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PinkMonkey.com-Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson
13. How My Shore Adventure Began
THE appearance of the island when I came on deck next
morning was altogether changed. Although the breeze had
now utterly ceased, we had made a great deal of way
during the night and were now lying becalmed about half a mile to
the south-east of the low eastern coast. Grey-coloured woods
covered a large part of the surface. This even tint was indeed
broken up by streaks of yellow sand-break in the lower lands, and
by many tall trees of the pine family, out-topping the others--some
singly, some in clumps; but the general colouring was uniform and
sad. The hills ran up clear above the vegetation in spires of naked
rock. All were strangely shaped, and the Spy-glass, which was by
three or four hundred feet the tallest on the island, was likewise
the strangest in configuration, running up sheer from almost every
side and then suddenly cut off at the top like a pedestal to put a
statue on.
The
Hispaniola
was rolling scuppers under in the ocean swell.
The booms were tearing at the blocks, the rudder was banging to
and fro, and the whole ship creaking, groaning, and jumping like a
manufactory. I had to cling tight to the backstay, and the world
turned giddily before my eyes, for though I was a good enough
sailor when there was way on, this standing still and being rolled
about like a bottle was a thing I never learned to stand without a
qualm or so, above all in the morning, on an empty stomach.
Perhaps it was this--perhaps it was the look of the island, with
its grey, melancholy woods, and wild stone spires, and the surf
that we could both see and hear foaming and thundering on the
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PinkMonkey.com-Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson
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