And there , amid the sounding of tuckets and the clash of armoured soldiery and horses continually moving forth , Dick and Joan sat side by side , tenderly held hands , and looked , with ever growing affection , in each other 's eyes . Thenceforth the dust and blood of that unruly epoch passed them by . They dwelt apart from alarms in the green forest where their love began . Two old men in the meanwhile enjoyed pensions in great prosperity and peace , and with perhaps a superfluity of ale and wine , in Tunstall hamlet . One had been all his life a shipman , and continued to the last to lament his man Tom . The other , who had been a bit of everything , turned in the end towards piety , and made a most religious death under the name of Brother Honestus in the neighbouring abbey . So Lawless had his will , and died a friar . Footnotes : -LCB- 1 -RCB- At the date of this story , Richard Crookback could not have been created Duke of Gloucester ; but for clearness , with the reader 's leave , he shall so be called . -LCB- 2 -RCB- Richard Crookback would have been really far younger at this date . PART ONE -- The Old Buccaneer 1 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 shoulder 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 cover 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 XXXXX .
brought continued dwelt looking made said says tottering trundled whistling