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Zusatztext "Over Treasure Island I let my fire die in winter without knowing I was freezing." Informationen zum Autor Robert Louis Stevenson was a Scottish writer born on November 13, 1850, in Edinburgh, United Kingdom. He became renowned for his diverse body of work, which includes novels, essays, poetry, and travel writing. Some of his most celebrated works are Treasure Island, Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, Kidnapped, and A Child s Garden of Verses. Stevenson was educated at the University of Edinburgh and attended both the Edinburgh Academy Senior School and Edinburgh Law School. Although initially studying law, he pursued a career in writing, drawing inspiration from authors such as Charles Dickens, Edgar Allan Poe, Walter Scott, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Guy de Maupassant. He married Fanny Stevenson in 1880, and they lived together until his death in 1894. Stevenson s writing often explored themes of adventure, morality, and the duality of human nature, particularly evident in Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. He spent the latter part of his life in Samoa, where he passed away on December 3, 1894, at the age of 44. His works have left a lasting impact on literature, influencing generations of writers and readers. Klappentext Robert Louis Stevenson's cherished, unforgettable adventure magically captures the thrill of a sea voyage and a treasure hunt through the eyes of its teenage protagonist, Jim Hawkins. Crossing the Atlantic in search of the buried cache, Jim and the ship's crew must brave the elements and a mutinous charge led by the quintessentially ruthless pirate Long John Silver. Brilliantly conceived and splendidly executed, it is a novel that has seized the imagination of generations of adults and children alike. And as David Cordingly points out in his Introduction, Treasure Island is also the best and most influential of all the stories about pirates. Chapter I 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...
