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宝岛|Treasure Island

第1章|Chapter 1

属类： 双语小说 【分类】双语小说 -[作者: 罗伯特-路易斯-史蒂文森] 阅读：[1545]
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乡绅特里罗尼，利弗西医生，还有其余的那些先生们，早就要我从头至尾、毫无保留地写下有关宝岛的全部详情——只除掉它的方位，而那不过是至今那里仍有未被取出的宝藏的缘故。我在公元一七××年提起了笔，思绪回到了当年我父亲开“本葆海军上将”旅店的时候，当时那个棕色皮肤、带刀疤的老海员第一次到我们屋里来投宿。

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我回想起他恍惚就在昨天，当他步履沉重地来到旅店门口时，他的航海用的大木箱搁在他身后的双轮手推车上。这是个高大。强壮、魁梧、有着栗色皮肤的人，粘乎乎的辫子耷拉在脏兮兮的蓝外套的肩部，粗糙的手上疤痕累累，指甲乌青而残缺不全，一道肮脏的铅灰色刀疤横贯一侧面颊。我记得他一面环顾着小海湾，一面径自吹着口哨，接着嘴里突然冒出了那支水手老调，日后他也经常地唱：

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十五个汉子扒上了死人胸①——哟——嗬——嗬，再来郎姆酒一大瓶！

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①礁石的名称。但英语中“胸膛”与“箱子”是一个字。——译者注

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那高亢、苍老、颤动的嗓音仿佛汇入了绞盘机起锚时众人合唱出的破调门。接着，他用一根自带的像铁头手杖似的木棍子重重地敲门。当我父亲出来后，他又粗声大气地要来杯郎姆酒。酒送到后，他慢慢地啜饮，像个鉴定家似的，一面细细地品味，一面还继续打量着四周的峭壁，抬头审视我们的招牌。

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“这是个挺便利的小海湾，”最后他说，“而且酒店的位置也很讨人喜欢。客人多吗，伙计？”

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我父亲告诉他不多，客人非常少，实在遗憾。

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“那么好吧，”他说，“这是给我预备的好住处。过来，伙计，”他冲着推手推车的人喊道，“把车子靠边儿，帮我卸下箱子，我要在这儿住上一小段儿。”接着他又说，“我是个简朴的人，有郎姆酒、咸肉和鸡蛋就成，这就可以对着海湾看船下海了。你们该怎么称呼我？你们可以叫我船长。噢，我懂你的意思——瞧这儿！”说着他把三四枚金币抛在了门槛上，“用光的时候告诉我。”他说，神情严厉得像个司令官。

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说真的，虽然他破衣烂衫，言语粗鲁，风度却一点儿也不像个在桅杆前干活的水手，倒像个惯于发号施令的大副或船长。那个推手推车的人告诉我们，他是那天早晨被邮车送到“乔治王”旅店门前的，在那儿，他打听了沿岸的小旅店。我猜想他是听说了我们这里不错，被描绘得挺僻静，于是由于它所处的位置而挑中了它。关于我们这位房客，我们就知道这么多了。

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照常说他是个挺沉默的人。他整天带着架黄铜望远镜在小海湾一带转悠，要不就在峭壁上游荡；整晚坐在客房火炉旁的角落里，拼命地灌郎姆酒和水。大多数时候，别人和他说话他都不予理睬，只是猛然抬头瞪人一眼，像吹雾角①似的哼一下鼻子。我们和到我们这里来的人们很快便学会让他自取其便了。每天，当他巡游回来的时候，他都会问是否有什么船员路过。起初我们以为他问这个问题是寻找伙伴，后来我们才开始明白他是想避开他们。每当一个船员到“本葆海军上将”旅店来投宿（时不时地有一些人来，要沿海边大道去布里斯托尔），他在进餐厅之前总会透过门帘窥探一番，一旦有一个这样的人在里面，他必定会像只耗子似的不声不响。这事对我来说至少已不是什么秘密了，因为，从某种意义上说，我得算他这种戒备心理的分担者。有一天他曾把我拉到一边，并且答应我，只要我帮他“留神一个独腿水手”，并且一旦那个人出现就向他通风报信，这样每月月初他就付给我一枚四便士银币。有好多回，当月初到来，我向他申请报酬的时候，他便会对我嗤之以鼻，还瞪得我低下了头；但是不等一周过完，他肯定好好考虑考虑，给我那四便士，同时重申他那个要我监视“独腿水手”的命令。

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①用以警告雾中船只的号角。——译者注

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那个人物怎样搅得我不得安眠，那是不必多说了。在暴风雨的夜晚，当大风撼动着房子的四角，碎浪咆哮着冲过海岸、跃上悬崖，我就会在一千种形象、一千种邪恶的表情中看到他。一会儿是腿被齐膝砍断，一会儿是齐臀部；一会儿他又是个什么都没有，只有一条长在身体中央的腿的奇形怪状的家伙。看他单腿跑跳着追赶我，越过篱笆和水沟，是最坏的恶梦了。总之，为了我那每月的四便士，这些想像出来的形状令我付出了相当昂贵的代价。

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不过，尽管我一想到那个独腿的海员就那么恐惧，但还远远比不上其他认识船长的人对他本人怕得厉害。有些晚上，在他喝了他的脑袋支撑不住的过量的郎姆酒和水后，有时他就会坐下来唱他那些个邪恶、古老、粗野的水手歌曲，旁若无人；但有时他会嚷着轮流干杯，还逼着所有战战兢兢的房客们听他讲故事，或者和他一起合唱。我常常听见房子和“哟—嗬—嗬，再来郎姆酒一大瓶”的歌声一起颤动；邻居们全都为了宝贵的性命、怀着对死亡的恐惧加入到这歌声里来，而且一个比一个唱得响亮，生怕引起他的注意。因为在这些他发作起来的场合下，他就成了个最肆无忌惮的人。他会用手拍着桌子要全体肃静；他会勃然大怒，暴跳如雷，有时是因为一个问题，有时则是因为没人提问题，于是他断定大家没好好听他的故事。在他喝得醉醺醺的、摇摇晃晃地上床之前，他不准任何一个人离开这个旅店。

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他的故事吓坏了所有的人。那些可怕的故事净是关于绞刑。走木板①、海上风暴和干托吐加群岛以及拉丁美洲大陆的蛮荒地区和野蛮风俗的。照他的说法，他一定是活在被上帝放逐到海上的一些最邪恶的人们中间的。他讲这些故事所用的语言，就像他所描述的那些罪恶一样，大大震动了我们淳朴的村民。我的父亲总说这小旅店会被毁掉的，因为人们不堪忍受暴虐、压制以及战战兢兢上床的滋味，他们很快将不复光顾这里。但是我倒确信他的存在对我们有好处。人们当时是受了惊吓，可回过头来看，他们相当喜欢这样。在安静的乡村生活中，这是很好的兴奋剂。这里甚至有一群年轻人声称崇拜他，称他是“货真价实的船员”、“真正的老水手”，以及诸如此类的称呼，还说正是因为有他这样的人，英格兰才称雄海上。

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①昔时被海盗虏获的人，蒙着眼睛被迫走上突出于舷外的木板而终于落入海中。——译者注

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从某方面讲，说真的，他很有可能毁掉我们；因为他一周复一周，最后一月接一月地住下来，以致于他付的那些钱已经全部用光了，而我的父亲从不敢壮起胆子坚持要他加钱。如果一旦对他提及钱的事，船长就会用可以说是咆哮的那么大的声音哼他的鼻子，并且直瞪得我可怜的父亲倒着退出房门。我曾看到父亲在经历了这样的一次奚落后绞着双手，我相信一定是这种烦恼和恐惧大大加速了他不幸的早逝。

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在船长和我们住在一起的全部时间里，除了从一个货郎那里买些袜子外，他的穿着丝毫未变。他的三角帽的一角耷拉下来了，自那时起，他就让它那么耷拉着，尽管这给他带来了极大的不便。我记得他外套的样子，就是他躲在楼上屋子里自己打补丁的那件，到后来，那件衣服上就满是补丁了。他从未写、也从未接到过一封信，他也从不和邻居以外的任何人说话，即使和他们交谈，也大多是在喝酒的时候。那个航海用的大木箱，我们谁也没见他打开过。

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他只碰了一次钉子，那是事情接近尾声的时候，那时我可怜的父亲的病情正每况愈下。利弗西医生在一个傍晚来看望病人，用了点我母亲准备的晚餐后走进了客厅，想袖口烟，等人把他的马从小村子里牵过来，因为我们的老“本葆海军上将”旅店没有马厩。我跟着他走进了客厅，我记得我看到这位干净利整的医生，发套上搽着雪白的发粉，他的明亮的黑眼睛和翩翩的风度，同那些轻佻的乡下人，特别是同那个猥亵、笨拙、醉眼惺忪的我们心目中的海盗，形成了鲜明的对照。他正喝得烂醉，胳膊搁在桌子上。突然，他——也就是船长——开始唱起了他常唱的那个歌儿：

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十五个汉子扒上了死人胸——哟——嗬——嗬，再来郎姆酒一大瓶！酗酒和恶魔使其余的人都丧了命——哟——嗬——嗬，再来他郎姆酒一大瓶！

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起初，我把“死人胸”想成了同一概念的他楼上前屋里的那只大箱子，而这想法又和我恶梦中的独腿水手搅和到了一块儿。但是，到了这会儿，我们对这支歌都不怎么特别在意了，这个晚上，它只对医生来说是新鲜的，而我察觉到，就是医生，对它也毫无赞赏的表示，因为在他同花匠老泰勒谈话的过程中，他很愤怒地抬头望了一下，接着就又谈论起关于治疗风湿病的新药方来。同时，船长逐渐被自己的歌鼓动起情绪来，最后他玩起了我们都知道的那一套，用手拍面前的桌子——安静。声音立刻平息下去，只有利弗西医生一如既往地讲着，声音清晰悦耳，在每一句话间还轻松地抽一口烟斗。船长盯着他瞅了一会儿，又拍了一遍桌子，更为严厉地瞪着他，最后用恶狠狠、低沉的声音咒骂起来：“安静，上下甲板都给我安静！”

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“你是在关照我吗，先生？”医生说道，而当那个恶汉用另外一声诅咒告诉他是这样时，“我只对你说一件事，先生，”医生回答说，“这就是，如果你继续酗酒的话，这世上很快将减少一个肮脏无比的恶棍！”

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这个老家伙的暴怒是可怕的。他跳了起来，拔出并打开了一把水手用的折叠式小刀，摊开在他的手掌上，好像是恐吓医生，要把他扎到墙上去。

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医生岿然不动。他转过头来，用和刚才一样的声调侃侃而谈，声音略微高些，以使全屋的人都能听见，口气却相当平静而严肃：“如果你不立刻将刀子送回你的口袋，我以我的名誉发誓，你将在下一次的巡回审判中被绞死。”

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接着，在他们之间展开了一场目光的对峙战。但是船长很快便屈服了，放下了他的武器，退回到座位上，像只挨了打的狗似地咕哝着。

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“现在，你听着，先生，”医生继续说道，“既然现在我知道在我的辖区内有这么个人物，你将考虑我会时时刻刻都用一只眼睛盯着你。我不仅仅是个医生，我还是一名地方法官，如果我听到一句对你的控告，哪怕只是像今晚这样的一次无礼，我都将为此而采取有效措施，追捕并找出你。我想话说到这儿已经足够了。”

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不久，利弗西医生的马便被牵到了门前，他就上马离开了。但是那天整个晚上船长都保持沉默，并且后来许多晚上也是这样。

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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.

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I remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn door, his sea-chest following behind him in a handbarrow; 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:-

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`Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest-

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Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!’*

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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.

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`This is a handy cove,’ says he, at length; `and a pleasant sittyated grog-shop. Much company, mate?’

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My father told him no, very little company, the more was the pity.’

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`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.

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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 this 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.

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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 run 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 cam 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.’

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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 overriding 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 anyone 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 me who pretended to admire him, calling him a `true sea-dog,’ and a `real old salt,’ and suchlike 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 nos so loudly, that you might say he roared, and stared my poor father out of the room. I have seen him wringing his hand 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 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 upstairs in his room, ant 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!’ 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.

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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 overriding 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 anyone to leave the inn till he had drunk himself sleepy and reeled off to bed.

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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 me who pretended to admire him, calling him a `true sea-dog,’ and a `real old salt,’ and suchlike names, and saying there was the sort of man that made England terrible at sea.

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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 nos so loudly, that you might say he roared, and stared my poor father out of the room. I have seen him wringing his hand 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.

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All the time he lived with us the captain made no change whatever in his dress but to buy some stockings from 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 upstairs in his room, ant 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.

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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:--

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`Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest

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Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!

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Drink and the devil had done for the rest--

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Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!’

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At first I had supposed `the dead man’s chest’ to be that identical big box of his upstairs 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!’

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`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!’

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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.

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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 ant steady:--

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`If you do not put that knife this instant in your pocket I promise, upon my honour, you shall hang at the next assizes.’

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Then followed a battle of looks between them; but this captain soon knuckled under, put up his weapon, and resumed his seat, grumbling like a beaten dog.

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`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 its 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.’

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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.

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