My name is Jim Hawkins, and I am fifteen years old. My father owned an inn at a quiet place near the sea. The village was fifty miles from Bristol. After his death, I and my mother had to take care of ourselves.
It was September 17 when an old seaman came to the inn. He was tall and strong and he had a big, brown face. There were cuts and marks on his face. A servant was pushing a little cart behind him and there was a heavy chest on the cart.
The seaman looked at the sea and at the in ...