainment: to take an admired friend of mine (whom the reader very likely knows and admires as much as I do), to deprive him of all his finer qualities and higher graces of temperament, to leave him with nothing but his strength, his courage, his quickness, and his magnificent geniality, and to try to express these in terms of the culture of a raw tarpaulin. Such psychical surgery is, I think, a common way of making character; perhaps it is, indeed, the only way. We can put in the quaint figure that spoke a hundred words with us yesterday by the wayside; but do we know him? Our friend, with his infinite variety and flexibility, we know—but can we put him in? Upon the first we must engraft secondary and imaginary qualities, possibly all wrong; from the second, knife in hand, we must cut away and deduct the needless arborescence of his nature; but the trunk and the few branches that remain we may at least be fairly sure of.

On a chill September morning, by the cheek of a brisk fire, and the rain drumming on the window, I began the Sea Cook, for that was the original title. I have begun (and finished) a number of other books, but I cannot remember to have sat down to one of them with more complacency. It is not to be wondered at, for stolen waters are proverbially sweet. I am now upon a painful chapter. No doubt the parrot once belonged to Robinson Crusoe. No doubt the skeleton is conveyed from Poe. I think little of these, they are trifles and details; and no man can hope to have a monopoly of skeletons or make a corner in talking birds. The stockade, I am told, is from Masterman Ready. It may be, I care not a jot. These useful writers had fulfilled the poet’s saying: departing, they had left behind them

"Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints that perhaps another ..."

and I was the other! It is my debt to Washington Irving that exercises my conscience, and justly so, for I believe plagiarism was rarely carried farther. I chanced to pick up the Tales of a Traveller some years ago, with a view to an anthology of prose narrative, and the book flew up and struck me: Billy Bones, his chest, the company in the parlour, the whole inner spirit and a good deal of the material detail of my first chapters—all were there, all were the property of Washington Irving. But I had no guess of it then as I sat writing by the fireside, in what seemed the springtides of a somewhat pedestrian inspiration; nor yet day by day, after lunch, as I read aloud my morning’s work to the family. It seemed to me original as sin; it seemed to belong to me like my right eye. I had counted on one boy; I found I had two in my audience. My father caught fire at once with all the romance and childishness of his original nature. His own stories, that every night of his life he put himself to sleep with, dealt perpetually with ships, roadside inns, robbers, old sailors, and commercial travellers before the era of steam. He never finished one of these romances: the lucky man did not require to! But in Treasure Island he recognised something kindred to his own imagination; it was his kind of picturesque; and he not only heard with delight the daily chapter, but set himself actively to collaborate. When the time came for Billy Bones’s chest to be ransacked, he must have passed the better part of a day preparing, on the back of a legal envelope, an inventory of its contents, which I exactly followed; and the name of Flint’s old ship, the Walrus, was given at his particular request. And now, who should come dropping in, ex machina, but Dr. Japp, like the disguised prince who is to bring down the curtain upon peace and happiness in the last act, for he carried in his pocket not a horn or a talisman, but a publisher; had, in fact, been charged by my old friend Mr. Henderson to unearth new writers for Young Folks. Even the ruthlessness of a united family recoiled before the extreme measure of inflicting on our guest the mutilated members of the Sea Cook; at the same time we would by no means stop our readings, and accordingly the tale was begun again at the beginning, and solemnly redelivered for the benefit of Dr. Japp. From that moment on I have thought highly of his critical faculty; for when he left us, he carried away the manuscript in his portmanteau.

Here, then, was everything to keep me up—sympathy, help, and now a positive engagement. I had chosen besides a very easy style. Compare it with the almost contemporary Merry Men; one may prefer the one style, one the other—’tis an affair of character, perhaps of mood; but no expert can fail to see that the one is much more difficult, and the other much easier, to maintain. It seems as though a full-grown, experienced man of letters might engage to turn out Treasure Island at so many pages a day, and keep his pipe alight. But alas! this was not my case. Fifteen days I stuck to it, and turned out fifteen chapters; and then, in the early paragraphs of the sixteenth, ignominiously lost hold. My mouth was empty; there was not one word more of Treasure Island in my bosom; and here were the proofs of the beginning already waiting me at the Hand and Spear! There I corrected them, living for the most part alone, walking on the heath at Weybridge in dewy autumn mornings, a good deal pleased with what I had done, and more appalled than I can depict to you in words at what remained for me to do. I was thirty-one; I was the head of a family; I had lost my health; I had never yet paid my way, had never yet made two hundred pounds a year; my father had quite recently bought back and cancelled a book that was judged a failure; was this to be another and last fiasco? I was indeed very close on despair; but I shut my mouth hard, and during the journey to Davos, where I was to pass the winter, had the resolution to think of other things, and bury myself in the novels of M. du Boisgobey. Arrived at my destination, down I sat one morning to the unfinished tale, and behold! it flowed from me like small talk; and in a second tide of delighted industry, and again at the rate of a chapter a day, I finished Treasure Island. It had to be transacted almost secretly. My wife was ill, the school-boy remained alone of the faithful, and John Addington Symonds (to whom I timidly mentioned what I was engaged on) looked on me askance. He was at that time very eager I should write on the Characters of Theophrastus, so far out may be the judgments of the wisest men. But Symonds (to be sure) was scarce the confidant to go to for sympathy in a boy’s story. He was large-minded; a full man, if there ever was one; but the very name of my enterprise would suggest to him only capitulations of sincerity and solecisms of style. Well, he was not far wrong.

Treasure Island—it was Mr. Henderson who deleted the first title, The Sea Cook—appeared duly in the story paper, where it figured in the ignoble midst without woodcuts, and attracted not the least attention. I did not care. I liked the tale myself, for much the same reason as my father liked the beginning: it was my kind of picturesque. I was not a little proud of John Silver also, and to this day rather admire that smooth and formidable adventurer. What was infinitely more exhilarating, I had passed a landmark; I had finished a tale, and written The End upon my manuscript, as I had not done since the Pentland Rising, when I was a boy of sixteen, not yet at college. In truth it was by a set of lucky accidents: had not Dr. Japp come on his visit, had not the tale flowed from me with singular ease, it must have been laid aside like its predecessors, and found a circuitous and unlamented way to the fire. Purists may suggest it would have been better so. I am not of that mind. The tale seems to have given much pleasure, and it brought (or was the means of bringing) fire and food and wine to a deserving family in which I took an interest. I need scarce say I mean my own.

But the adventures of Treasure Island are not yet quite at an end. I had written it up to the map. The map was the chief part of my plot. For instance, I had called an islet Skeleton Island, not knowing what I meant, seeking only for the immediate picturesque; and it was to justify this name that I broke into the gallery of Mr. Poe and stole Flint’s pointer. And in the same way, it was because I had made two harbours that the Hispaniola was sent on her wanderings with Israel Hands. The time came when it was decided to republish, and I sent in my manuscript and the map along with it to Messrs. Cassell. The proofs came, they were corrected, but I heard nothing of the map. I wrote and asked; was told that it had never been received, and sat aghast. It is one thing to draw a map at random, set a scale in one corner of it at a venture, and write up a story to the measurements. It is quite another to have to examine a whole book, make an inventory of all the allusions contained in it, and with a pair of compasses painfully design a map to suit the data. I did it, and the map was drawn again in my father’s office, with embellishments of blowing whales and sailing ships; and my father himself brought into service a knack he had of various writing, and elaborately forged the signature of Captain Flint and the sailing directions of Billy Bones. But somehow it was never Treasure Island to me.

I have said it was the most of the plot. I might almost say it was the whole. A few reminiscences of Poe, Defoe, and Washington Irving, a copy of Johnson’s Buccaneers, the name of the Dead Man’s Chest from Kingsley’s At Last, some recollection of canoeing on the high seas, a cruise in a fifteen-ton schooner yacht, and the map itself with its infinite, eloquent suggestion, made up the whole of my materials. It is perhaps not often that a map figures so largely in a tale; yet it is always important. The author must know his countryside, whether real or imaginary, like his hand; the distances, the points of the compass, the place of the sun’s rising, the behaviour of the moon, should all be beyond cavil. And how troublesome the moon is! I have come to grief over the moon in Prince Otto; and so soon as that was pointed out to me, adopted a precaution which I recommend to other men—I never write now without an almanac. With an almanac, and the map of the country and the plan of every house, either actually plotted on paper or clearly and immediately apprehended in the mind, a man may hope to avoid some of the grossest possible blunders. With the map before him, he will scarce allow the sun to set in the east, as it does in the Antiquary. With the almanac at hand, he will scarce allow two horsemen, journeying on the most urgent affair, to employ six days, from three of the Monday morning till late in the Saturday night, upon a journey of, say, ninety or a hundred miles; and before the week is out, and till on the same nags, to cover fifty in one day, as he may read at length in the inimitable novel of Rob Roy. And it is certainly well, though far from necessary, to avoid such croppers. But it is my contention—my superstition, if you like—that he who is faithful to his map, and consults it, and draws from it his inspiration, daily and hourly gains positive support, and not mere negative immunity from accident. The tale has a root there; it grows in that soil; it has a spine of its own behind the words. Better if the country be real, and he has walked every foot of it and knows every milestone. But, even with imaginary places, he will do well in the beginning to provide a map. As he studies it, relations will appear that he had not thought upon. He will discover obvious though unsuspected short cuts and footpaths for his messengers; and even when a map is not all the plot, as it was in Treasure Island, it will be found to be a mine of suggestion.

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

1910.

TREASURE ISLAND

To S. L. O., an American gentleman in accordance with whose classic taste the following

Reviews for Treasure Island (Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth)

[jothebookgirl · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I listened to the audio and read the book. It never got any better. My eyes went over the words but I do not know what really happens in the book. I used wikipedia to try and separate the characters but there were just too many. The only thing I really remember is about the apple barrell.
But I gave it all I had.

[ramirez_3 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

It's Adventure, with capital A.If you didn't read it, you didn't have a happy childhood.

[mhanover10 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Very enjoyable as an audiobook. The reader does a fantastic job with the voices and the emotion.

[odinblindeye · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

YAAARR. This be a tale of scallywags and high seas. Adventure be at it's finest, and the rum flows like water me lads.

[bettesbooks · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I usually dislike reading classics because the writing style is so different from what we read every day. But, RLS style was not offsetting, maybe because I expected the “pirate” style of talking and so wasn’t distracted by mentally trying to rewrite the text. And, with any adventure story you must be in the frame of mind for the adventure. I put down several times because I couldn’t settle into the story, but once my attention was attached I could not put it down.

[sarahgracegrzy · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Not really my cup of tea, but I can understand why it's a classic.

[philsyphe · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Think I read this at primary school, though it may have been early days at secondary school, so will say circa 1986 as a guess. Certainly enjoyed it at the time, as I was always into this type of tale, along with watching several adaptations of this book. Unsure whether I'd appreciate it as much if I read this as an adult, but either way it deserves at least four stars.

[rottie_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson was an excellent book that I enjoyed reading. I like adventures and have not read a lot of pirate stories but this was one that I liked. I could see this story being well perceived by young and old as well. I would recommend this to be read by others.

[boes0106 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I thought this book was pretty neat. I read a super old edition my dad had when he was in school. It totally made me want to watch Muppet treasure island, one of my favorite movies growing up. After reading the book i am better able to appreciate some of the humor in the movie, like "you killed dead tom" and the talking crab that is supposed to be the parrot captain flint.

[milliehennessy · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is one of the classics I’ve wanted to read for a long time, but have put it off because I wanted to like it and wasn’t sure I would. Turns out, I liked it!As I mentioned on a Goodreads update, I pictured the entire cast based on that of Muppet Treasure Island because how could I not!? Sadly, there aren’t any original roles for Gonzo and Rizzo, so they were left out of my imaginings. The first half of the movie was surprisingly faithful to the book, song and dance numbers aside. Anyway!Jim is a smart lad, quick on his feet and fairly brave, which proves useful to his allies several times throughout the story. BookJim has less personality than MuppetMovieJim (ok, I know I need to stop comparing them) yet I found him more likable. Jim is young, around fourteen if I remember correctly (which I probably don’t), and therefore very excited about the chance of an adventure at sea. But he does show an impressive amount of caution once he realizes the danger he’s in. I enjoyed that he admitted his fear in several situations (he’s the narrator, by the way), yet soldiered on. There’s not a lot of a character arc for him (or anyone, really), but he kept my interest.The story was a faster read than I expected – some classics feel heavy due to the antiquated language and can get incredibly wordy. I flew through this book in a matter of days. The plot keeps a nice pace and the action is spread out amongst Jim’s musings and observations about life at sea and then the island itself. There were some scenes where I had no idea what the hell took place, however. I just know actions took place and as a result, the story moved forward (example: Jim somehow hijacked the ship all by himself) and rather than re-read to clarify, I just plowed forward. So that fault lies entirely with me, but I thought I’d mention it anyway.All in all, I wasn’t blown away. The story lacks a lot of detail in regards to world and character building (though I was happy to be spared the constant facial and clothing descriptions that often come with more modern works), but the simplistic style did make it easily readable. I’m not sure what the book was missing (Muppets maybe?!), but I wanted just a touch of something more. It was enjoyable, but not a classic I’ll return to. Fairly suitable for younger readers though, as there’s not much in the way of violence and what there is could easily be skimmed over.

[maimi_5 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

It was exciting story and sometimes thrilled me. A boy, Jim goes to find the tresure whichi is on the map he has got accidentaly with pirates. He risks his life but finally he successes to get the tresure. He says he never want to go again but he will never forget the adventure he had.

[maggieflo_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Jim Hawkins narrates this story of the search for buried treasure. Main characters include Dr. livesey, Trelawney, capt Smolttet, Long John Silver and members of the crew.

[bicyclewriter · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A fun classic. Highly recommend for every adolescent boy on earth!

[versor-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I really enjoyed reading through this. It's a great adventure tale, and it has been deemed a classic for good reason.

A lot of my reading was colored by the number of times I've seen various film adaptations of the story, and I must say I was impressed that no film version I have ever seen accurately represents the entire story. One will get these things right, another will get those things right, and all of them will miss out on this tidbit, or that one. But I liked the book a great deal.

It doesn't get five stars for... some reason or another. I don't quite remember. My brain is a little frazzled right now, for personal reasons; perhaps I will amend this review later if I think of more details.

[regoodrich · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Excellent book! Robert Louis Stevenson was skilled with words and the art of storytelling. I was impressed by so many things in this book. First and foremost the grim pirate adventure. He spared few on this harsh and bloody treasure hunt, painting a pirate's life in its truest colors. Stevenson's descriptive ability proved masterful, especially regarding his detailed writeup of ship handling. Silver's character unfolded beautifully - a sly, wise buccaneer expert in the art of manipulating people. It was interesting to watch him change sides here and there in the story, making his character the most dangerous of villians, and the one to get away. And yet, as awful as he was, the fact that he escaped hanging and even heisted some of the treasure earns its own strange sense of relief. This book was a joy to read, not to mention a true lesson in the art of writing. I loved it!

[librarycin · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Jim lives with his parents, who run a bed and breakfast. When a mysterious man arrives to stay and dies while there, strange people come looking for him. Jim and his mom find a treasure map amongst his possessions. Jim takes it to the doctor and they round up some people to go looking for the treasure, include Long John Silver. But, looking for treasure with pirates can be dangerous...It was o.k. There were some times I found the story more interesting than others, but I have to admit that I had a hard time focusing on the story for some reason. I got distracted easily, so I know I missed some things. Funny thing - I thought it would pick up towards the end, but I think I actually found the beginning more interesting, or at least, that was when I was able to focus better.

[sheila1957 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Action adventure story of Jim Hawkins and Long John Silver. I enjoyed this classic. I'm not sure that it is for children but I had a good time reading it. It was fun reading the phrases that come to mind when thinking of pirates of days gone by (Shiver my timbers, Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of rum.) It's also nice to know that the classic Mr. Magoo Illustrated Classics cartoon followed the book very well. This is a fun read.

[nielspeterqm · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This vastly influential pirate novel, first published 1881 (but with its story set in the middle 1700s) is of course superb, warmly recommended for everyone.But first a warning on what *not* to expect from its pirates. With all the pop-glamour surrounding buccaneering today, it's a surprise to see how the pirates in Treasure Island are depicted. Dangerous & bloodthirsty, but also seemingly rotten & somewhat incapable, with the only benefit of the doubt befalling Long John Silver.There may be undertones & hidden messages, but at face value most of the demonstrated competence is on the side of the British Empire, with her apparently disciplined sailors, stern captains, effective gentry, & fearless magistrates. Not to mention the Union Jack flag, furiously pitted against the skull & crossbones Jolly Roger.Modern pirate stories, in which imperial Britain may come out less favourably, have many fans. But the more old-fashioned point of view in Treasure Island is precisely what makes it interesting to modern readers. It highlights the multiple myths surrounding this pioneering age of global navigation.Also, to grasp the mystique of the treasure, it helps to understand how outlandish it is. The treasure buried on the island is estimated at £700,000. This sum was at the time of the story vast almost beyond comprehension. A booty share of £100,000 placed at, say, 5% interest, would yield the annual income of £5,000, enough to compete with the (extremely select) truly wealthy gentry, even with parts of the aristocracy. In Jane Austen's regency novel Emma, the heroine's father has a fortune of £30,000, repeatedly pegging him as "rich", certainly the richest man in the area. Yet his income is merely £1,500 a year.Even £1,000 a year (an elite threshold already) gave you resources for a good house & a private carriage - with all the needed servants. This is exactly the sort of respectability that many of the book's pirates & misfits articulate so loudly. Repeatedly, almost hypnotically, they utter their ultimate fantasy: owning a carriage.This isn't mere greed. It's the longing for an existence redeemed.

[scribblekey · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was a lot of fun to read. I don't know what to say. It's a classic adventure. If you like pirates, read it.

[thesmellofbooks · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

So glad I finally read this book.

[zhyatt-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is an excellent book. Although originally intended for younger people, it was written in the 1800s and is thus pretty on-par with a high-school reading level today.Now, just about everyone has had to read this book at some point in school - if you haven't reread it since, I highly recommend you do so. It's the definition of a swashbuckling tale, and it really shines with a second reading.

[rickyhaas · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The first time I read this book was in fourth grade and I loved it even then. Its definitely one of my favorite classic books and my all time favorite pirate story. Jim Hawkins, the protagonist and main narrator is a thirteen year old boy who many young boys can easily relate to. The characters are vibrant and unique, including Long John Silver, one of the most incredible villains ever created. The story also flows nicely with a only a brief interruption of Jim's narrative in which another character narrates for a couple chapters. However the transition is smooth and doesn't cause confusion. All this together makes this one of my favorites books and I would definitely recommend it to readers of all ages. And I can't say enough about the Word Cloud Classic edition of the book. Imprinted to the front and back of the book are characters' names and quotes from the book and it just looks awesome. Also the movie Treasure Planet based on this book is a really interesting Science Fiction adaption of the story.

[bogopea · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Good adventure story at any age. I never read it as a child as it was considered a boy's book. It's a great tale, very fast paced with interesting characters.

[captainflint_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I love the way the sea cook is introduced!

[marsap_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Robert Louis Stevenson s classic Treasure Island is the adventure story of Jim Hawkins who on a voyage for buried treasure finds himself in the middle of a mutiny with some of the nastiest pirates to ever sail the seven seas, including the pirate Long John Silver. I think this would be a wonderful book for a young reluctant reader, particularly one who is interested in a fast paced adventure plot. I particularly liked the characters of Jim Hawkins—the observer of all- and the complex Long John Silver (though he is a pirate he has moments of goodness). 3 ½ out of 5 stars.

[jshrop_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The classic tale of pirates and English gentleman, and a boy. Going back and reading this as an adult, I can't believe how predictable it was. I honestly couldn't remember all of the plot points from reading it as a child, but you could see most of the events coming a mile away none the less. This is one of those classic pieces of British work that wraps up all too neatly, and all of the pieces fall right into place without too much fuss. The words are well chosen, and the novel well written, but I'm sad to say that for me it doesn't stand the test of time.

[jaredmmatarau2012 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

this book is not a book for me not enough action and just boring

[libraryclerk · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Read it along with Cassidy this summer. Never read it before. Enjoyed it very much.

[spywall · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I read the "Jr." version of this as a kid and enjoyed it again as a 40 year old... I'm looking forward to reading this, a chapter a night, to my son & daughter when they're a little older.

[vibrantminds · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Jim Hawkins is running an inn with his parents when an old drunk captain, Billy Bones, over stays his welcome and eventually dies on their premises after being confronted by other sailors. Jim knows the captain had a chest and ransacks it and finds a map. After fleeing he comes in contact with Captain Smollett and they decide together to go after the treasure which is located on an island. They hire a crew one of which is Long John Silver but during the voyage the crew headed by Long John, mutinies. Once on the island the captain and a few others grab supplies and run. There are a few scourges between the two parties and many are left dead or injured. Jim scours the island finds a lost sailor, Ben Gunn, who had been left by Billy Bones. Ben has been alone on the island and little does everyone know he has found the treasure and hidden it elsewhere. Jim also recovers the ship which has been left unattended minus one sailor who he eventually kills. The mutineers discover the loss of the treasure and go crazy eventually allowing the captain and his remaining crew to get to the ship, collect the treasure hidden by Ben, who has now joined them, and set sail back to England. Long John Silver also rejoins them and by orders from England the captain can do nothing to him but along their journey home Long John Silver abandons the ship and is never seen again. The remaining crew return home and a few take advantage of their new found wealth while others flounder it. A classic tale of the good guys triumphing and conquering to the end.