Chapter 7

I Go to Bristol

IT was longer than the squire imagined ere we were ready for the sea, and none of our first plans--not even Dr. Livesey's, of keeping me beside him--could be carried out as we intended. The doctor had to go to London for a physician to take charge of his practice; the squire was hard at work at Bristol; and I lived on at the hall under the charge of old Redruth, the gamekeeper, almost a prisoner, but full of sea-dreams and the most charming anticipations of strange islands and adventures.

I brooded by the hour together over the map, all the details of which

I well remembered. Sitting by the fire in the housekeeper's room, I approached that island in my fancy from every possible direction; I explored every acre of its surface; I climbed a thousand times to that tall hill they call the Spy-glass, and from the top enjoyed the most wonderful and changing prospects. Sometimes the isle was thick with savages, with whom we fought, sometimes full of dangerous animals that hunted us, but in all my fancies nothing occurred to me so strange and tragic as our actual adventures.

So the weeks passed on, till one fine day there came a letter addressed to Dr. Livesey, with this addition, "To be opened, in the case of his absence, by Tom Redruth or young Hawkins." Obeying this order, we found, or rather I found--for the gamekeeper was a poor hand at reading anything but print--the following important news:

Old Anchor Inn, Bristol, March 1, 17--

Dear Livesey--As I do not know whether you

are at the hall or still in London, I send this in

double to both places.

The ship is bought and fitted. She lies at

anchor, ready for sea. You never imagined a

sweeter schooner--a child might sail her--two

hundred tons; name, HISPANIOLA.

I got her through my old friend, Blandly, who

has proved himself throughout the most surprising

trump. The admirable fellow literally slaved in

my interest, and so, I may say, did everyone in

Bristol, as soon as they got wind of the port we

sailed for--treasure, I mean.

"Redruth," said I, interrupting the letter, "Dr. Livesey will not like that. The squire has been talking, after all."

"Well, who's a better right?" growled the gamekeeper. "A pretty rum go if squire ain't to talk for Dr. Livesey, I should think."

At that I gave up all attempts at commentary and read straight on: