CHAPTER
4
Storming the Inn
Por: Shamir Galvá
The
sound drew nearer and nearer. We sat there holding our breath. Then the stick
struck sharply upon the inn door. We could hear the handle being turned. The bolt
rattled as that awful man tried to enter the inn. Then there was a long
silence. The tapping began once again. But to our joy, it slowly died away.
“Mother,”
I said, “takes the whole of it and let’s be going.”
That
the door was bolted must have seemed unusual to the blind man, but I was glad I
had locked it. Still, my mother, frightened as she was, would not agree to take
a bit more of the money than what was owed her. She also would not take less. So
she continued her count until a low whistle sounded. That was enough—more than
enough—for both of us.
“I’ll
take what I have,” she said quickly.
“I’ll
take this to even our account,” said I, picking up the package from the chest.
We
raced down the stairs, opened the door, and made our escape. We had not started
a moment too soon. The fog that had hidden the inn from view was disappearing. The
moon was shining clearly around us. It was only just around the tavern door
that a bit of fog still hung about to cover the first few steps of our escape. We
saw that beyond the bottom of the hill, we would come forth into the moonlight.
I grasped my mother’s hand tightly.
This
was not all. We heard the sound of running footsteps coming toward us.
We
had just made it to the little bridge near the inn when my mother and run on. I
am going to faint.” This was certainly the end for both of us, I thought.
I
helped her to the edge of the bank where, sure enough, she gave a sigh and fell
on my shoulder. I do not know how I found the strength to do it, and I am
afraid I did it roughly—but I managed to drag her a little way under the
bridge. There we were partly hidden; and it was there that we had to
stay—within earshot of the inn.
I
crept back to the bank again and lay down behind a bush. From where I was, I could
see the inn. I had hardly been there a
moment when some men arrived.
There
were seven or eight of them.
Their
feet were beating out of time along the road. A man with a lantern was leading
them.
Three men ran together. Through the mist I could
see that the one in the middle was the blind beggar. At the next moment his
voice showed me I was right.
“Down
with the door!” he cried.
“Aye,
aye sir!” answered two or three of the others. Then a rush was made upon the
inn.
I
saw them wait. They spoke in low whispers, as if they were surprised to find
that the door had already been opened, but the wait was brief. The blind man
again gave his orders. His voice sounded louder and higher, as if he were
filled with rage.
“In,
in, in!” the blind man shouted.
I
heard a voice shout from inside—“Bill’s dead!” But the blind man swore at them.
“Search him, you shirking lubbers, and get the chest,” he cried.
I
could hear their feet rattling up our stairs. The window of the captain’s room
opened with a shatter of broken glass. A man called, “Pew, they’ve been here
before us. I can’t find the map!”
“it’s
that boy,” said Pew. “I wish I had put his eyes out. They were here—they had the door bolted when I tried it. Scatter, lads,
and find them!”
Just
then we again heard that same low whistle that had frightened us when my mother
was counting the dead captain’s money. I understood now that it was a warning
signal telling of some danger.
“There’s
that whistle again,” said one man. “Let’s go.”
“Scatter
and look for them,” cried Pew. “If only I had eyes!”
The
men began to run. As they did so, the noise of horses could be heard. Almost at
the same time came a pistol shot. The men ran in every direction and, in no
time, not a sign of them remained—except for Pew.
Pew
was tapping up and down the road calling in vain for his friends. Some riders
came at a gallop down the hill. Pew turned and, with a cry, rolled into a
ditch. He was on his feet in a second, but being very confused, he fell right
under the nearest of the oncoming horses. The rider tried to save him but the
blind man fell onto his side and moved no more.
I
soon saw that they were officers. I leaped up and called loudly to them. They said
that they had heard of a strange ship moored at Kitt’s Hole and were going to
see whose it was. As for Pew, he was dead—stone dead.
My
mother was brought back to the village and with a little cold water and
smelling salts; she was soon back to good health. I went back to the inn. Everything
was smashed, and I could see at once that we were ruined.
Mr.
Dance and a few of the other officers rode as fast as they could to Kitt’s
Hole, but when they got there, the ship was already under sail. He called for
them to come back. A voice called back to him saying that he had better keep
out of the moonlight or he would get some “lead in him.” Then a bullet whizzed
by his arm.
Soon
after that, the ship was gone.
“And
that,” said Mr. Dance, “is just about as good as nothing. They’ve gotten off
clean. Only I’m glad I stomped upon Master Pew.”
From: Treasury of Illustrated Classics Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson Adapted by Barbara Green 1996-2004.
