For all you would-be
pirate fanatics out there, this is it; the original pirate story. Well, maybe
not the original; there were pirate stories before this, going back to the days
when there were actual, real pirates sailing the Caribbean, and stories of
half-legendary figures such as Blackbeard and Calico Jack provided ample
material for adventure stories. But really, if cynical reality took a back-seat
for the moment, Treasure Island is
the real start of the Pirate legend, containing everything you could ever want
from a book of its type.
The story concerns a lad by the name of Jim Hawkins, who
lives in the mid 18th century and helps his mother run an isolated
sea-coast inn – the ‘Admiral Benbow’. Their one long-term guest, a foul and
drunken old sea-dog, seems to have a dark past that’s set to catch up to him,
and when a mob of downright villainous – one might say, piratey – sort of fellows
arrive at the inn, Jim Hawkins finds himself in possession of the McGuffin to
end all McGuffins; a treasure map, showing an island, with an ‘X’ marking
buried treasure*.
Jim takes his finding to the trustworthy (and financially
well-endowed) men of the neighbourhood, a Doctor Livesey and a Squire
Trelawney, who do what any rational men would do; they begin a sea voyage to
find the treasure. The treasure in question is none other than the fabled hoard
of the late Captain Flint, who was, in the squire’s words, ‘...the
bloodthirstiest buccaneer that sailed. Blackbeard was a child to Flint. The
Spaniards were so prodigiously afraid of him, that, I tell you, sir, I was
sometimes proud he was an Englishman.’ After hiring a ship, a chip-shouldered
captain by the name of Smollett, and a questionable crew provided by an
apparently trustworthy one-legged chap called Long John Silver, they embark on
their voyage.
Upon arriving at Treasure Island itself, Jim and the ship’s
officers find that they have a severe problem on their hands; it turns out that
Long John Silver had actually served under Captain Flint, and that the crew he
so helpfully suggested be hired are likewise formerly Flint’s men, who only
want the treasure for themselves. A vicious two-sided conflict ensues, with
Captain Smollett and the loyalists on one side, and Silver and the mutineers on
the other. The winner takes all – life, treasure, and freedom.
In short, it’s an all-round decent story; compelling
narrative, distinct characters, memorable setting, and a decent pace besides.
But one of the most intriguing things about the story is just how dark it is –
and by that, I mean it’s black as night. The night-time attack on the ‘Admiral
Benbow’ in the first section of the book is really quite scary, Stevenson racking
up the tension beforehand in an almost expert fashion – and once that’s out of
the way, the mutiny later on is hardly presented in a clean light. You really
can’t get away from the fact that there are two groups of people trapped on the
island, fighting tooth and claw for the highest stakes. There aren’t that many
people involved in the struggle – only about twenty-odd mutineers, and less
than ten people on the Captain’s side – so that every injury inflicted, every
death caused, is major blow to whichever side receives it. Captain Smollett’s
men have to take every chance they can get, loading up on supplies and holing
up for a defensive stand in a stockade on the island, while Silver has numbers
on his side – at least at first. It makes for gritty and quite tense reading,
and at no point does it ever become boring.
The characters are another strength. Jim Hawkins, acting as
narrator, is a relatively full-blooded character who drives the plot as much as
Smollett or Silver ever do, while even minor characters like the mutineers have
something of a personality to them. We thankfully never end up an Alistair
MacLean scenario, in which we forget who is whom; rather we find that among the
various mutineers, small though distinct personalities emerge when they’re
needed, such as the one called Israel Hands, who becomes something of a major
antagonist for a brief section of the book, while Silver’s various surviving
men towards the end show more of their colours. But if awards are to be handed
out to individual characters, then it would be heresy – nay Apostasy! – not to
acknowledge Long John Silver himself. A great and complex villain, Silver is
the heart and soul of Treasure Island,
the one-legged, parrot keeping sea-cook, sometimes a murderer and scoundrel, at
other times a worthy friend and ally. There’s also Ben Gunn, another of Flint’s
old crew who was marooned on the island years ago, and hence is a little
unhinged – his dialogue with Jim is bizarre to say the least, and is just
wonderful to read.
But there’s one character who ought to be mentioned –
Captain Flint himself. Though long dead, the old pirate casts long shadows over
the whole story, in his references by his old crewmen, in the legends of the
officers, in the literal trail of corpses he left behind, and in the mass of treasure
that serve as the ultimate goal of the voyage. Though absent, he feels like an
integral part of the story, mysterious and terrifying, as all great villains
ought to be, and everything that happens in the plot is in some way a result of
his legacy. A magnificent character, worthy of the highest praises.
And finally, it’s got pirates in it. Lots of pirates, doing
piratey talk, and piratey things, like going after buried treasure. It’s all
full of nautical lingo, like ‘Shiver me timbers!’, and Fo’c’s’le (the Nautical
for ‘Forecastle’, the raised bit at the front of a ship), and Cap’n, and jolly
boat, and ‘Pieces of eight’... whatever the hell that last phrase means. If you
hate pirates – and who can blame you, as they’re thieving murdering scum – then
you might not find your appetite whetted by this. After all, 18th
century Caribbean pirates have become a stock-type, a cliché, devoid of
originality – but just remember, everything has an origin, a starting point,
and Treasure Island is more or less
the original pirate tale. I always like to trace stock-types back to their earliest
incarnations, because I generally find that original things are, actually,
quite original. This book was written long before Erol Flynn, and way way
before Lego, Disney, or Ubisoft ever had their own ‘pirate’ themed merchandise,
and while it may not have been the actual progenitor of the craze, it served as
a springboard for piracy’s ascent as a cultural phenomenon.
I
won’t go as far as to say Treasure Island
is a great work of literature, per se. It’s not quite on the same level as
Dickens, Austen or Vonnegut – after all, it’s an adventure story, no more, no
less. But it’s a damned good one, and it’s had far reaching ramifications. If
you love pirates, then you owe this to yourselves. If you don’t, then you might
find here an interesting and compelling adventure story.
*[It should, however, be
pointed out that there were three ‘X’s on the map, marking three separate
points so as to allow the reader to actually trace a path to the point in
question.]
Biblio Island
Stevenson, Robert Louis. Treasure Island. Nelson’s Classics.
(c.1930 [First published 1883])
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