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![Treasure Island (AmazonClassics Edition) by [Robert Louis Stevenson]](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/416nuQYuaIL._SY346_.jpg)
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Treasure Island (AmazonClassics Edition) Kindle Edition
Robert Louis Stevenson (Author) Find all the books, read about the author, and more. See search results for this author |
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Peg-legged pirates, colorful parrots, and plundered riches—they’re all here in Robert Louis Stevenson’s original seafaring adventure.
When young Jim Hawkins decides to follow a map to buried treasure, he must befriend or outsmart memorable characters such as pirate Long John Silver, captain Billy Bones, and island man Ben Gunn. Mutinous plans, mysterious deaths, and a tangle of double crosses keep Jim guessing all the way to the prize.
Inspired by real-life seafarers, Stevenson captures the adventurous spirit of the times and the imagination of readers, young and old alike.
Revised edition: Previously published as Treasure Island, this edition of Treasure Island (AmazonClassics Edition) includes editorial revisions.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherAmazonClassics
- Publication dateJune 27, 2017
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Editorial Reviews
About the Author
Scottish writer Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894) traveled early and often, leaving behind his family business and an education in engineering and law to pursue a life of adventure. His first books included An Inland Voyage, which contained tales of his travels—by canoe—from Antwerp to northern France.
Marriage took Stevenson even farther from home, as he and his wife Fanny settled in California, where he wrote short stories such as “The Treasure of Franchard” and “Markheim,” featuring themes that would appear in later novels.
Stevenson’s health declined in the 1880s, but his work flourished. He wrote Treasure Island while bedridden with a likely case of tuberculosis, and he followed up with The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Both were wildly popular when they were published in the 1880s, and they remain so today.
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To this day Jack London is the most widely read American writer in the world," E. L. Doctorow wrote in The New York Times Book Review. Generally considered to be London's greatest achievement, The Call of the Wild brought him international acclaim when it was published in 1903. His story of the dog Buck, who learns to survive in the bleak Yukon wilderness, is viewed by many as his symbolic autobiography. "No other popular writer of his time did any better writing than you will find in The Call of the Wild," said H. L. Mencken. "Here, indeed, are all the elements of sound fiction."
White Fang (1906), which London conceived as a "complete antithesis and companion piece to The Call of the Wild," is the tale of an abused wolf-dog tamed by exposure to civilization. Also included in this volume is "To Build a Fire," a marvelously desolate short story set in the Klondike, but containing all the elements of a classic Greek tragedy.
"The quintessential Jack London is in the on-rushing compulsive-ness of his northern stories," noted James Dickey. "Few men have more convincingly examined the connection between the creative powers of the individual writer and the unconscious drive to breed and to survive, found in the natural world. . . . London is in and committed to his creations to a degree very nearly unparalleled in the composition of fiction." --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
From AudioFile
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The Old Sea Dog at the "Admiral Benbow"
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 shoulders 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 cove and whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so often afterwards:-
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest-
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
in the high, old tottering voice that seemed to have been tuned and broken at the capstan bars. Then he rapped on the door with a bit of stick like a handspike that he carried, and when my father appeared, called roughly for a glass of rum. This, when it was brought to him, he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste, and still looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard.
"This is a handy cove," says he, at length; "and a pleasant sittyated grog-shop. Much company, mate?"
My father told him no, very little company, the more was the pity.
"Well, then," said he, "this is the berth for me. Here you, matey," he cried to the man who trundled the barrow; "bring up alongside and help up my chest. I'll stay here a bit," he continued. "I'm a plain man; rum and bacon and eggs is what I want, and that head up there for to watch ships off. What you mought call me? You mought call me captain. Oh, I see what you're at-there;" and he threw down three or four gold pieces on the threshold. "You can tell me when I've worked through that," says he, looking as fierce as a commander.
And, indeed, bad as his clothes were, and coarsely as he spoke, he had none of the appearance of a man who sailed before the mast; but seemed like a mate or skipper, accustomed to be obeyed or to strike. The man who came with the barrow told us the mail had set him down the morning before at the "Royal George;" that he had inquired what inns there were along the coast, and hearing ours well spoken of, I suppose, and described as lonely, had chosen it from the others for his place of residence. And that was all we could learn of our guest.
He was a very silent man by custom. All day he hung round the cove, or upon the cliffs, with a brass telescope; all evening he sat in a corner of the parlour next the fire, and drank rum and water very strong. Mostly he would not speak when spoken to; only look up sudden and fierce, and blow through his nose like a fog-horn; and we and the people who came about our house soon learned to let him be. Every day, when he came back from his stroll, he would ask if any seafaring men had gone by along the road? At first we thought it was the want of company of his own kind that made him ask this question; but at last we began to see he was desirous to avoid them. When a seaman put up at the "Admiral Benbow" (as now and then some did, making by the coast road for Bristol), he would look in at him through the curtained door before he entered the parlour; and he was always sure to be as silent as a mouse when any such was present. For me, at least, there was no secret about the matter; for I was, in a way, a sharer in his alarms. He had taken me aside one day, and promised me a silver fourpenny on the first of every month if I would only keep my "weather-eye open for a seafaring man with one leg," and let him know the moment he appeared. Often enough, when the first of the month came round, and I applied to him for my wage, he would only blow through his nose at me, and stare me down; but before the week was out he was sure to think better of it, bring me my fourpenny piece, and repeat his orders to look out for "the seafaring man with one leg."
How that personage haunted my dreams, I need scarcely tell you. On stormy nights, when the wind shook the four corners of the house, and the surf roared along the cove and up the cliffs, I would see him in a thousand forms, and with a thousand diabolical expressions. Now the leg would be cut off at the knee, now at the hip; now he was a monstrous kind of a creature who had never had but the one leg, and that in the middle of his body. To see him leap and run and pursue me over hedge and ditch was the worst of nightmares. And altogether I paid pretty dear for my monthly fourpenny piece, in the shape of these abominable fancies.
But though I was so terrified by the idea of the seafaring man with one leg, I was far less afraid of the captain himself than anybody else who knew him. There were nights when he took a deal more rum and water than his head would carry; and then he would sometimes sit and sing his wicked, old, wild sea-songs, minding nobody; but sometimes he would call for glasses round, and force all the trembling company to listen to his stories or bear a chorus to his singing. Often I have heard the house shaking with "Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum;" all the neighbours joining in for dear life, with the fear of death upon them, and each singing louder than the other, to avoid remark. For in these fits he was the most over-riding companion ever known; he would slap his hand on the table for silence all round; he would fly up in a passion of anger at a question, or sometimes because none was put, and so he judged the company was not following his story. Nor would he allow any one to leave the inn till he had drunk himself sleepy and reeled off to bed.
His stories were what frightened people worst of all. Dreadful stories they were; about hanging, and walking the plank, and storms at sea, and the Dry Tortugas, and wild deeds and places on the Spanish Main. By his own account he must have lived his life among some of the wickedest men that God ever allowed upon the sea; and the language in which he told these stories shocked our plain country people almost as much as the crimes that he described. My father was always saying the inn would be ruined, for people would soon cease coming there to be tyrannised over and put down, and sent shivering to their beds; but I really believe his presence did us good. People were frightened at the time, but on looking back they rather liked it; it was a fine excitement in a quiet country life; and there was even a party of the younger men who pretended to admire him, calling him a "true sea-dog," and a "real old salt," and such like names, and saying there was the sort of man that made England terrible at sea.
In one way, indeed, he bade fair to ruin us; for he kept on staying week after week, and at last month after month, so that all the money had been long exhausted, and still my father never plucked up the heart to insist on having more. If ever he mentioned it, the captain blew through his nose so loudly, that you might say he roared, and stared my poor father out of the room. I have seen him wringing his hands after such a rebuff, and I am sure the annoyance and the terror he lived in must have greatly hastened his early and unhappy death.
All the time he lived with us the captain made no change whatever in his dress but to buy some stockings from a hawker. One of the cocks of his hat having fallen down, he let it hang from that day forth, though it was a great annoyance when it blew. I remember the appearance of his coat, which he patched himself up-stairs in his room, and which, before the end, was nothing but patches. He never wrote or received a letter, and he never spoke with any but the neighbours, and with these, for the most part, only when drunk on rum. The great sea-chest none of us had ever seen open.
He was only once crossed, and that was towards the end, when my poor father was far gone in a decline that took him off. Dr. Livesey came late one afternoon to see the patient, took a bit of dinner from my mother, and went into the parlour to smoke a pipe until his horse should come down from the hamlet, for we had no stabling at the old "Benbow." I followed him in, and I remember observing the contrast the neat, bright doctor, with his powder as white as snow, and his bright, black eyes and pleasant manners, made with the coltish country folk, and above all, with that filthy, heavy, bleared scarecrow of a pirate of ours, sitting far gone in rum, with his arms on the table. Suddenly he-the captain, that is-began to pipe up his eternal song:-
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest-
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest-
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"
At first I had supposed "the dead man's chest" to be that identical big box of his up-stairs in the front room, and the thought had been mingled in my nightmares with that of the one-legged seafaring man. But by this time we had all long ceased to pay any particular notice to the song; it was new, that night, to nobody but Dr. Livesey, and on him I observed it did not produce an agreeable effect, for he looked up for a moment quite angrily before he went on with his talk to old Taylor, the gardener, on a new cure for the rheumatics. In the meantime, the captain gradually brightened up at his own music, and at last flapped his hand upon the table before him in a way we all knew to mean-silence. The voices stopped at once, all but Dr. Livesey's; he went on as before, speaking clear and kind, and drawing briskly at his pipe between every word or two. The captain glared at him for a while, flapped his hand again, glared still harder, and at last broke out with a villainous, low oath: "Silence, there, between decks!"
"Were you addressing me, sir?" says the doctor; and when the ruffian had told him, with another oath, that this was so, "I have only one thing to say to you, sir," replies the doctor, "that if you keep on drinking rum, the world will soon be quit of a very dirty scoundrel!"
The old fellow's fury was awful. He sprang to his feet, drew and opened a sailor's clasp-knife, and, balancing it open on the palm of his hand, threatened to pin the doctor to the wall.
The doctor never so much as moved. He spoke to him, as before, over his shoulder, and in the same tone of voice; rather high, so that all the room might hear, but perfectly calm and steady:-
"If you do not put that knife this instant in your pocket, I promise, upon my honour, you shall hang at the next assizes."
Then followed a battle of looks between them; but the captain soon knuckled under, put up his weapon, and resumed his seat, grumbling like a beaten dog.
"And now, sir," continued the doctor, "since I now know there's such a fellow in my district, you may count I'll have an eye upon you day and night. I'm not a doctor only; I'm a magistrate; and if I catch a breath of complaint against you, if it's only for a piece of incivility like to-night's, I'll take effectual means to have you hunted down and routed out of this. Let that suffice."
Soon after Dr. Livesey's horse came to the door, and he rode away; but the captain held his peace that evening, and for many evenings to come.
chapter II
Black Dog Appears
and Disappears
It was not very long after this that there occurred the first of the mysterious events that rid us at last of the captain, though not, as you will see, of his affairs. It was a bitter cold winter, with long, hard frosts and heavy gales; and it was plain from the first that my poor father was little likely to see the spring. He sank daily, and my mother and I had all the inn upon our hands; and were kept busy enough, without paying much regard to our unpleasant guest.
It was one January morning, very early-a pinching, frosty morning-the cove all grey with hoar-frost, the ripple lapping softly on the stones, the sun still low and only touching the hilltops and shining far to seaward. The captain had risen earlier than usual, and set out down the beach, his cutlass swinging under the broad skirts of the old blue coat, his brass telescope under his arm, his hat tilted back upon his head. I remember his breath hanging like smoke in his wake as he strode off, and the last sound I heard of him, as he turned the big rock, was a loud snort of indignation, as though his mind was still running upon Dr. Livesey.
Well, mother was up-stairs with father; and I was laying the breakfast-table against the captain's return, when the parlour door opened, and a man stepped in on whom I had never set my eyes before. He was a pale, tallowy creature, wanting two fingers of the left hand; and, though he wore a cutlass, he did not look much like a fighter. I had always my eye open for seafaring men, with one leg or two, and I remember this one puzzled me. He was not sailorly, and yet he had a smack of the sea about him too. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
From Booklist
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
From School Library Journal
© Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
Review
"Renowned artists are commissioned to design the binding for each of [White's Books]'s beautifully crafted hardcovers." —Fuck Yeah, Book Arts!
--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.Review
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Review
"Pleasant to read, scrupulously edited."--Tan Duncan, Yale Univ.
--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
From the Publisher
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From Publishers Weekly
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
Product details
- ASIN : B072Q1KBRT
- Publisher : AmazonClassics (June 27, 2017)
- Publication date : June 27, 2017
- Language : English
- File size : 1476 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Not Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Print length : 246 pages
- Lending : Not Enabled
- Best Sellers Rank: #8,356 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #16 in Action & Adventure (Kindle Store)
- #22 in Classic Literary Fiction
- #23 in Classic Action & Adventure (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the authors
Robert Louis Stevenson nació el 13 de noviembre de 1850 en Edimburgo.
Criado en el seno de una familia acomodada, su padre era ingeniero, cursó estudios en la universidad de su ciudad natal. Desde su infancia sintió inclinación por la literatura. Influido por la narrativa de Sir Walter Scott, muchas de sus historias están ambientadas en la Edad Media aunque tal vez sea el Pacífico el espacio literario que explorase con mayor fruicción. Enfermo de tuberculosis, se vio obligado a viajar continuamente en busca de climas apropiados a su delicado estado de salud. Sus primeros escritos publicados son descripciones de algunos de estos viajes. Así, “Viaje tierra adentro” (1878) cuenta un recorrido en canoa a través de Francia y Bélgica que había realizado en 1876, y “Viajes en burro por las Cevannes” (1879) los avatares de un viaje a pie por las montañas del sur de Francia, en 1878. Uno de sus viajes posteriores le llevó, en un barco de emigrantes, a California (1879-1880), donde, en 1880, contrajo matrimonio con la divorciada estadounidense Fanny Osbourne. Otro de ellos consistió en un crucero de placer por el sur del Pacífico (1889) hasta las islas Samoa,
donde él y su esposa permanecieron hasta 1894, en un último esfuerzo por recuperar la salud del escritor. Los nativos le dieron el nombre de Tusitala ('el que cuenta historias'). Allí falleció a finales de ese mismo año, murió con 44 años de una hemorragia cerebral el 3 de diciembre, y fue enterrado en la cima de una montaña, cerca de Valima, su hogar samoano. Escribió al menos tres obras maestras: “La isla del tesoro”, “La flecha negra” y “El extraño caso del doctor Jekyll y Mr. Hyde”. En dos de ellas creó sendos personajes que han pasado a la galería de arquetipos de la literatura europea: Long John Silver, el astuto pirata en cuyos tenebrosos planes hay siempre una gota de humanidad que termina ganándose el corazón de los lectores; y el doctor Jekyll, el sabio que vive al margen de todo y que cae en la tentación faústica de experimentar las sensaciones más peligrosas y para ello crea un otro yo sin barreras morales o emocionales.
Entre sus novelas destacan, “David Balfour y Weirde” (1886), “La flecha negra” (1888) y “El señor de Ballantree” (1889). La inconclusa “Weir of Herminston” (1896), está considerada como su obra maestra, pues los fragmentos que se conservan contienen algunos de los más bellos pasajes que escribió.
Demostró ser un gran ensayista en “Virginibus puerisque” (1881), “Estudios familiares de hombres y libros” (1882) y “Memorias y retratos” (1887). También fueron bien recibidos por la crítica sus libros de viajes autobiográficos, como “La casa solitaria” (1883), en el que contó sus impresiones sobre su estancia en un campamento minero en California, “A través de las llanuras” (1892) e “Islas del sur” (1896).
Algunos de sus mejores poemas están recogidos en el volumen “Jardín de versos para niños” (1885). Entre los demás libros de poemas que publicó destaca “De vuelta al mar” (1887). “Narraciones maravillosas” (1882) y “El diablo de la botella y otros cuentos” (1893) son colecciones de cuentos.
Junto a su hijo adoptivo, el escritor Lloyd Osbourne, escribió las novelas “La caja equivocada” (1889) y “La resaca” (1892).
La Editorial Alvi Books le dedicó, como tributo y reconocimiento, este espacio en Amazon en 2017.
Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894) was a novelist, poet, short-story writer, and essayist. In 1883, while bedridden with tuberculosis, he wrote what would become one of the best known and most beloved collections of children's poetry in the English language, A Child's Garden of Verses. Block City is taken from that collection. Stevenson is also the author of such classics as Treasure Island, Kidnapped, and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
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Reviewed in the United States on October 3, 2020
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P.s. Disney did it better, i really wanna watch Treasure Planet now.
Young boy Jim Hawkins encounters a man, old Billy Bones, at the Admiral Benbow Inn in England. Billy Bones tells young Hawkins to keep an eye out for a one-legged scoundrel (Long John Silver). With that moment, Hawkins is pulled into a dangerous adventure.
Bones is attacked by former shipmates and dies (of a stroke) a short time later. The shipmates attack the lodge, but Hawkins and his mother have already taken the pirate's map from Bones' belongings and made their escape from the inn. Jim shares the map with some local respectable men, who decide to seek this treasure and take Jim on as a cabin boy.
On the island where the treasure should be buried, Jim encounters Ben Gunn, a former shipmate of the dreaded pirate who buried the treasure they now seek. Jim navigates the rough world of the pirate life while trying to remain a good, solid young man despite Silver's taking him under his wing. And when the treasure chest is found and the chest is empty, Jim, and Silver, face a mutinous crew ready to kill the leader and his protected boy.
So often we find literature from this era to be a bit dry and difficult to read due to our changes in reading habits and styles of writing, but this book holds up incredibly well. It moves along swiftly and is quite exciting to read. This can still be considered a page-turner as we can't wait to find out what happens next to Jim along his journey.
This is definitely highly recommended.
Looking for a good book? If you think you can't read that 'old stuff' because it's slow reading, then pick up this classic, <em>Treasure Island</em> by Robert Louis Stevenson, and be brought into an exciting adventure story.
All of the sayings & characters that I have heard for years finally come together in this book. Long John Silver & his parrot, "Yo Ho Ho & a bottle of Rum", 15 men on a dead man's chest.....the list goes on & one. I don't know why I waited so long to read it.
I don't know anything about sailing or a lot of the sailing terms that were used in the book, but it really doesn't matter. What matters is the descriptions of the characters, the trip, the adventure, the treasure. There was enough backstabbing, adventure, piracy and the like to entertain all, no matter their age.
The narrator does a great job, but it does take some getting used to his very English accent. However, the accents that are used are what makes the book so much fun to listen to! I was given an Audible version of this book by the narrator/publisher & chose to review it.
Top reviews from other countries

RATING:
Lenghth: I am a fast reader and it took me less than a week to finish. I think the average time to finish it is one week.
Language : It did not have any swear words in it and is reatively easy to understand
Enjoyment: It depends whether you can bear some boring parts. I would stick with it because the ending is interesting and it is a good book
Overall Rating: 4.5/5 stars. A bit boring but very interesting, fun and as I like pirates an AWESOME book. Not for everyone though

I could go about writing a long review about these delightful stories from the past. But, the idea of boring people right through the review isn't why reviews are written for, first of all. Trust me reading some books as these in the adulthood period of your life, is the best thing to do. For while you are young you are granted with forgetfulness, but being in this phase, it totally gives you a chance to go back to those memory lanes you walked past years ago. I love to cherish such moments. Don't have to think twice, get set going with this wondeful story by Robert Louis Stevenson, the journey about the Pirates and their hunt for the treasure won't disappoint you.

I can happily answer in the affirmative. 'Treasure Island' not only has a plot that moves swiftly and logically from development to development, but is also stocked full of a cast of characters that will long remain in your mind and heart. From brave Jim Hawkins, our hero and narrator, to the enigmatic and dangerous Long John Silver, there are enough well-drawn characters here to populate a whole series of books. Their adventures prove intoxicating, and it is with sadness rather than relief that the last page in their tale is turned.




Reviewed in India on July 25, 2019
