Treasure Island: CH 4 | Jim Meets the One-Legged Sailor Billy Bones Warned About | Treasure Island Retold for Kids

A Classic Pirate Adventure Audiobook for boys 8–14.

Treasure Island is the chapter-by-chapter pirate adventure podcast that retells Robert Louis Stevenson's classic story for the generation that was born to discover it.

In this Boys Adventure Audiobook chapter, twelve-year-old Jim Hawkins arrives alone in Bristol with a letter from Squire Trelawney and a warning from a dying pirate ringing in his ears: "If you see a seafaring man with one leg, you run." He's about to meet Long John Silver at the Spy-glass tavern — and he's about to learn that the dangerous men in this world don't look the way you think they do.

Each chapter is a 25–35 minute serialized adventure with a clear cliffhanger.

Perfect for boys 8–14, reluctant readers, homeschool classical curriculum families, and anyone who loved the original Stevenson but found the 1880s language tough to read aloud. Treasure Island Retold for Kids — faithful to the original arc, accessible for today's middle grade ear.

For fans of the original Stevenson, Peter Pan, and classic pirate retellings.

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📚 The full ebook — *The Map*, Book 1 of Treasure Island — coming soon!

🏆 And: Colony in Danger Book 1 (*The Fire Ant Kingdom*) is #1 in New Releases for Children's eBooks on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H2WC17R3

I am the author of serialized fiction books for kids, teens, tweens and young adults, including:

- Brickhaven: A Bricks Fan Fiction Adventure

- Colony In Danger: A Fire Ant Adventure

- Eagle's Edge: A Story of Rome, Gaul and the Making of a Soldier

- Treasure Island: A Classic Adaptation

- Iron Rails & Ruin: A Novel of Steam, Sorcery and the Lawless Montana Territory

📚 All five books -- are now available on Amazon: https://us.amazon.com/stores/Reed-Sterling/author/B0H2ZM86WQ

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Thank you for listening!  This is Reed Sterling.  Remember: Never stop exploring unknown worlds.

Transcript

Bristol Swallows Jim Whole

SPEAKER_01 0:00

A one legged sailor is exactly who Billy Bones warned Jim about. Long John Silver smiles. Long John Silver knows Jim's name. Then Black Dog walks into the tavern and Silver gives chase. This is Compass and Codex. Never stop exploring unknown worlds. Treasure Island a classic adaptation. Chapter four Long John Silver Scene one I'd never seen a city before Bristol, and its vastness swallowed me whole. The narrow streets crowded in, unfamiliar and maze like after the open skies of our coastal home. Two weeks had passed since that night at Dr. Livesy's, two weeks of hasty preparations, of tearful goodbyes to my mother, of promises to write when I could, of the doctor's arrangements for my father's care. Now I stood alone amidst the chaos of the busiest port in England, clutching Squire Trelawney's letter in my sweating palm, trying to make sense of the directions that would lead me to the spyglass tavern, and to a man named Long John Silver. The squire had gone ahead to secure our ship, the Hispaniola, while doctor Livsey remained behind to settle his practice before joining us. Silver is our ship's cook, the squire had written, and a most remarkable fellow. A man of substance once, who lost his leg in his Majesty's service, knows the sea like the back of his hand. He's recruiting our crew, good men all, and will look after you until I return. But Billy Bones' warning echoed in my mind. If you see a seafaring man with one leg, you run. Could this Silver be the very man Billy had feared? The coincidence seemed too great to ignore, yet the squire clearly trusted him. The docks teemed with more people than I'd seen in my entire life. Sailors shouted in languages I couldn't understand. Steve Dawes hauled crates while merchants argued over manifests. Ships of every size crowded the harbour, their masts a forest of timber reaching toward the sky. The air hung heavy with salt and tar, fish and sweat, exotic spices from distant lands, gulls screamed overhead, fighting for scraps. I clutched my small bag closer and checked the squire's directions again. From the central wharf, take Cooper Street to the right. At the Chandler's shop with the blue door, turn left onto Anchor Lane. The spy glass stands at its end, overlooking the lesser harbour. Cooper Street proved to be little more than an alley, barely wide enough for two men to walk abreast. I squeezed past sailors and dock workers trying to avoid the murky puddles that dotted the cobblestones. A woman leaned from an upper window, shaking out a rag that released a cloud of dust onto the passers by below. No one seemed to notice. This was a different world from the quiet cliff tops and empty roads of home. The blue doored Chandler's shop appeared suddenly between a cooperage and what looked to be a very rough tavern. I turned left as instructed onto anchor lane, which wound downhill toward a smaller basin where fishing boats and coastal traders were moored. At the lane's end stood a whitewashed building with small salt crusted windows and a weather beaten sign showing a brass spy glass hanging above the door. My heart hammered as I

The Spy-Glass Tavern

SPEAKER_01 3:45

approached. What if this Long John Silver was indeed the man Billy feared? I was alone in a strange city, the map safely locked away in doctor Livesy's strong box, but the danger no less real. Perhaps I should turn back, wait for the squire's return. But then what? Abandon the expedition? Return home in shame? No, I had come too far for that. Taking a deep breath I pushed open the door. The spy glass assaulted my senses immediately. Low ceiling crossed with smoke blackened beams, lantern light casting long shadows across rough hewn tables, the mingled scents of rum, tobacco, unwashed bodies and salt laden air. The noise struck me next. A dozen conversations competed with the clink of tankards and occasional bursts of laughter. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw that every table was occupied by men who carried the sea in their skin, sun browned faces, calloused hands, backs bent from years before the mast. The patrons barely glanced at me, a boy clearly out of his depth. I saw men from every corner of the earth, a turbaned figure hunched over a mug of something dark, a black sailor with intricate scars patterning his cheeks, weathered Englishman whose accents were thicker than any I'd heard at the Admiral Benbow, and then, behind

Long John Silver

SPEAKER_01 5:15

the bar, I saw him. He was a large man, broad in the shoulder, with a face the colour of mahogany from years of sun and wind. His hair was pulled back in a tarred pigtail, and he wore a clean blue coat over a white shirt opened at the neck, a bright coloured parrot perched on his shoulder, occasionally ruffling its feathers and blinking its round eyes. But what drew my attention, what made my blood run cold, was the empty space where his left leg should have been. Nothing remained from the hip down. In its place a wooden crutch tucked expertly under his arm supported his weight. Yet unlike Billy Bones, who had limped and cursed his way around our inn, this man moved with surprising agility behind the bar, pouring drinks, making change, all while maintaining a steady flow of conversation with his customers. His laughter boomed across the room, deep and genuine. There was nothing furtive about him, nothing that suggested the kind of man other pirates would fear. Could this really be the one Billy Bones had warned me about? This man whose face broke into an easy smile, whose eyes crinkled at the corners with good humour.

Silver Knows His Name

SPEAKER_01 6:30

Those eyes, sharp and blue as the sea on a clear day, suddenly fixed on me. The smile widened. Ah what have we here? he called out. You'll be young Hawkins unless I miss my guess. I stood frozen, uncertain how to respond. How did he know my name? Had the squire sent word ahead? Come in, come in, Matey, he continued, beckoning with one large hand. Don't stand there letting the good air out and the bad in. You've had a journey, and you'll be parched. Come. His voice carried such natural authority that I found myself moving forward without conscious decision. The nearest patrons shifted to make room for me at the bar. Up close, Silver was even more impressive, tall despite his missing leg, with a face that combined the weather beaten look of a sailor with an unexpected intelligence in his eyes. Long John Silver at your service, he said, extending a hand across the bar. His grip was firm, his palm calloused. The squire wrote that you'd be coming. First time in Bristol, isn't it? First time away from home. Yes, sir, I managed, my voice sounding small even to my own ears. Silver's laugh rolled out again, genuine and warm. No sir here, lad. Just Silver will do, or long John, if you prefer. We're to be shipmates, after all. He reached for a small tankard, filled it from a different barrel than the one he'd been serving the sailors from, and set it before me. Apple cider. Sweet, not hard. A boy your age doesn't need grog addling his wits. I took a cautious sip. The cider was indeed sweet, with a tartness that cut through the dust of travel. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was until that first swallow. There now, Silver said approvingly. Put some colour back in your cheeks. You look like you've seen a ghost, lad. Perhaps I had. The ghost of Billy Bones' warning, the spectre of the fearsome one legged sailor. But this man before me, with his easy manner and genuine smile, seemed nothing like the pirate I'd imagined. He treated me not as a child to be dismissed, but as a young man worthy of respect. The squire tells me you're the reason we're all embarking on this adventure, Silver continued, lowering his voice slightly. Found the map, did you? That must be some tale. I began, then stopped, remembering doctor Livsey's warnings about secrecy. Silver laughed again. No need to say more, young Hawkins. Secrecy's the word, and right you are to keep it. We'll have plenty of time for tales when we're at sea. He winked. For now, drink your cider and rest easy. You're among friends at the spyglass. Despite everything I found myself believing him. My wariness began to ebb, replaced by a cautious comfort. After all, if Squire

Meeting the Crew

SPEAKER_01 9:45

Trelawney trusted this man enough to make him our cook and help recruit our crew, perhaps Billy's warning had referred to someone else entirely, or perhaps Long John Silver was simply not what I expected a dangerous man to be. Scene two. Now then, lad, Silver said, refilling my tankard with more of the sweet cider, let me introduce you to some of your shipmates. He gestured toward a table near the window where several men sat hunched over mugs and plates of salt beef. With his crutch tucked expertly under his arm, Silver moved from behind the bar with surprising grace, motioning for me to follow. I couldn't help but marvel at his agility, where Billy Bones had dragged his injured leg like a burden, Silver seemed to have mastered his missing limb, turning weakness into a strange sort of strength. The first man Silver introduced me to rose as we approached. He stood at least six feet tall, with shoulders broad as a door frame and hands the size of dinner plates. What caught my eye immediately was the puckered scar that ran from his left temple down across his cheek to the corner of his mouth, pulling his features into a permanent half grimace. Yet, when he extended his hand, his grip was surprisingly gentle, careful not to crush my smaller fingers. This here's Israel Hans, Silver said. Best top man in the Atlantic. Can reef a sail in a full gale that would have other men clinging to the rigging for dear life. Pleased to meet you, young master, Hans said, his voice softer than I would have expected from such a large man. First voyage? Yes, I admitted. First time away from home. We all had a first, he replied with a nod that seemed to contain genuine understanding. You'll find your sea legs quick enough. Next, Silver introduced a shorter, wiry man whose skin had been darkened to mahogany by decades of tropical sun. Every visible inch of his forearms was covered in elaborate tattoos, ships, mermaids, strange symbols I couldn't identify. When Silva spoke to him, the man nodded but said nothing. This is Pablo, Silva explained. Spanish originally, but he's sailed every sea worth mentioning. Doesn't speak much English, but he knows more about wind and weather than most captains. Silver turned and addressed a few rapid words in what sounded like Spanish to the tattooed sailor, who broke into a sudden grin and replied in kind. I marveled at how easily Silver bridged the language gap, switching between English and Spanish without hesitation. There was something impressive about watching him navigate these interactions, the natural authority he commanded, the easy respect these hardened sailors showed him. Two more sailors joined our group, a grizzled old man with a ring of white beard framing his leathery face, introduced as Joseph, and a younger man named Tom, who couldn't have been more than twenty. As they pulled up chairs, Silver signaled to the barman who had taken his place behind the counter to bring food for all of us. The squire's said to look after you proper, Silver explained, and that means feeding you up, too skinny by half you are, can't have our cabin boy blown off deck by the first strong wind. The men laughed, but it was good natured, including rather than mocking me. As we ate, a hearty stew thick with salt beef and potatoes, Silver dominated the conversation, asking me occasional questions about my journey to Bristol, but never prying about the purpose of our voyage. Instead he turned the talk to matters of sailing. You know much about knots, lad? he asked, pulling a short length of rope from his pocket. His thick fingers, which looked too large for delicate work,

Knots and Navigation

SPEAKER_01 13:45

suddenly moved with astonishing dexterity, weaving the rope into complex patterns. This here's a bowline, the most useful knot a sailor can know, makes a loop that won't slip nor tighten, good for securing a man who's working aloft. He demonstrated several more reef knot, clove hitch, sheet bend, naming each and explaining its purpose with the precision of a schoolmaster. The other men occasionally chimed in with comments or corrections, but it was clear they deferred to Silver's expertise. Navigation's another matter you'll want to get the rudiments of, Silver continued, clearing space on the table to sketch with his finger through a small puddle of spilled ale. Dead reckoning latitude from the noon sun, longitude if you're skilled with the chronometer. He spoke of trade winds and ocean currents, of how to read the colour of the sea and the shape of clouds for signs of coming weather. I listened, fascinated. This was no simple ship's cook, but a man who knew the sea as intimately as I knew the corridors of the Admiral Benbow. Gradually, Silver shifted from instruction to stories, carefully measured tales of his adventures at sea. The Caribbeans where we had our finest sailing, he said, eyes growing distant with memory, waters clear as crystal, so blue it hurts your eyes on a bright day, islands where the trees bend under the weight of fruit for the taking, and fish so plentiful you could near scoop them up in your hat. He described a hurricane that had once driven his ship onto a sandbar, how they'd worked for three days to free her before the tide turned. He told of trading with native tribes along the Spanish main, of the customs and strange foods he'd encountered. Each tale seemed calculated to entertain without overwhelming, exciting enough to capture my interest, but nothing that would frighten a boy on his first voyage. What of pirates? I asked suddenly, surprising myself with my boldness. Did you encounter many in those waters? A brief silence fell over the table.

Flint's Dark Legend

SPEAKER_01 16:00

Silver's blue eyes fixed on me with sudden intensity, then crinkled into a smile. Pirates, aye, they're out there right enough, or were in my younger days. Most have been hanged now or settled down to quieter lives. He leaned forward. Flint was the worst of them. Captain Flint. Now there was a man to strike terror in brave hearts. You knew him? I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper. Knew of him, Silver corrected. No honest sailor knew Flint and lived to tell of it. But his ship I saw once from a distance, the Walrus. Blood red sails, they said, though that might be the telling growing in the retelling. I found myself relaxing despite my earlier misgivings. There was something compelling about Silver, a natural storyteller, but one who seemed to measure truth carefully rather than embellishing wildly like so many sailors. The men around me nodded at his words, occasionally adding details or confirming points. They clearly respected him, not just as their superior, but as a man of genuine knowledge and experience. Then, as Silver was describing the proper way to approach a coral reef, something caught my eye, a movement in the corner of the tavern, near the door. A thin figure slipped between tables,

Black Dog Spotted

SPEAKER_01 17:30

keeping his face turned away from our group, but not quickly enough. The pale, knife like features, the long bony fingers, the blue scarf knotted at his throat. Black dog. My heart seemed to stop, then pounded back to life with painful intensity. I felt the blood drain from my face. Here in Bristol, hundreds of miles from the Admiral Benbow was one of the very pirates who had come searching for Billy Bones' sea chest, for the map I had found. Jim? What is it, lad? Silver asked, noticing my sudden change. You've gone white as a sheet. I leaned close to him, my voice a trembling whisper. That man by the door. I know him. He's a pirate called Black Dog. He came to our inn looking for a sailor who stayed with us. They fought with cutlasses. He's dangerous. Silver's transformation was immediate and startling.

Silver Gives Chase

SPEAKER_01 18:30

The jovial storyteller vanished. His face hardened to granite, blue eyes suddenly cold as ice. With a speed that seemed impossible for a one legged man, he swung himself upright, slamming his hand down on the table with such force that our tankards jumped. Which man? he demanded, voice dropping to a growl that raised the hair on my neck. When I pointed with a shaking finger, Silver roared across the tavern. You there, stand fast. The entire room fell silent. Black Dog froze for an instant, then bolted for the door. Silver was already moving, swinging through the crowded room on his crutch with alarming speed. Stop that man, he bellowed. Thief and murderer, fifty guineas to the man who catches him. Chaos erupted. Sailors leaped from their seats, overturning tables and benches. Tankards crashed to the floor. Men shouted and cursed as they lunged for Black Dog, who was already through the door and into the street. Silver followed, moving with a grace and speed that belied his disability. I'd never seen a man on a crutch move so quickly. He pushed through the crowd at the door, his powerful arms and shoulders clearing a path where others would have been trapped. I followed, swept along by the surge of bodies. By the time I reached the street, Silver was already halfway down the lane, his crutch striking the cobblestones with rhythmic force as he pursued the fleeing pirate. Black Dog darted into an alley, Silver close behind him. The other sailors from our table had joined the chase, spreading out into the maze of narrow streets. Israel hands grabbed my shoulder, steadying me as I stumbled on the uneven cobblestones. Stay here, lad, he ordered. Silver will run him down. No man escapes when Long John sets his mind to the chase. I stood catching my breath, heart still racing as sailors rushed past me in pursuit. The speed with which the peaceful meal had transformed into this violent chase left me dizzy. One moment Silver had been teaching me knots, the next he was pursuing a pirate through the streets of Bristol with murder in his eyes. If I'd had any lingering doubts about whether Silver was the one legged sailor Billy Bones had feared, surely this proved otherwise. No man could fake such instant, genuine outrage. Silver clearly didn't know

Silver Returns Empty-Handed

SPEAKER_01 21:00

Black Dog, which meant he couldn't be part of Flint's old crew, didn't it? Scene three. A quarter hour passed before Silver returned to the spy glass. The tavern had settled back into its usual rhythm, though conversations buzzed with excitement over the chase. I sat at our table, nursing what remained of my cider, wondering if I had been mistaken. Could it truly have been Black Dog? We were hundreds of miles from the Admiral Benbow, and I had glimpsed the man for only a moment. Yet I would have sworn on my father's grave it was him, the same pale face, the same furtive manner, the same blue scarf at his throat. When the tavern door finally swung open, Silver appeared, breathing heavily, his face flushed with exertion and what appeared to be genuine frustration. He made his way back to our table, his wooden crutch thumping against the floorboards. Sweat beaded on his forehead. And his breath came in audible gasps. The chase had clearly taxed him despite his surprising agility. He dropped heavily onto his chair and mopped his brow with a large handkerchief pulled from his pocket. Lost him, Silver announced grimly. The dog knows these streets too well. Ducked down an alley off Cooper's Row, then vanished like smoke. He pounded his fist on the table. Had him in my sights twice, but these old bones don't move like they used to. The other sailors who'd joined the chase filtered back in, shaking their heads. Israel hands clapped a hand on Silver's shoulder. We nearly had him cornered by the Chandlers, but he slipped through a courtyard. Silver turned to me, his blue eyes narrowed with intensity. This man this black dog. You're certain you know him? A pirate? You said? I nodded. He came to our inn looking for Billy Bones, the sailor who stayed with us. They fought with cutlasses. Black Dog was wounded but escaped. And this Bones, he was a pirate too? I think so, I said cautiously, remembering doctor Livesy's warnings about discretion. He had been at sea for many years. He was afraid someone was hunting him. Silver leaned forward. I've never seen that man before today, lad. I give you my solemn word. But I know his kind, the sort that brings trouble to honest establishments. His face darkened. I've spent fifteen years building a reputation in Bristol. The spy glass is known as a place for honest seamen, not for pirates and cutthroats. I studied his face carefully, searching for any sign of deception. His expression seemed to hold nothing but sincere concern and lingering anger. The weathered lines around his eyes, the firm set of his mouth. Everything spoke of a man genuinely distressed by the intrusion of someone like Black Dog into his domain. Why would he come here, do you think? I asked, watching for his reaction. Silver shrugged. Bristol's a port town. Every manner of seafaring man passes through. Perhaps he thought to find a berth on an outbound ship. He paused, eyeing me thoughtfully. Or perhaps it's not so strange a coincidence as it seems, if this black dog was hunting your Billy Bones, and if Bones had something valuable I never said that, I interrupted quickly. Silver's laugh rolled out suddenly warm again. No, you didn't, and I'm not asking, lad. A man's business is his own. He reached across to the next table and pulled over a bottle. Here, let me freshen that cider. You've had a shock. As he poured, his manner seemed to shift back to the genial host I'd first encountered. The tension drained from his shoulders, his smile returned, and soon he was talking about our upcoming voyage as if the incident with Black Dog had been nothing but a momentary

The Hispaniola Ahead

SPEAKER_01 25:15

disruption. The Hispaniola's a fine schooner, he said, his voice returning to its storyteller's cadence. Two hundred tons, give or take, fast enough to outrun most trouble, sturdy enough to weather a blow. You'll like her, Jim. Nothing like the feeling of a good ship under your feet, responding to the helm like she's reading your thoughts. He described the route we would take, south to the Canary Islands, then west with the trade winds to the Caribbean. He spoke of flying fish that would leap alongside the ship, of dolphins that would play in our bow wave, of stars so bright and numerous on moonless nights that they seemed close enough to touch. As he talked I noticed something, a quick glance he exchanged with a sailor at the bar. The man nodded almost imperceptibly before turning back to his drink. It was nothing really, the sort of acknowledgement that would pass between any two acquaintances. Yet something about it made me uneasy. Perhaps it was the timing coming just as Silver mentioned our course. When will doctor Livsey join us? I asked, watching Silver's face closely. He stayed behind to settle his practice. Something flickered behind Silver's eyes, a rapid calculation, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it. The doctor? Ah, yes. The squire mentioned him, a man of science, I gather. We'll be fortunate to have a proper surgeon aboard. He smiled. Too often a ship makes do with a carpenter who does double duty, sawing wood and limbs with equal enthusiasm. His joke was grim but delivered with such cheerful matter of factness that I found myself smiling despite my lingering unease. This was how sailors talked, I supposed, making light of the dangers they faced daily. You'll want to get your sea chest aboard tomorrow, Silver continued. We sail with the morning tide two days hence, assuming the squire finalizes his business with the customs house. He gestured toward the window, where dusk was falling over the harbour. You've lodgings for the night? The squire arranged something. Yes, at the Crown Inn, I replied, just up the street. Good, good. Decent place the crown. Clean beds, at least. He leaned back, studying me with those keen blue eyes. You'll do well at sea, Jim Hawkins, I can tell. You've a steady head on your shoulders. Despite everything, Billy Bones' warning, the sudden appearance of Black Dog, the strange glance I'd noticed, I found myself wanting to believe Silver. There was something compelling about him, a natural authority that inspired confidence. If he truly was connected to Flint's crew to Black Dog, wouldn't he have shown some sign of recognition? Some flicker of alarm when I mentioned Billy Bones. No, I decided Silver couldn't possibly know Black Dog. His outrage had been too immediate, too genuine. And if the squire trusted him enough to make him our cook and help recruit our crew, who was I to doubt? I was letting my imagination run wild, seeing conspiracies where there were only coincidences. I should go, I said, finishing my cider. It's getting late, and I need to write to my mother before we sail. Silver nodded approvingly. A good son. She'll be worried for you, no doubt. She didn't want me to come, I admitted, but after everything that happened at the inn, I stopped, catching myself before I said too much. Silva didn't press. Mothers worry. It's their nature. You write her a cheerful letter, let her know you're in good hands. He extended his own hand across the table.

Pieces of Eight

SPEAKER_01 29:15

Until tomorrow, then, I'll look for you aboard the Hispaniola. As I reached to shake his hand, a sudden harsh squawk made me jump. Silver's parrot, which had been dozing on its perch behind the bar, suddenly spread its wings and called out Pieces of eight, pieces of eight. The bird's voice was uncannily human, sharp and clear above the tavern's murmur. Its black eyes fixed on me with an intelligence that seemed almost mocking. Silver laughed, a deep rumble that seemed to come from his chest. That's Captain Flint, he said, nodding toward the parrot. Named for the notorious pirate himself. Ironic, ain't it? The real Flint killed dozens of men, they say. This one just nips your finger if you're not careful. The parrot bobbed its head and repeated pieces of eight. Pay him no mind, Silver said, still chuckling. It's all he says. Previous owner must have taught him. Pieces of eight. Spanish dollars, you know, common currency in the Caribbean. He reached across and stroked the bird's bright feathers with his large, capable hand. The parrot settled immediately, rubbing its head against Silver's fingers with obvious affection.

Jim Walks Into Mystery

SPEAKER_01 30:30

As I left the spy glass and made my way through the darkening streets toward my lodgings, that strange image stayed with me. The fierce, colourful bird named for a murderous pirate, docile under John Silver's touch. There was something unsettling about it, though I couldn't have said exactly what. The words echoed in my mind. Spanish dollars, treasure, the very thing we were sailing to find. A coincidence, surely. Another coincidence in a day that had already held too many. Yet as I walked through the unfamiliar streets of Bristol, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was moving deeper into a mystery whose edges I could barely discern. A mystery that had begun with Billy Bones' arrival at the Admiral Benbow and now stretched before me like the ocean I was about to cross. For better or worse, I had cast my lot with Long John Silver and the voyage

What Comes Next?

SPEAKER_01 31:30

of the Hispaniola. There could be no turning back now. Thanks for listening to Treasure Island. New chapters drop every Wednesday, and the map, Book One of Treasure Island, is on Amazon now, and today we are celebrating Colony in Danger. Book one just hit number one in new releases for children's ebooks on Amazon. If you liked Treasure Island, listen to Eagle's Edge on Thursdays. A sixteen year old Roman recruit takes the oath, marches into Gaul, and learns what war actually is. Back to Treasure Island. Now Jim met the one-legged sailor and walked out doubting Billy's warning. What would you have believed, the warning or the one legged man? In chapter five, Jim boards the Hispaniola and Captain Smollett calls him to the great cabin. This is Reed Sterling. Thank you for listening to Compass and Codex. Never stop exploring unknown worlds.