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I. -
The Persons of the Tale. “Good-morning, Cap’n,”
said the first, with a man-o’-war
salute, and a beaming countenance. “Ah, Silver!” grunted the
other. “You’re in a bad way,
Silver.” “Now, Cap’n Smollett,”
remonstrated Silver, “dooty is dooty,
as I knows, and none better; but we’re off dooty now; and I can’t see
no call
to keep up the morality business.” “You’re a damned rogue,
my man,” said the Captain. “Come, come, Cap’n, be
just,” returned the other. “There’s
no call to be angry with me in earnest. I’m on’y a chara’ter in a sea
story. I
don’t really exist.” “Well, I don’t really
exist either,” says the Captain,
“which seems to meet that.” “I wouldn’t set no limits
to what a virtuous chara’ter might
consider argument,” responded Silver. “But I’m the villain of this
tale, I am;
and speaking as one sea-faring man to another, what I want to know is,
what’s
the odds?” “Were you never taught
your catechism?” said the Captain.
“Don’t you know there’s such a thing as an Author?” “Such a thing as a
Author?” returned John, derisively. “And
who better’n me? And the p’int is, if the Author made you, he made Long
John,
and he made Hands, and Pew, and George Merry — not that George is up to
much,
for he’s little more’n a name; and he made Flint, what there is of him;
and he
made this here mutiny, you keep such a work about; and he had Tom
Redruth shot;
and — well, if that’s a Author, give me Pew!” “Don’t you believe in a
future state?” said Smollett. “Do
you think there’s nothing but the present story-paper?” “I don’t rightly know for
that,” said Silver; “and I don’t
see what it’s got to do with it, anyway. What I know is this: if there
is sich
a thing as a Author, I’m his favourite chara’ter. He does me fathoms
better’n
he does you — fathoms, he does. And he likes doing me. He keeps me on
deck
mostly all the time, crutch and all; and he leaves you measling in the
hold,
where nobody can’t see you, nor wants to, and you may lay to that! If
there is
a Author, by thunder, but he’s on my side, and you may lay to it!” “I see he’s giving you a
long rope,” said the Captain. “But
that can’t change a man’s convictions. I know the Author respects me; I
feel it
in my bones; when you and I had that talk at the blockhouse door, who
do you
think he was for, my man?” “And don’t he respect
me?” cried Silver. “Ah, you should ‘a’
heard me putting down my mutiny, George Merry and Morgan and that lot,
no
longer ago’n last chapter; you’d heard something then! You’d ‘a’ seen
what the
Author thinks o’ me! But come now, do you consider yourself a virtuous
chara’ter clean through?” “God forbid!” said
Captain Smollett, solemnly. “I am a man
that tries to do his duty, and makes a mess of it as often as not. I’m
not a
very popular man at home, Silver, I’m afraid!” and the Captain sighed. “Ah,” says Silver. “Then
how about this sequel of yours? Are
you to be Cap’n Smollett just the same as ever, and not very popular at
home,
says you? And if so, why, it’s Treasure
Island over again, by thunder; and I’ll be Long John, and Pew’ll
be Pew,
and we’ll have another mutiny, as like as not. Or are you to be
somebody else?
And if so, why, what the better are you? and what the worse am I?” “Why, look here, my man,”
returned the Captain, “I can’t
understand how this story comes about at all, can I? I can’t see how
you and I,
who don’t exist, should get to speaking here, and smoke our pipes for
all the
world like reality? Very well, then, who am I to pipe up with my
opinions? I
know the Author’s on the side of good; he tells me so, it runs out of
his pen
as he writes. Well, that’s all I need to know; I’ll take my chance upon
the
rest.” “It’s a fact he seemed to
be against George Merry,” Silver
admitted, musingly. “But George is little more’n a name at the best of
it,” he
added, brightening. “And to get into soundings for once. What is this
good? I
made a mutiny, and I been a gentleman o’ fortune; well, but by all
stories, you
ain’t no such saint. I’m a man that keeps company very easy; even by
your own
account, you ain’t, and to my certain knowledge you’re a devil to haze.
Which
is which? Which is good, and which bad? Ah, you tell me that! Here we
are in
stays, and you may lay to it!” “We’re none of us
perfect,” replied the Captain. “That’s a
fact of religion, my man. All I can say is, I try to do my duty; and if
you try
to do yours, I can’t compliment you on your success.” “And so you was the
judge, was you?” said Silver,
derisively. “I would be both judge
and hangman for you, my man, and
never turn a hair,” returned the Captain. “But I get beyond that: it
mayn’t be
sound theology, but it’s common sense, that what is good is useful too
— or
there and thereabout, for I don’t set up to be a thinker. Now, where
would a
story go to if there were no virtuous characters?” “If you go to that,”
replied Silver, “where would a story
begin, if there wasn’t no villains?” “Well, that’s pretty much
my thought,” said Captain
Smollett. “The Author has to get a story; that’s what he wants; and to
get a
story, and to have a man like the doctor (say) given a proper chance,
he has to
put in men like you and Hands. But he’s on the right side; and you mind
your
eye! You’re not through this story yet; there’s trouble coming for you.” “What’ll you bet?” asked
John. “Much I care if there
ain’t,” returned the Captain. “I’m
glad enough to be Alexander Smollett, bad as he is; and I thank my
stars upon
my knees that I’m not Silver. But there’s the ink-bottle opening. To
quarters!” And indeed the Author was
just then beginning to write the
words: CHAPTER
XXXIII. |