Nothing
SQUIRE TRELAWNEY, Dr. 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 sabre cut first took up
his lodging under our roof.
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 pigtail falling over the shoulder of his soiled blue coat,
his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails, and
the sabre cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid white. I remember
him looking round the cover and whistling to himself
as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that
he sang so often afterwards:
