金银岛
2003-09
新蕾出版社
[英]斯蒂文生
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《金银岛》中有波涛光涌的大海、机智勇敢的少年、凶恶狡诈的海盗以及一份神秘的藏宝图。围绕着这份藏宝图，少年吉姆一行展开了一场惊心动魄的搏斗……
故事情节惊险曲折，人物形象鲜明生动。这就是《金银岛》历经百余年后，魅力经久不衰的原因。至今，它仍以其独特的风姿，吸引着世界各国的少年儿童。
斯蒂文生（1850-1894）于1850年诞生在英国北部苏格兰的首都爱丁堡，1894年病逝于南太平洋萨摩亚群岛的吾波卢岛。在他短暂的四十四年生命旅程中，写作生涯老谋深算占了二十二年。
第一章 船长第二章 黑狗第三章 黑牌第四章 箱子第五章 瞎子第六章 文件第七章 待发第八章 酒店第九章 隐患第十章 船程第十一章 窃听第十二章 会议第十三章 决定第十四章 惊吓第十五章 野人第十六章 弃船第十七章 抢滩第十八章 枪战第十九章 守将第二十章 谈判第二十一章 进攻第二十二章 探海第二十三章 退潮第二十四章 行程第二十五章 降旗第二十六章 汉兹第二十七章 被俘第二十八章 敌营第二十九章 内乱第三十章 相逢第三十一章 骷髅第三十二章 怪声第三十三章 会师第三十四章 尾声
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儿童必读的名著。推荐。
因孩子看过动画片，不错的情节。买书给孩子看，是引起他看书的兴趣，不错，孩子很喜欢
听不错，孩子喜欢
孩子喜欢探险的丛书
侄女喜欢的书,在当当上买给她的.
孩子们的精神食粮！
小孩看了说不错。
5元的价格，没有地方可以买到这嘛好的书
书很不错，跟书城卖的一样，价格还便宜
孩子学校指定的4年级必读，孩子挺喜欢。
很好，人名复杂。
现在孩子六岁，留着以后看！
一本好书。还没看，看了再来评。
不错，老师推荐的，适合小学生看
孩子喜欢的书，很好看。
名著就是名著，很好
注音版，低年级的孩子爱看，很快就看完了
found something online that might help you better understand the so-called piracy.
Piracy dates back at least to ancient Greece and continues today; its golden age began in the 1650s and peaked circa 1720, when around 2,000 pirates terrorized the Atlantic. But nearly all our notions of their behavior come from the golden age of fictional piracy, which reached its zenith in 1881 with the appearance of Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island. Its influence on subsequent pirate lit can't be overstated: Stevenson all but invented some of the genre's most durable cliches - treasure maps marked X (see last week's column), the black spot as token of impending doom - and his vision took hold so quickly that almost all subsequent works involving piracy are in some way derived therefrom. Long John Silver, the one-legged ship's cook with a parrot on his shoulder, was his most fertile creation, but basically every pirate you've ever seen has some RLS DNA; throw in Captain Hook and crew from James Barrie's Peter Pan (1904) and that's much of the pirate gene pool right there.
So what was real and what wasn't?
Clothing. Pirates did wear scarves, bandanas, hats, etc, to ward off the sun. Generally captain and crew alike dressed practically - e.g., avoiding loose clothing that might snag on a spar. But the frilled shirts, frock coats, and full-bottomed wigs popular in movies make some sense, since (a) occasionally there was a need to pose as legitimate gentlemen of the era, (b) a few captains apparently adopted this as their everyday look, and (c) plundered finery was distributed to the crew.
Hooks, peg legs, eye patches. Seamen often got seriously hurt in battle or bad weather, and amputation was the primary treatment for major limb injuries - the ship's surgeon (or carpenter) typically just sawed off the unlucky extremity ASAP and tied off or cauterized the blood vessels. Men missing hands were often seen; surviving the loss of a leg was relatively rare, though, and the ubiquity of peg-legged pirates is almost certainly the Long John Silver effect at work. Lost eyes, and thus patches, weren't too unusual.
Parrots. Seafarers in the tropics commonly brought home exotic fauna as souvenirs. Parrots were particularly popular because they were colorful, could be taught to speak, and were easier to care for than, say, monkeys. (Read: they crapped everywhere but at least wouldn't throw it at you.) They also fetched a good price back in London. However, one can't imagine a crewman actually heaving at the capstan with a bird perched on him.
Piratespeak. "Arrrr" showed up late, probably in movies of the 1930s. Actor Robert Newton played Silver in the 1950 version of Treasure Island, one of the better portrayals of old-school piracy, and reprised the role in sequels and on TV; his accent featured a strong rolling R, which likely helped fix "arrrr" in the piratical canon. Much pirate lingo, like "avast," was simply nautical speech of the time; "shiver my timbers" predates Stevenson, but he ran with it.
Skull and crossbones. This was only one of many pirate-flag insignia. Why fly a pirate flag, anyway? To terrorize victims into surrendering without a struggle. The earliest such flags were plain red or black sheets - red symbolizing blood and battle, black for death. Later captains added emblems: hearts dripping blood, fiery balls, hourglasses, cutlasses, skeletons, etc. Around 1718, Captain Richard Worley flew a black flag with a white death's-head and crossed femurs, a symbol of death dating to medieval times. By about 1730 this design had caught on among English, French, and Spanish pirates in the West Indies and was called the "Jolly Roger" or "Old Roger."
Walking the plank. Unmentioned in historical accounts of the golden age; tossing someone over the side was quicker. In one instance from 1829 the perps apparently had some extra time and/or panache, and men were indeed tied, blindfolded, weighted with shot, and made to walk. This can't have been a total anomaly (ancient pirates may occasionally have used a ladder in some planklike fashion) but it wasn't common.
Marooning was, however. Victims were left on small deserted islands to die slowly from starvation or exposure.
Stevenson nailed it in one important respect: he portrayed pirates as murderous and cruel. Later books (such as Rafael Sabatini's The Sea Hawk and Captain Blood) and movies would romanticize them as swashbuckling adventurers. But David Cordingly, whose Under the Black Flag (1996) is probably the best single volume on things piratical, reminds us that "pirates were not maritime versions of Robin Hood and his merry men," and their "attacks were frequently accompanied by extreme violence, torture, and death." Nothing too jolly about that, Roger.
What do "drawn and quartered" and "keelhauling" mean?
August 4, 1995
Dear Cecil:
Could you please provide detailed definitions of the terms "drawn and quartered" and "keelhauling"? The former conjures up images of having cartoons drawn on one's body before being pelted with pocket change. The latter could refer to being bound to the underside of a ship, boat, barge, whatever. My daughter's Disney movie (Peter Pan) refers to both — didn't they think kids would eventually have access to the Internet?
— Ted Jankowski, via the Internet
Dear Ted:
We'd all better brush up on this stuff — if they're bringing back the chain gang, can keelhauling be far behind? Not that the latter is a realistic possibility if they nab you for jaywalking in Omaha. Keelhauling was meted out to sailors for minor infractions at sea. Typically the victim was tied to a rope looped beneath the vessel, thrown overboard, and then dragged under the keel and up the other side. Since the keel was usually encrusted with barnacles and other crud the guy's hide would be scraped raw and he'd think twice about doing whatever it was he'd gotten keelhauled for again. Sometimes they heaped chains and such on him to add injury to insult.
Keelhauling crops up in your Hollywood pirate's conversation about as often as shiver me timbers, but as far as I can tell it was officially enacted as a punishment only by the Dutch. The earliest official mention of keelhauling seems to be a Dutch ordinance of 1560 and the practice wasn't formally abolished until 1853. If you ever play shuffleboard on a Dutch cruise ship, my advice is: don't cheat.
Drawing and quartering is another punishment mentioned in kids' movies only because nobody realizes what's involved. The statutory punishment for treason in England from 1283 to 1867, D&Q was a multimedia form of execution. First the prisoner was drawn to the place of execution on a hurdle, a type of sledge. (Originally he was merely dragged behind a horse.) Then he was hanged. Cut down while still alive, he was disembowelled and his entrails burned before his eyes. (Some references, such as the Encyclopedia Britannica, say this step, and not dragging behind a horse, is what is meant by "drawn," but actual sentences of execution don't support this view.)
Finally the condemned was beheaded and his body cut into quarters, one arm or leg to a quarter. How exactly the quartering was to be accomplished wasn't always specified, but on at least some occasions horses were hitched to each of the victim's limbs and spurred in four directions. An assistant with a sword or cleaver was sometimes assigned to make a starter cut and ease the strain on the animals. The remains were often put on display as a warning to others. Nothing like the good old days, eh? Just don't anybody mention this to Newt.
Everyone is familiar with the idea of buried pirate treasure, and maps where "X marks the spot." But is there any evidence of such a practice? Were there ever any pirate treasure maps as described?
— Jimmy Breck-McKye, South Yorkshire, United Kingdom
With Talk Like a Pirate Day still fresh in memory and Halloween coming up, now seems a reasonable time to clear some pirate questions off the books. Next week we'll discuss other piratical behavior; today we'll stick to Jimmy's concerns.
Did pirates ever bury treasure? It'd be strange if not - everyone else was doing it. For much of human history, if you had some covetable stuff you hoped to hang onto, couldn't or didn't want to put it in a bank or the equivalent, and owned a shovel, burial was Plan A. (That's why, for instance, rural Britons still find pots of long-buried Roman coins.) Those who'd obtained their valuables under sketchy circumstances - say, while holding a cutlass to the previous owner's throat - were only more likely, I'd imagine, to employ such DIY security measures. As one obvious requirement for this practice is a burial site that others aren't likely to stumble on but you yourself can find again, it makes sense that pirates, who as seafarers dealt with maps regularly, might jot down reminders of where they left the goods.
But it's tough to prove they did. Another element crucial to burying treasure is the need to keep the whole business squarely on the QT. For this reason or another (maybe simply a reluctance to let loot out of one's sight), the history shelves contain few solid cases where pirates buried treasure, and practically none involving maps. Privateer Sir Francis Drake is known to have buried the proceeds after raiding a mule train in Panama, for instance, but he left guards behind and didn't stay away long. A rogue English captain named Stratton buried six chests of silver near the mouth of the York River in Chesapeake Bay, but an associate turned him in before he could recover it. John Rackham (nom de piraterie: Calico Jack) once buried some plunder on a Caribbean island, but no one mentions his making a map, or even a return trip.
Though it's not where the premise first appeared, Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island was instrumental in planting the treasure map concept in the popular consciousness. Some suggest a model for the title locale was Cocos Island, off Costa Rica's Pacific shore; discovered in 1526 and noted for its coconuts, the island became a stopover for merchantmen, naval ships, and pirates. Cocos lore is bursting with primo pirate-story material: several vast hoards, vividly described and valued today in the high nine figures, that supposedly were buried there circa 1820 by captains William Thompson, Bennett Graham, and (my favorite) Benito Bonito; deathbed instructions from the principals on how to retrieve the stuff; cryptic diagrams etched into boulders; and so on. Efforts to locate the treasure, though, turned up nothing. An 1850s expedition brought along one Mary Welch, who'd sailed with Graham and had a map purportedly showing the site of his trove. Key landmarks, however, had apparently disappeared in the intervening decades, and the search came up dry.
The pirate most associated with buried treasure is probably the 17th-century captain William Kidd. With the authorities in pursuit, Kidd left chests containing 100 pounds of gold and silver plus other precious sundries with a guy named Gardiner, who reputedly interred it on an island he owned off Long Island's eastern end. After Kidd was jailed in Boston in 1699, Governor Bellomont of Massachusetts Colony tracked the booty down, though its recovery was hardly the stuff of legend: he tricked Kidd into admitting Gardiner's involvement, then applied mild pressure to Gardiner, who folded. The haul turned out to be worth the equivalent of $4.2 million today. Kidd was said to have buried more elsewhere, and in later years alleged Kidd maps surfaced on occasion, but at least one was exposed as a fake; anyway none panned out.
In 1945 a buried-treasure find was covered in the Chicago Tribune, though admittedly the article is pure stenography, relating the protagonist's account without a scrap of independent evidence. (Here I considered a dig at 1945 journalistic standards, but recalling pivotal WMD reportage I thought: nah.) It's a good story, though: While gathering book material, writer Edward Rowe Snow heard (from a source who soon died mysteriously) about treasure left by a pirate turned lighthouse keeper in Boston Harbor. Hidden in an abandoned house on a harbor island he found an old volume written in Italian. A rare-books librarian noticed pinpricks marking certain words, which proved to convey coded directions to a Cape Cod site; there with metal detector and spade Snow finally unearthed a small chest of antique coins worth (then) about $2,000. No fortune, but more than anyone got from that Oak Island debacle covered here a while back